Madeline and Phil both nodded.
Claire lay still near the center of their bed with her back toward the door. The fullness of pillows surrounding her body brought a momentary smile to Tony’s worried expression. Lately, she’d brought more and more pillows to bed. He’d teased her, saying a wall of pillows couldn’t keep him out, but Tony knew the pillows helped Claire to be more comfortable. He didn’t care if she slept in a bed of pillows.
His smile quickly faded when he realized she hadn’t turned toward the sound of the opening door. Quickly, he walked to the far side of their bed and stepped closer. Despite her damp hair pressed to her face, Tony thought she looked beautiful. When he spoke, he expected to see her beautiful emerald eyes. “Claire, are you all right?”
She didn’t move. In the dimly lit, master bedroom suite, her skin glistened with perspiration and her eyes remained shut. He reached toward her. While only inches away, Claire’s head tossed violently from side to side as she whispered, “No...Tony...”
Just as quickly as she called out, her body stilled. He waited. Was she telling him not to come nearer? Tony asked in desperation, “Claire, no—what?”
When she didn’t respond, he sat on the edge of their bed and tenderly reached for her shoulder. Shaking her gently, he said, “Claire, I’m right here. Are you dreaming?”
She didn’t respond. He shook again—nothing. “Madeline!” he yelled toward the door.
The sky was now dark, with intense flashes of light. The thunder and lightning occurred almost simultaneously. Phil, who’d been joined by Francis, paced silently in the hallway, while Madeline and Tony attended to Claire. Despite his gentle encouragement, Claire wouldn’t wake; however, her pleas and the calling of his name ceased.
The temperature of their suite had decreased very nicely. That, combined with the gentle breeze of the ceiling fan, made their room quite comfortable; nevertheless, Tony noticed Claire’s blouse stuck to her clammy skin. As he brushed her sun lightened hair away from her face, he felt the warmth radiating from her body. “She’s burning up!”
“Monsieur, may I?”
Tony hesitantly stepped away as Madeline approached the edge of the bed where Tony had been perched. She turned her palm upward and moved her hand over Claire’s forehead.
“I’m afraid she has an infection. Before she fell asleep, I gave her something to help fight it and help her sleep. She said she didn’t want to go to the doctor.”
His back straightened. “What did you give her?”
“It’s an island remedy. When she wakes, she’ll feel better.”
“The baby?”
“The bébé will be good, much better than having infection in her mère.”
His shoulder’s relaxed as he stepped toward his wife. Before he could speak, Madeline pulled the sheet back and revealed Claire’s body.
Tony gasped. “What? What happened? Why is she so wet?”
“Her water, it broke. The baby is coming.”
Tony fell to his knees and reached for his wife’s hand. With his lips near Claire’s sleeping face he begged, “Please, please be all right.” Holding back tears, he straightened his neck and lowered his voice—the tone he created was one of authority, beyond debate. “You told me you’d be fine. You promised.” Lightning and thunder crashed. Softness, once again, took residence in his words, “Claire, please open your eyes. I need to see your beautiful emerald eyes.”
His chest tightened with déjà vu. He’d said those words before—almost verbatim. Seeing her on the bed, with her clothes glued to her skin by moisture, Tony cursed under his breath. This—like the accident—like Chester—was his fault. Why did she continually need to suffer because of him?
I always trust my gut reaction; it's always right.
—Kiana Tom