Truth (33 page)

Derek fought the desire to break his wife’s
trance. He realized the woman before him, on the floor with
darkened fingertips and bare feet was the love of his life. And
watching her in this state, almost drugged by her own creative
muse, was Derek’s favorite aphrodisiac. The scent of her perfume
mixed with charcoal filled his senses. Gripping the door jamb,
Derek stopped his impulse to nuzzle her sexy exposed neck.

They had a beautiful king sized bed, in a
large suite with a magnificent view on the other side of the condo.
However, as Derek stood watching, he fantasized about taking his
wife right there, right now on the wooden floor. Closing his eyes
Derek thought about Sophia’s gaze, as they made love. He imagined
her stunning gray eyes clouded with a blue haze as their passion
ignited. Sadly, Derek realized, he hadn’t seen those blue clouds
since New England.

That realization, combined with the woeful
reverberation of saxophone music prompted him to turn silently
toward the hallway. He couldn’t disturb her, not for his own
desires. Seeing her in her state of euphoria was enough. He eased
his way to their room and climbed into their large empty bed.
Derek’s only solace, as he drifted off to sleep, was that Sophia
was once again drawing.

The linen page filled with different shades
of black and gray. Sophia bought colored chalk at the supply store,
but charcoal seemed more appropriate. She wasn’t sure what
propelled her to the art supplies store in Palo Alto. Perhaps it
was her desire to see the numerous art studios in that area
boasting wonderful exhibits. After all she’d received a postcard
inviting her to one of the exhibits. It wasn’t really to her. It
was one of those promotional mailings, but it intrigued her. While
perusing the displays, she felt the familiar desire to create. It
was so overpowering she couldn’t resist any longer.

It wasn’t that she’d been
resisting. It was more like she’d put it away -- somewhere. Since
coming to California there were more important things to do. She
needed to be
Mrs. Derek
Burke
. No, she
wanted
to be. However, with each
passing day, Sophia questioned if she wanted to be Mrs. Derek Burke
for her or for him. As an executive in a large and upcoming
company, didn’t he deserve that? The pretense was draining. Sophia
constantly argued with herself... if she
wanted
to be what Derek wanted, than
why did she feel so unhappy?

While in an art studio on Hamilton Avenue in
Palo Alto the curator approached, and they began talking. They
discussed the displayed pieces and debated the use of mediums and
color. With time Sophia revealed she too was an artist and
mentioned her studio in Provincetown and exhibitions in Europe.

The gentleman asked to see her portfolio. It
was at that moment Sophia realized it was still in Massachusetts.
That realization struck her with unseen force. Her portfolio -- her
life in synopsis -- was back on the Cape. She’d left her life to be
with Derek.

Some of her better works were accessible
through her website. She typed in the address and showed Mr. George
her art. He appeared more than impressed.

“
Mrs. Burke, I like your
work. It has a fresh raw quality.”

“
Thank you Mr. George.
Please call me Sophia.”

“
I want you to know this
is out of character, to offer a position to someone without
checking references, but I’ve recently found myself in need of a
trusted employee.” Sophia listened, “I have space in the back where
you could create, but mostly I need someone to look after the
studio a few hours during the day. It would also require the
occasional evening and weekend.”

Sophia didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t
been looking for a job. Nonetheless, the past two weeks she’d felt
like a fish out of water. The idea of being surrounded by art
thrilled her. But at the same time, she knew Derek didn’t want her
to work. He wanted her to be free to create. She wished she could
explain how her new found freedom felt stifling.

“
Mr. George, I’m honored.
I really should discuss this with my husband. And you should know I
plan to make some short trips to Provincetown during the summer. I
hate having my studio closed throughout the busy time of
year.”

“
I understand. We can meet
again to determine if details can be worked out. Would you consider
shipping some of your work here, for display?”

She couldn’t help beam. It would have been
impossible to hide the smile. “I’m truly honored. I’ll give it all
serious consideration. Could I please contact you tomorrow?”

They made the necessary arrangements and
Sophia took his number. The renewed excitement gave her the
strength to purchase new supplies. She couldn’t wait to tell Derek.
However, he called and told her he wouldn’t be home for dinner.
Then there was the text message explaining his meeting was going
longer than expected. She tried to busy herself while she
waited.

Sometime during the evening Sophia found
herself in the room he’d planned as her studio. Looking around she
knew it needed to be organized. However, as she began removing the
new items from the bags, she gave in to impulse. Although new, the
charcoal felt smooth and amazing under her fingertips. Without
thought or provocation she surrendered to the desire, and began to
draw.

