Truth (16 page)

When it appeared she was done, Sophia spoke,
“Hello, I’m his daughter. Can you please tell me how he’s
doing?”

Gabby checked her notes. “Can you tell me
your name; I need to verify you’re on the list.” (Her R sounded
like a W... a reassuring inflection to someone raised near the
Borough)

“
Sophia Rossi
Burke.”

Gabby double checked her notes. “Yes,
Sophia. Is your mother near?”

“
Yes, she’s with my
husband in the cafeteria.”

“
Do you expect her to
return soon?”

“
I do... what time is
it?”

Gabby checked her watch, “It’s almost eight
thirty. The doctor is doing her final rounds. I’ll tell her you’re
here, and she’ll inform you of your father’s progress.”

His voice sounded groggy,
but Sophia would recognize that deep gargle anywhere. “If your
talk’n bout me, you might as well talk
to
me.”

Sophia’s smile filled her face while the
pent-up tears slid over her raised cheeks. Both women turned toward
the bed. Carlo continued, “And what in Sam Hill are all these damn
tubes. I don’t need damn tubes. I want them out!”

Sophia hurried to his side and threw her
arms around his neck. “Pop, you’re awake?!”

“
Damn right I’m awake.
Where’s your mother? And why aren’t you with that husband of
yours?”

“
Mom’s with Derek in the
cafeteria. She’s been by your side the whole time. We finally
convinced her to get something to eat.”

Carlo nodded approvingly at his baby
girl.

Gabby interrupted long enough to lift
Carlo’s bed so he sat up, asked a few questions, and promised to
send the doctor. Once they were alone Sophia held her father’s hand
and looked him square in the eye. “Pop, what happened? How did you
crash your car?”

Carlo returned her gaze, “My car? I don’t
remember.”

She tried to reassure him, “It’s fine, just
rest.”

“
It’s not fine, Sophie.
You’re saying I crashed my car? Is Silvia all right?”

“
Yes, Pop. She wasn’t with
you. You were alone... out by Sourland Mountain
Reserve.”

Sophia watched as Carlo eyes closed. Finally
he spoke, “I... I’m... I just don’t remember. Sophie... don’t tell
your momma. I don’t want her thinking I can’t remember. Baby, I
need you to help me with this. Tell me what happened so I can get
it straight.”

“
Pop, I don’t know. They
just found your car. You ran off the road and hit a tree. Your
right leg is broke, but not your hip. The doctor made a big deal
out of that. Momma’s been real worried. You also punctured a lung.
But the doctor said everything should heal just fine.”

“
What about the other
people, in the other car?”

“
Pop, what other
car?”

“
That one that started to
pass and pushed me off the road.”

Sophia stared at her father. “Pop, do you
remember another car?”

Carlo looked at his hand. He followed the IV
line up to the dangling bag. “What’s this shit they’re pumping into
me? I can’t think straight!”

“
I think it’s pain
medicine.”

“
Sophie, get your
momma.”

She kissed his forehead. “If you promise not
to go anywhere,” she smiled, as big as she could, her eyes
twinkling.

“
Now tell me how in Sam
Hill I’m supposed to do that, with all this bloody crap hooked to
me.” Beneath the pale complexion and gruff exterior, Sophia saw her
father’s loving sense of humor.

“
Pop, I’ll get Momma. But,
I think you should know I’m not leaving until you’re
better!”

As Sophia turned toward the door, she once
again heard swoosh against the linoleum. The large barrier opened
and the sound of her mother’s voice filled the room.

“
Caa-ar-lo-oo!” Silva
cried, creating a four syllable word where there’d only been two.
Within seconds she was kissing his graying hair and fussing over
his blankets.

Sophia looked up to see Derek’s tired
quizzical expression. She took his hand and they walked into the
hall. The sound of her mother fretting and her father minimizing
elated Sophia. However, Derek’s sad eyes grounded her emotion.

