“Yes, Mrs. Rawlings, you did.” He leaned down and their lips met. Looking lovingly into her eyes, he added, “You did a superb job.”
Claire righted herself to sit beside her family. In the bend of her right arm was the too familiar pinch of an IV. Choosing to ignore the painful sensation, Claire concentrated on her family. Despite Tony’s obvious exhaustion, she saw the pride behind his expression. Once again, Tony brushed his lips against hers before he placed their baby in her arms. “May I introduce our daughter?”
Claire’s heart melted. “A girl—M—Madeline was right.”
Shaking his head, Tony replied, “I don’t think she should ever be doubted again.”
“We didn’t decide on a girl’s name.” Claire’s words came as she gently unwrapped the blanket, exposing the present she’d been carrying for nine months.
“She has a name.”
Claire looked up. “Oh?”
“There’s some island wives’ tale that forbids the changing to the next day without a name. I hope you don’t mind. I didn’t want to risk our daughter having any unnecessary ill fortune.”
Claire tried to grasp the reality of not only having a daughter, but that she was already named. “Is it Raquel?” It had been his go-to name in all their debates.
“No, I wanted a name that would unite our family; one that said the Rawls vendetta is over.”
Claire didn’t know what to say. Tony’s words were more emotion filled than she could remember hearing. “What is it? What name did you choose?”
“Nichol.” Tony’s eyes begged for understanding.
Claire’s lips parted and her eyes sparkled. The game was done—no more strategizing or manipulating; instead of declaring a winner, they’d called it even. Their daughter’s name was Claire’s ultimate prize. Claire’s heart filled with pride. Immediately, she knew it was Tony’s way of telling their daughter she was both a Nichols and a Rawlings. “Oh, Tony, I love it! We never even talked about that.”
Tony’s chest moved as he exhaled with relief. “Nichol Courtney Rawlings.”
It was the most beautiful name she’d ever heard. As Nichol’s eyes opened and Claire saw the chocolate brown she loved, she whispered, “I wanted your eyes. You wanted a girl. We’ve been blessed with both of our wishes.” Nichol’s mouth rooted toward Claire’s breast.
Tony’s eyes drifted closed as his head fell back to the wall. It had been a long forty-eight hours. Before he fell asleep, Claire heard him say, “A wish, a dream, a miracle—Whatever it is, it’s real.”
It has been said, ‘time heals all wounds.’ I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone.
—Rose Kennedy
Sophia eased her car onto the circular brick drive in front of Marie’s massive house. On her cell phone, she heard Derek’s voice, “Have a nice lunch, babe. Is the house as nice as you anticipated?”
Her mouth gaped open as she looked up at the Romanesque-style mansion with facades of river stone, limestone, and brick. It was like something out of a 1940’s movie. “It’s amazing. I can’t believe she really lives here. Do people actually live like this?”
Derek laughed. “Well, she worked for Rawlings. That’s his house—or it was. No one knows if he’s alive or dead, but it’s probably not great table-talk for your lunch.”
“I’ll try to remember that—keep conversation topics away from missing employers. What did you say; she’s named the executor of his estate?”
“Yeah, the information I found just named her as a long-time trusted employee—”
Sophia interrupted, “Hey, honey, the front door’s opening. I should get out of the car. I’ll call you when I’m on my way home.”
She heard him say he loved her as she turned off the car and the Bluetooth disconnected. “I love you, too,” she said to the warm air within the confines of her car. It was a stark contrast to the cold February chill between her and the mansion she was about to enter. Sophia secured her coat and gloves and bowed her face to the snowflakes as she hurried toward the grand doors.
The gentleman within nodded as her shoes hit the marble floor. Looking down, she saw the traces of snow that had fallen from her shoes and created puddles within the beautiful foyer. “Ms. Sophia?”
“Yes,” she said sheepishly. “Hello.” Sophia offered her hand.
The gentleman nodded again and said, “Ms. London is expecting you. May I take your coat?”
Sophia tried desperately not to gawk at her surroundings as she removed her coat and gloves and handed them to the butler—um—servant? She didn’t know who he was—only, that apparently, he didn’t shake hands. “Yes, thank you. Where is Mar—Ms. London? Is she here?”