Chapter Forty-Four
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Claire once again had a voice in her e-mails—of course a voice was only one part of the equation. Presentation was also a crucial component. In preparation for her oration, she straightened her three stacks of papers. The first one was her Patricia respond pile—responses that didn’t require a personal touch—rarely was this pile even discussed. The second pile, the one she’d mentally labeled—Ask Tony—was the one which usually dominated their discussion. Often, those were her only two stacks—some days she didn’t feel there were any requests that warranted the stress of the second pile—and then other days—Claire felt the need to include a third category—Correspondence. Most often, this was her written response to someone’s correspondence, but on occasion—like today—it was an unsolicited outgoing e-mail. Sometimes her messages were sent as she wrote them—other times they made changes. It was all part of the intricate deliberation and negotiation.
Today’s unsolicited e-mail was to Emily and had been written and rewritten about six times. Pacing around the suite, Claire wondered if she worded it well and—and more importantly—if Tony would allow it to be sent.
John’s deadline had been November 1. Today was the November 4, and Claire still hadn’t heard from her sister. Claire was hopeful that the message she’d prepared could be sent; after all, Tony was the one who suggested she call Emily on the November 1. Of course, she jumped at the chance—but no one answered. When she didn’t get an answer on November 2 or 3, Claire couldn’t help worry.
With Claire’s revelation that her subconscious and conscious were sharing the same concerns, and her newfound time around the house, Claire continually practiced self-therapy sessions. She entertained the idea that her concern about John was in actuality a defense mechanism—a way for her to think about someone’s situation besides herself. Truly, she didn’t worry about herself—she was mostly concerned about the man she’d married. The loving persona was back in many ways—complimentary, caring, and compassionate. Control continued to be an issue. He expected obedience and submission—as long as she complied—no consequences occurred. She spent endless hours spinning that into a positive paradigm. If it were truly positive, would it require hours of spinning?
Having little else to do, she dressed for dinner and read a book while awaiting Tony’s arrival. As usual, he was expected home at 7:00 PM; however, unexpectedly he entered her suite about 5:30 PM. When she looked up from her book and smiled, Claire immediately recognized something amiss in his expression. Her heart raced as she wondered, what have I done?
He didn’t speak, put some papers on the sofa, and knelt before her. The papers reminded her of Meredith’s interview, but she could sense he wasn’t enraged—distressed would be a better assessment. “Tony, what is it?” As he lowered his head to her lap, Claire thought he appeared as shaken as she’d ever seen him. Lifting his face, she asked, “Seriously, Tony, you’re scaring me. What’s the matter?”
“I came home as soon as I saw the news release. I knew you’d want to know. You probably don’t believe me—but I am sorry.”
Claire looked into his eyes and saw sincerity. With trembling hands she reached for the papers. She had no idea what she was about to read, but it didn’t take a psychic to know it was bad—
TRAGIC ACCIDENT CLAIMS LIFE OF YOUNG GAMING PHENOMENON
Simon Johnson, 28, of Palo Alto, California died Wednesday, November 3, 2011, after a tragic accident.
Claire put the papers down and ran to the bathroom—suddenly ill. She hadn’t seen Simon in eight years, hadn’t consciously thought of him—now he was gone.
The vomiting caused her to tremble. Once she was done, she turned to see Tony standing in the doorway—watching his wife. She didn’t know how he’d respond to her reaction, but she assumed he’d think it was inappropriate. Suddenly, Claire didn’t care. Dejectedly, she sank to the floor and surrendered to whatever was coming her way. Her tears pooled as the cool tile soothed her pounding head. Though she heard Tony’s approaching footsteps, Claire knew she was too weak to defend herself. She closed her eyes and waited for his booming voice.
It didn’t come—instead, Tony silently knelt beside her, helped her stand, and tenderly carried her back to the suite. When he laid her on the sofa, he sat and placed her head in his lap. For the longest time, they didn’t talk. He stroked her hair as she cried. She cried for Simon—not a lost love—she was married to someone else. Claire cried for a life lost too young. The article said he was twenty-eight—she was twenty-eight. Wasn’t that was too young to die?