“
Derek, what is it? Did
you speak to the doctor? Is there something I don’t
know?”

Derek shook his head. “No. It isn’t your
pop. It’s what you just said to him. Are you planning to stay here,
in Princeton?”

Sophia collapsed against the wall. “I don’t
know. I just can’t leave them.”

“
What about finding a
place to live in Santa Clara?”

“
We have a month. We don’t
need to fly out tomorrow.” She watched her husband’s neck and
shoulders stiffen. This was a new version of their one main
disagreement. He liked plans and details. Sophia lived in the
moment. This morning she would have willingly flown across the
country. However, things changed. Now she didn’t know when she’d be
ready. “Can I please not make a decision right now? It’s been a
very long day.”

He reached for her waist, pulled her closer,
and rested his chin on her head. “I have some bad news.”

She didn’t ask. Inhaling his aftershave and
listening to the beat of his heart, Sophia braced herself for the
bad news.

“
I tried to tell your mom
we’d get a hotel.” Sophia snickered into his shirt; she knew where
he was headed. He continued, “But, she wouldn’t hear of
it.”

“
Don’t tell me...” Her
tired gray eyes twinkled up to his sullen expression.

“
Yes, we’re sleeping in
your old room tonight.” His lips brushed her forehead and gently
kissed her nose. “So Darling, it’s
also
going to be a long
night.”

She molded into his comforting embrace and
thought about her cramped bedroom. It was great when she was ten,
but now... the standard bed was probably older than both of them
put together. “I think staying in my old room is your plan to make
me want to leave sooner.”

“
Is it working?” Derek
asked -- his brows elevated.

“
If Pop could get up and
walk, we’d be home by morning!”

Derek smiled as he held her close. “I can’t
take more than two nights in that old bed.”

“
Deal.” They reentered the
hospital room, hand in hand.

When one door of happiness
closes, another opens;
but often we look so long at the closed door
that we do not see the one which has opened for us.
- Helen Keller

Chapter
10

Most mornings Claire sat at the table,
perused the web, and waited for the others to arrive. She enjoyed
the quiet time, as much as the morning ritual of coffee and
pleasantries. Of course, she was usually the first in the kitchen;
after all, Amber and Harry needed to get ready for work. Claire
only needed to be dressed to workout.

Her options for
connectivity continued to expand. Whether she used her laptop, her
tablet, or her phones, she could stay in touch with the world,
anytime – anywhere. This also allowed her to see her personal life
laid out for everyone whenever she chose. Having technology denied
in past, she now felt compelled to read
everything
. And apparently since her
unusual prison release, Claire Rawlings Nichols was once again
deemed newsworthy.

Often her face would appear on the cover of
esteemed magazines, the kind which lined the check-out lanes of the
grocery stores. Today she saw her picture in a thumbnail on her
homepage. Still alone, Claire scanned the link and found the
corresponding article: The Rawlings Moving On. It claimed to
enlighten the reader on their lives after marriage, complete with
pictures. Tony appeared exquisitely dressed with a pretty woman on
his arm. According to the article, she was associated with a large
hospital in Iowa where her father was CEO and Administrator. The
article alluded to the implications of this affluent union, since
Mr. Anthony Rawlings was among the top contributors to the
hospital. In the opposing frame Claire sat with Harry eating at a
café in Palo Alto. According to the article Claire, left penniless,
was unemployed and living with Harrison Baldwin, a security guard
at SiJo.

The clicks of Amber’s heels upon the
hardwood combined with the opening and closing of the front door
brought life to the quiet kitchen. Looking up from her laptop,
Claire apologized, “I’m so sorry for bringing the two of you into
this media mess.”

Amber snickered, as she finished making her
cup of coffee, “I’ve never seen anything so ridiculous. I can’t
believe reporters think this is news!”

