Her legs no longer moved; the machine moved her. She gawked at the television as the newscaster progressed with other stories. When her feet hit the solid floor, her muscles tightened. Claire knew she should cool-down properly, and although her legs yelled in protest, the voices inside her head conquered.
Claire looked to the mirrors completely covering one wall of the gym. Normally she didn’t like seeing herself hot and sweaty. However, today she couldn’t look away. She wondered; do the other people watching the same program recognize me? The bride in the picture beamed photogenic. Her porcelain complexion, blonde hair, and designer dress looked so different from the woman in the mirror. Other than her eyes, which Claire immediately diverted to the floor, the differences outnumbered the similarities.
Her thoughts swirled as she rode the elevator to the fourth floor. Entering the condominium, she called to Amber -- no answer. She’s probably already left for work. Claire sat at the kitchen table. Ignoring the perspiration dripping down her back and between her breasts, and booted up her new laptop. While the PC came to life, she searched for her telephones. She actually had two! It was probably silly, but she had her real iPhone with a blocked number and a pay as you go phone. The latter was used to communicate with Emily and Courtney. Claire was trying to stay under the radar. Her iPhone was on her bedside stand, but she couldn’t find the other, which was strange. That phone rarely left her side, being her primary source of communication with her sister. The two siblings were working on their relationship. They’d talked more during the past two weeks than in years.
Back in the kitchen, she drank a glass of water, made a cup of coffee, and began to read the homepage. She saw two photos: her wedding picture and the cover of Vanity Fair. Her stomach twisted as she read the article. It divulged her public life during the last two and a half years: her marriage, lack of prenuptial agreement, lavish trips, high-end shopping, charge of attempted murder, plea of no contest, and sentencing. As she began the part about the pardon, she heard the front door. Turning to the source, Claire watched as Harry came toward her. His liquid blue eyes flooded with compassion. Obviously he’s seen the news. He held her other telephone in his outstretched hand.
Trying to sound strong she took the phone, “Thank you, I guess I left that at your place last night.” Amber may have better food, but Harry had the better television. Last night the three of them watched a Lakers game at Harry’s. Claire wasn’t really a basketball fan, which goes against her Indiana roots. It’s just that the Hoosier glory days were before her time. She’d heard stories, but they never ignited a passion for the sport.
Her expression, the moisture in her eyes, and her obvious interruption from a work-out, told Harry Claire saw the news. Handing her the telephone he said, “This keeps chirping, I think your battery is about to die.” He looked into her green eyes, “Claire, are you all right?”
She sat straighter. “Yes, I’m fine. Thank you for asking.”
His compassion changed to surprise, “Oh, I just worried that … well, when I saw the news… all right.” He turned back to the coffee machine.
Claire checked the telephone – two text messages and one voice mail. She checked the texts. The first was from Courtney, sent at 10:45 PM last night – TONY JUST LEARNED YOU’RE OUT OF PRISON. YELLING AT BRENT. NOT HAPPY. WANTS ANSWERS. LOVE YOU. WILL TELL MORE WHEN I CAN. STAY SAFE. Claire stared at the screen. Why didn’t I see this last night? She didn’t hear it beep with the game. Fear swept through her in a wave as her heart beat wildly in her ears.
“Claire, what does it say?”
She looked from the screen to Harry and shook her head. She tried to hide her fear, but she couldn’t hide the tears slipping from her eyes. She hit another button and continued to read.
Sniffing, she wiped her eyes, tried to appear composed, and read through blurred vision. The time read 6 AM - only two hours ago, also from Courtney, PRIVATE DETEC TRYING TO FIND YOU. KNOWS ABOUT CANCELLED TIX TO SAN FRAN. CHECKING OUT INDIANA. CHECKING EMILYS PHONE RECORDS. HEARD TONY’S VOICE W/ BRENT. NOT HAPPY!!!! BE CAREFUL.
Silently, Harry stood motionless, intently watching Claire’s every move.
“I’m sorry,” she offered, “I need to check this voice mail.” She didn’t want to answer his what question, and hoped he’d leave her alone to listen. He didn’t, although he went back to his coffee on the counter and gave her some space. Claire activated her voice mail and listened to Emily’s voice:
“Claire, it’s a little after four in the morning here. That’s what? Two there, I think. I know you’re asleep but you need to know, I just got a call at this hour, from some man named Roach. He said he’s a private investigator working for a mutual friend. He said you may be in danger and needs to know your location, for your protection, he said. I didn’t believe him. Please call and tell me you’re safe.” Claire’s tears multiplied as she listened to her sister’s scared voice. “He said he knows I’ve been talking to a disposable phone in California and asked if it’s you. I just kept saying, I don’t know where she is and I have no other comment. Finally, I hung-up on him. Can they really look into my phone records? I’ll get one of those phones too. I’ll call you later with the number… so even though you don’t recognize it, please answer. I love you, and I really do believe all you’ve told me. Let me know you’re safe. Bye.”
Warnings and alarms rushed through Claire’s mind as time stood still. Her body involuntarily sought to run -- the flight instinct. However, that monologue had been talked to death -- run where? She’d started a life. Therefore, flight wasn’t an option. Therefore, biology told her to fight. Not physically, Claire knew that wasn’t possible. This scenario was what she’d hoped to avoid. The text messages and voicemail confirmed her fear.
Naïvely she’d hoped -- no prayed -- since she hadn’t heard anything for two weeks, maybe Tony would just let her go. It may’ve been fantasy, but the two week reprieve was heavenly.
Claire stood to go to her room. She would finish the article on her laptop, later.
Harry tried again, “Claire, please tell me what’s happening.”
“Nothing, I’m fine.” She made to the hallway before Harry touched her shoulder.
The contact initiated an immediate flinch. Straightening her spine, she spun to face him. A look of terror and panic filled her beautiful eyes. The expression shocked him. Harry expected sad or maybe mad, but what he saw was unbridled fear. It took his breath away. While an investigator for the Bureau he’d seen that look. Without thinking, he asked, “What did he do to you?”
Her eyes muted, a haze covered the brief glimpse into her true feelings. Claire’s countenance turned stoic. “Harry, I need to take a shower. Thank you for checking on me. I’m fine, and I know you need to get to SiJo.” Mustering a forced grin she continued, “I hear your boss is getting upset about all your recent time off.”
He wanted to question her. Inquisition procedures were his specialty. However, she wasn’t a suspect. She was his sister’s friend – no, his friend. During the past two weeks they’d spent countless hours working as a team to put pieces of her life back together. He knew about the box of memories Anthony Rawlings sent her. He knew she looked like a child at Christmas when she purchased a telephone. He knew she did not attempt to murder her ex-husband. Of course, that was just Claire’s word, but Harry believed her.