Finally, she managed to ask, “How did he die?”
“The article said his plane went down in a remote area over the mountains”—her sobs resumed—“The authorities found the crash site, no survivors. It came across my news feed, and I rushed home.”
Claire regained enough composure to sit. Looking to her husband, Claire tried to explain, “He was a friend. I’m not upset because a longtime ago, he and I were involved—he was just too young to die.”
Tenderly hugging her, Tony said, “I really understand. I overreacted before.” He gently moved her hair away from her face. “The article said he was recently engaged.” That news restarted Claire’s tears—she wanted him to be married and loved by someone.
When she calmed, Tony brought her tissues, and she read the rest of the news release:
Officials found the crash site of Mr. Johnson’s personal aircraft in the upper elevations of the Sierra Nevada Mountain range. Mr. Johnson’s flight plan indicated he was on his way home to Palo Alto after a meeting with investors in the Los Angeles area. Mr. Simon Johnson, self-made millionaire, was best known for his gaming creations. His creative start occurred with Shedis-tics, a Rawlings Industries subsidiary in Northern California. Mr. Johnson began his own gaming company, Si-Jo, in 2005. Mr. Johnson, originally from Indiana, was scheduled to wed Ms. Amber McCoy of Palo Alto, California, on April 21, 2012. Information regarding services has yet to be released by family.
Claire put down the pages and laid her head on Tony’s chest. He put his arms around her as she drifted between sobbing, crying, and dreaming. When she awoke, her head pounded, and her eyes felt swollen and tender. Tony was still there, holding her. She got up and went to the bathroom, washed her face, and came back out. “I think I’m done. Thank you for being so understanding.”
He motioned for her to return to the sofa. When she did, he put his arm around her. “Did you know he worked for one of my companies?”
“He told me that in Chicago—saying how strange fate can be. He said he wanted to thank you for the great start.”
“You didn’t tell me.”
“I didn’t have the chance.”
Tony didn’t respond. What could he say?
The next day, Tony worked from home and Claire rested on the sun porch, feeling her emotions teetering between sad and empty. Despite the recent drop in temperature, merciful sunshine made the porch comfortable. The trees were once again bare and the grass had resumed its winter gray cast. Claire thought the entire situation seemed unreal and wondered about Amber McCoy and Simon’s parents. She couldn’t imagine what they were going through.
Hoping the sunlight would improve her mood; Claire lay on the loveseat and contemplated life and death. Death seemed peaceful and predictable. She was pondering similar thoughts—thoughts she hadn’t entertained in over a year—when Tony found her staring into space. His tone was sympathetic and tender, “Claire, there’s a private memorial for Simon on Sunday, in Madison, Indiana.”
Claire turned to her husband. Her make-up was done and her hair styled, nevertheless, her eyelids were swollen and her eyes were distant. “Okay”—she contemplated his statement and weighed her response—“We should send flowers.”
“No—we should attend.”
Claire sat up. “No! We shouldn’t”—tears once again threatened—“Tony, I haven’t been to a funeral since my parents died. I can’t go to Simon’s.”
For the second time in two days Anthony Rawlings knelt before his wife. His tone was incredibly sweet and supportive. “I have his parents’ number. I really think you should call—I’m not telling you to—I’m saying it would be a good idea. The service is private. If they invite you or us—we should attend.”
Claire shook her head. Speaking without crying wasn’t an option. He handed her the telephone number, kissed her gently, and went back to his office.
It may have been half an hour—it may have been three hours—time had temporarily lost its meaning. Eventually, Claire knocked on Tony’s office door. Together they made the call. The person who answered her call hesitated before putting Mrs. Johnson on the line. “This is a difficult time. May I ask who’s calling?”
“My name is Claire—Claire Rawlings.” She remembered Simon had a younger sister and wondered if she was who was speaking. The voice asked her to hold. Soon Simon’s mother was on the line. Claire began, “Mrs. Johnson, I’m not sure if you remember me.”