Leaning against the counter, Harry brushed
his tussled blonde hair from his eyes and puffed his chest. Claire
chuckled, the pictures and article before her forgotten. She found
it amusing, no matter the occasion, his golden curls continually
fell softly across his face. She wondered if he owned a comb or
brush, anything that could possibly tame his unruly mane.

Musingly she fought a new desire to reach
out and brush the curls away, to better see his soft blue eyes. The
impulse surprised Claire. She gripped the handle of her mug in an
effort to stop her hand. Thankfully, her momentary insanity went
completely unnoticed by Harry as he postured in preparation for his
speech.

In reality, only a second or two had
elapsed. However, the rush of blood to her cheeks made Claire lower
her face, in a feigned attempt to inspect the contents of her
ceramic mug. Slowly, she raised her eyes as Harry spoke, “Actually,
I saw today’s article, and I’m honored. I’ve never been a celebrity
before.”

Laughing, Amber brushed her brother’s
shoulder and glanced toward Claire with a sly smile, “Guess what,
Harry? You aren’t one now!” Amber started to walk back toward her
bedroom and turned to Claire, “Don’t worry about it. Life’s much
more exciting with you around.”

Avoiding Harry’s gaze,
Claire looked toward her computer’s homepage, until Harry’s jovial
voice brought her back to reality, “So, what do you think? Just in
case I end up in
People
magazine or something, is this shirt all right?
Or, do I need something nicer?”

She returned her gaze to the man before her.
From behind the soft curls she saw small lines surrounding his
sparkling cobalt eyes, and his cheeks raised in a boyish smirk.
Claire looked at his collarless black woven shirt with the SiJo
Gaming emblem. The shirt wasn’t tight but accentuated his muscular
abdomen, broad shoulders, and defined arms. Her eyes scrutinized
his attire as they descended to the khaki slacks emphasizing his
trim firm waist.

Slowly she realized he was teasing her.
“Actually, I think you should change.” Her smile radiated emerald
shimmers.

“
You do?”

“
Yes, maybe something like
the jeans you wore last night. You know the ones with holes – it
highlights my penniless status.”

With his grin in full gear, he reached out
and covered Claire’s hand. Never before had this familiarity
ignited the tightness she now felt. Claire fought between the
desire to turn her hand over and return the contact and the need to
pull away and run to her room. Seemingly unaware of her sudden
mixture of feelings, Harry said, “If I ever do live with a
penniless woman, I can only hope she has a portfolio like
yours.”

“
Oh, is that your only
requirement?” Her brows rose in question.

“
No…” his gaze captivated
her, holding her prisoner. “It’s probably the least of my
requirements. The first is that she doesn’t tell me what to
wear.”

Pulling her stare away, she nonchalantly
replied, “Hey, you asked. But, I guess that leaves me out. Should I
alert the press?”

He winked, “No, let me enjoy my fifteen
minutes for a while.”

Claire shook her head, “Okay, our secret
living arrangements are safe with me. Oh, and about fifty other
people who live in this building and know the truth.”

“
They won’t tell.” With
that Harry walked toward the front door, toward his true
home.

When the door closed, she
exhaled and scolded herself. The easy atmosphere of Amber and
Harry’s company was a gift. The last thing she wanted to do was
complicate it with feelings which surpassed
friendly
. In an attempt to dismiss
the unfamiliar tightness, she refocused on the article.

Claire knew she should
share the nonchalant attitude of Amber and Harry. It was only she’d
been taught an engrained fear of
public
failure, appearance,
and
opinion
. Unconsciously,
while out -- at a store, a café, or walking on the street -- Claire
found herself scanning the crowds for cameras. On some occasions
she would think she’d see one from her peripheral vision, and then
upon second glance, the perpetrator would disappear. The
photographers had to be there. How else could she grace so many
magazines? A new
laissez faire
perspective would take time.

Claire knew her
star status
would soon
extinguish. After all, California was inhabited by many famous
people. That meant if her story was to be newsworthy, she needed to
strike while the iron was hot. That was her thought process as she
reached for her telephone.