She cut him off, “I have no proof of my ownership. I will take them …”
“Ms. Nichols, may I ask Mr. Nichols’s first name?”
Claire hesitated. “Mr. Pulvara, am I certain of your confidentiality?”
“Of course, I would not have the customers and reputation I currently enjoy without complete confidentiality.”
“Forgive me, but I would like that in writing. I don’t want to see on tomorrow’s news that I sold my wedding rings.” She recognized such information could make headlines.
“That can certainly be arranged. Now Mr. Nichols?”
“Nichols is my maiden name. My married name was Rawlings, as in Mrs. Anthony Rawlings.”
The broker stood silently for a few seconds taking in her words and looking at her anew. Claire watched as the light of recognition filled his eyes. “Ms. Nichols, you’ve changed your hair since your wedding. I saw a picture today…”
“Yes, Mr. Pulvara, many things have changed since my wedding, including my desire to wear these rings. Are you interested in assessing their value and sharing that amount with me?”
“Please, Ms. Nichols, have a seat and allow me some time. May I remove the stones from the settings?”
“If I do not like your price, will you put them back?”
“Of course.”
Claire saw chairs against the wall. She nodded to the broker, sat, and watched as he weighed, measured, and performed other tests. Then he consulted his computer and made notes. Claire remembered Vanity Fair estimated the value of her engagement ring around $400,000. She honestly had no idea if that was accurate or sensationalism. If it were accurate, it would make one bit of information in that article factual.
Almost forty minutes later, Mr. Pulvara finally spoke, “Ms. Nichols, if you would please join me, I’ll explain my appraisal.”
Claire stepped from the bank onto the sunshine warmed afternoon sidewalk. The multitude of people filled her with exhilaration. She’d just met with the bank’s investment specialist and diversified her new found riches. Employment was still desired. However, the need was no longer dire. Tony’s desire for quality and appearance now allowed Claire time. It was the time she would use to complete her research.
Before entering the parking garage Claire removed her iPhone, checked the time, 4:32 PM and typed a text: IS ANYONE AVAILABLE TO CELEBRATE? DINNER IS ON ME! She entered Amber and Harry as recipients and hit: SEND.
A few hours later the three sat chatting at an authentic Brazilian steakhouse in the heart of downtown Palo Alto. Neither Amber nor Harry argued with Claire’s declaration to purchase dinner. They ordered wine, read the menu, and debated appetizers and entrees. Although they were surrounded by other patrons, the three talked and laughed about their day’s activities. Their goblets touched in a toast to Claire’s transaction.
Amber entertained them with multiple stories of SiJo focus groups. Apparently a recent group had extreme varied opinions on one of their newest games. It amused Claire how Amber could laugh about negative reviews and joke about comments. That wasn’t to say the creators didn’t consider the opinions of the focus groups. They did.
As their celebration concluded and Claire added cream to her coffee, her disposable cellphone buzzed. Pulling it from her purse, she apologized, “I’m so sorry, but this is probably Emily. She said she’s getting a new phone. I need to answer it.” Her chair scooted back as she hit the CALL button. She hadn’t noticed the number on the screen as she said, “Hi.”
Claire intended to move to a hall or outside to speak, but the voice in her ear caused her knees to buckle and her face to blanch. She recognized it immediately, “Good Evening, Claire.”
She collapsed into her chair. Both Amber and Harry watched in horror. “Are you all right?” They asked in unison.
Claire managed to shake her head. No, she wasn’t all right. She still hadn’t spoken.
The husky, deep, baritone voice coming through the ear piece did. “Now Claire, we’ve been through this before. It is customary for one person to respond to the greeting of another. I said, good evening.”
“Hello,” she managed, finding her voice. It was difficult to allow her voice to exit while keeping her food down.
“Very good. I thought perhaps we would need to review common pleasantries.” Tony’s voice was smooth, strong, and domineering. She closed her eyes and saw him, looming near the fireplace in her suite. It wasn’t the Tony Rawlings she married. Her vision was of Anthony Rawlings, her captor. The time and place continuum shattered. She was no longer with her friends in a bustling restaurant; she was three years in the past. Visions played like Tony’s surveillance videos behind her closed lids as her body trembled.
Forcing her eyes to open, she searched for her friends. She fought to inhale as she sought desperately through a dense fog. Faceless people spoke. Their voices were a background din to the deep voice in her ear. Her head shook in response to her ex-husband’s comment. The movement was so slight that without the movement of her hair, it would have been unperceivable. Conversely, inside she shook vehemently. No, I can talk, review isn’t necessary.
Swallowing the overwhelming mixture of emotions and food fighting the natural peristalsis, she summoned a stronger voice. “Good bye, Tony.”
“Claire, you should know, I learned of your release less than twenty-four hours ago. As you can hear, I already have your telephone number. How long do you think it will take for me to learn your location?”
Sitting straight and squaring her shoulders she found strength. It was a strength she’d always possessed, but in the past it was used to keep Tony pacified. Today she used it to declare her thoughts. With each word, her voice gained resilience. “It seems you have lost the ability to perceive meaning. Good bye means this conversation is over. For the record, that includes future conversations. I’m sure you remember, once a discussion is closed, reopening it is not an option.”
The response came in the form of a laugh, a deep, resonating laugh, and then words. “I have always admired your strength. Such a brave speech from someone hiding across the country…” Claire didn’t hear any more. She removed the phone from her ear and hit END. The fog of isolation lifted; she saw the saucer sized eyes of her concerned friends.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be in the restroom.” Claire stood, “If you see the waiter, I believe I’m ready to leave.” She walked away from the table before her friends could voice questions. Halfway to the bathroom the trembling resumed and tears escaped her eyes. Nevertheless, not until she was inside the stall did she allow herself to take a ragged breath. Unintentionally, an audible sob seeped from her chest.
Again her purse vibrated. She needed to look; it could be Emily. The screen read Blocked Call. It stood to reason, if Emily were getting her own disposable phone, a blocked number wouldn’t be necessary. Claire hit ignore. Thirty seconds later the symbol indicating a text message appeared. Hesitantly she opened it. ONLY I CLOSE DISCUSSIONS. THIS ONE IS STILL OPEN. I LOOK FORWARD TO RESUMING IT IN PERSON…
I guess we are who we are for a lot of reasons. And maybe we'll never know most of them. But even if we don't have the power to choose where we come from, we can still choose where we go from there.