“Of course I remember you. Thank you for calling.”
Claire offered their condolences. Although Claire had prayed Mrs. Johnson wouldn’t extend an invitation to the memorial service—she did invite both of them. Before the conversation ended, Mrs. Johnson added, “Simon and I were very close. I know how much you meant to him. If possible, could you and Mr. Rawlings arrive early?”
Claire looked at Tony, who raised his eyebrows and shrugged. Claire replied, “If you’d like us to—we will.”
“Thank you, the service will begin at 2:00 PM, but the family is having a private viewing at noon. I’d appreciate it if you and Mr. Rawlings could arrive at 1:00 PM.”
Claire said they would and Tony disconnected the line.
The flight to Louisville, Kentucky was quiet. Being incredibly supportive—Tony didn’t work—read his laptop—or do anything—that wasn’t focused on Claire. His excessive attention added to her discomfort. Once they arrived in Louisville, a driver took them to Madison, a small quaint town on the Ohio River. It was Claire’s first visit to Indiana in years.
The funeral home resembled a colonial mansion—brick with large white pillars. Arriving early, they sat in the car and waited. Claire knew she was fidgeting—she couldn’t help it—the entire scenario was unnerving. Finally, Tony grabbed her hand and squeezed. Claire exhaled and looked at her husband. Astounded by his sensitivity—considering this was Simon—she vocalized her thoughts. Her words came unfiltered; she didn’t have the energy to consider the possible ramifications. “Why are you being so supportive?”
“Because I wasn’t able to support you when your parents died.”
Her mind spun. “What? I don’t understand.”
He held her hands. “Claire, you had to go through your parents’ deaths alone. Emily had John, but you didn’t have anyone. You said you haven’t been to a funeral since then. I couldn’t comfort you then, please let me do it now.”
She did. Not because he wanted her to—but because she needed him to. She needed the feeling of love and support he described and melted into Tony’s embrace. When the time came, they walked into the funeral home hand in hand.
Claire recognized Mrs. Johnson immediately, a lovely blond-haired woman with Simon’s big blue eyes. Realistically, she wasn’t much older than Tony. Claire tried to act resolved, but her emotions were too fresh—too near the surface. The two women embraced and wept. Mrs. Johnson then directed them to a private room, where they were joined by Simon’s father, sister, and another woman. Claire assumed the slender pretty brunette with brown puffy eyes was Amber McCoy.
Being incredibly resilient, Mrs. Johnson asked them to sit. Once they did, she spoke, “Thank you for coming today, Mr. and Mrs. Rawlings, I know Simon would be pleased.”
They both acknowledged her with pleasantries. Claire immediately added, “Please, call me Claire.”
“Claire, Simon told me he spoke with you a few months ago. I asked you here early, because I wanted to let you know how important that was for him”—she reached for Claire’s hand. Claire nodded as Mrs. Johnson continued—“You had no way of knowing how much and how long he’d pined for you. There was a time he believed if he left you alone—until you achieved your career goal—you would be ready to see him again, but seeing you—talking to you—and learning that you weren’t what they say”—she hesitated—“well, just learning you are still the Claire he remembered—and most importantly—that you’re happy”—Mrs. Johnson smiled at Tony—“he was finally able to move on.”
Claire listened, both with concern for Simon’s mother and Tony.
Mrs. Johnson motioned toward the slender brunette. “This is Amber. She and Simon were recently engaged.”
Claire and Tony both said hello.
Simon’s mother continued, “Simon loved Amber very much, but he had to let you go. I want you to know, you’ll always be special to our family because our son loved you”—Claire’s chest heaved as she silently wept. Tony comforted her—“You had no way of knowing his feelings—he never conveyed them. Don’t ever think we have ill feelings toward you. How could anyone hold something against someone, when they didn’t even know it was happening?”—once again, she squeezed Claire’s hands—“I just thought you should know the importance of your short talk. He walked away knowing you were happily married, and knowing he could move on. Thank you.”
Claire tried to smile. “I’m thankful we had the opportunity to talk.” For the first time since her consequences—she truly was.
Then, Mrs. Johnson addressed Tony, “Mr. Rawlings, God is so funny.”
Tony replied, “I’m sorry, I don’t follow.”
“Mr. Rawlings, if there was one man my son idealized—besides his father—it was you”—Tony’s eyes reflected the appreciation she sent his way—“He received his start, at his dream job, in one of your companies. When he first started working for Shedis-tics, you made a few visits to their office. You probably don’t remember, but on one occasion you spoke to Simon about one of his projects. He talked about it for months. He aspired to be like you. Now you and Claire are happily married. I just think God has a sense of humor”—she looked lovingly at both of them, introduced them to the rest of the family, and added—“Please sit toward the front—it would mean a lot to Simon—and it means a lot to me.”
They did.
Throughout the memorial, Tony held Claire’s hand. Later when she tried, she couldn’t remember the service. Between Mrs. Johnson’s words and memories of her parents’ funeral, her energy went to appearing composed—fighting the pounding in her head—and not fainting.
On the flight home, Claire thought about Mrs. Johnson’s words—Simon aspired to be Tony. She thought about her assessment of Tony—he ruined lives with his business decisions—he wanted complete control over everyone and everything—and he could be incredibly cruel. She wondered if perhaps there wasn’t more to her husband; maybe there was a part of him she hadn’t been seeing. If Simon aspired to be Tony—maybe there was something to aspire to.
With her head on his lap, she looked up at his face and recognized his expression—she knew he had thoughts in a million different places. She watched his strong jaw—clench and unclench—his dark brown eyes—furrowed brow—and perfectly combed hair—
Perhaps Tony helped lives—too. After all, Mrs. Johnson believed he did. Maybe Claire needed a different perspective. Grandma Nichols once said, “Sometimes you can’t see the forest for the trees.” Could she be too close? She knew Tony—intimately knew his flaws. Was he a different man from a distance? The voices in her head debated—other people thought that Tony was a kind, wonderful, and generous—a benevolent businessman. Claire knew he was capable of being loving, tender, sensual, and lavish. She also knew a side of him that didn’t fit either description. Looking up, she saw her husband absently staring into space, as he continued to stroke her blonde hair. Claire appreciated his efforts over the last few days—he was trying. She exhaled deeply and closed her eyes.
*
Tony remembered Claire’s expression during the funeral—so overwhelmed with grief—the kind of emotion that was only visible with the loss of someone you dearly loved. Of course, she had lost two someones.
In his mind, he saw the church overflowing with people. Even though Officer Jordon Nichols’ death had not been in the line of duty—he received full police honors. There were uniformed police everywhere. Apparently, Shirley Nichols was also well loved and had many bereaved friends and students. Blending into the crowd wasn’t difficult. Now as Tony stroked Claire’s silky hair, he realized that was the day his plan had taken a turn. Originally, he had different designs—but watching Claire flanked by her sister—Tony knew he needed to know her; actually—reminiscing—he knew, before then, that he didn’t want anyone else knowing her.
The internship was an easy ploy to rid her of Simon. Watching the sadness from Claire and Simon Johnson’s family, there was a part of Tony which hated what happened, but it was Simon’s fault. He should have just left Claire alone—but no. His actions in Chicago resulted in the consequences today in Madison.
Tony beheld his wife’s sleeping face on his leg. That day—so many years ago—she’d been all alone. Today, he did what he wanted to do then—it was him—not Emily and—not John. Claire needed him. This wasn’t an occasion for smiles, but knowing she was asleep—he grinned.
*
As they landed in Iowa, Tony gently woke his wife. It was only 6:00 PM, but the sky was dark and spitting snow. They hurried from the plane to the warm waiting car. Once they were within the warm confines of the BMW, Tony asked Claire a question, “Where would you like to go for our anniversary?”
Obediently, she replied, “Some place sunny and warm.” The desire she didn’t say aloud was—alone.
Anyone can give up. It’s the easiest thing in the world to do. But to hold it together when everyone else would understand if you fell apart, that’s true strength.
—Unknown