When the white page was no longer white, she
sat back and looked at the whole of what she’d created. It was a
beach with rolling clouds and rough seas, no place in particular
and yet -- East Coast. Looking around the cluttered room Sophia
wondered about the time. Surely Derek should be home by now. Making
her way down the hall she found his shoes by the door. Sadness
swelled in her chest, a muffled sob escaped her lips when she
discovered him sleeping alone in their bed. Why didn’t he come down
to her?

Softly she shut the door to their bedroom
and went back to the other hall. Next to her studio was another
room, a spare bedroom, decorated with light colors and natural
textures, for visiting friends and family. As she eased herself
into the cool sheets and inhaled the fresh newness surrounding her,
her thoughts traveled across the country to their cottage on the
Cape. No matter how hard she worked to eliminate the scent of age,
it lingered below the surface. It probably was a combination of
sea, moisture, and mildew. The ingredients sounded foul, yet it
wasn’t. Lying on the new bed, in the newly painted room, she longed
for that fragrance. Allowing quiet tears to escape her eyes and
moisten the soft pillow case, she drifted into a restless
sleep.

Be who you are and say what
you fee
because those who mind don't matter
and those who matter don't mind.
–
Dr. Seuss

Chapter
21

When Claire looked into Harry’s tired, sad
eyes, her anxiety melted into relief. She flung her arms flung
around his neck and buried her face into his chest. She’d never
expected to be so concerned, but she was. Her muffled words flowed
without hesitation, “I just got your text. I was so worried. I was
going to find you; to be sure you were okay.”

Slowly his arms encircled her frame and his
chin settled upon her head. “I am.”

She led him into the apartment and offered
him something to drink. He asked for water then changed his mind to
wine. She attentively tended to his needs, as he explained what
transpired.

“
I would’ve been here
sooner, but just as I was about to leave SiJo, we had multiple
false alarms. I have no idea what was happening. We had sensors
indicating people where there were no people. Sensors ignoring
people where there were people.” He rolled his shoulders in an
attempt to release his pent-up stress and continued, “I know it’s a
computer glitch. I probably could’ve figured it out, but honestly,
I wanted to get here. So, I left Jackson to deal with it and headed
home.” He emptied his glass of wine. Claire refilled it and
returned it to his hand. After a few sips he continued.

“
You know, usually Palo
Alto is quiet and calm.” Claire nodded. She didn’t have a clue how
Palo Alto was
usually
, but in her short time it fit the description -- calm. He
went on, “I was almost home, on Hamilton, when this car pulled out
of a parking space. It was like some kind of movie, happening fast,
yet in slow motion.” He finished the wine, placed the glass on the
nearby table, and took Claire’s hands. “I don’t mean to sound vain,
but if it wasn’t for my quick reactions, I think I would’ve been
the one placed in that ambulance.” He squeezed Claire’s hands as
she remained silent, “Honestly, I wasn’t paying attention. I was
thinking about you and our talk. When everything happened, I just
reacted.”

Claire wanted to know about that talk, but
he needed to discuss the accident.

“
Before I knew it, this
car pulled out of a parking space, heading the other direction, and
then this taxi came up on my right. There wasn’t really a lane. He
must have been in a hurry.” Harry closed his eyes and watched his
private recall. Finally he spoke, “The car in front of me swerved,
I hit the brakes, and the taxi moved into my spot. Suddenly, the
car from the parking spot went into the oncoming lane and collided
head on with the taxi. The driver of the car from the parking space
was a young girl, only sixteen. I don’t know if she hit the gas
instead of the brake.” He shook his head solemnly, “We’ll never
know.”

Claire took a drink of her
wine, definitely not a
sip
. She thought about Harry’s
words,
if it wasn’t for my quick
reaction
.... She’d experienced too many
questionable situations to believe in coincidence. Finally she
asked, “How is the taxi driver?”

“
Distraught and injured,
but not life threatening. He was on his way to a fare; so he didn’t
have a passenger.” Claire kissed Harry’s cheek and asked if he
wanted more wine or if perhaps he was ready for some dinner. When
he nodded, she led him by the hand into the kitchen.

He looked around at the set table and pans
on the stove top. “I’m sorry, I messed up your dinner. It smells
wonderful.”

She smiled a wary smile, “I don’t think my
dinner’s as important as you. You’re okay, that’s what matters.”
She squeezed his hand. “Why don’t you pour us some more wine and
start your salad. I’ll warm up this food. It’ll be fine.”

He continued to talk about the accident as
Claire warmed the fish in the microwave and heated the sauce on the
stove. Next, she refilled the sauce pan for the asparagus. As the
faucet gushed water she heard Harry’s voice, but her mind filled
with other words -- Tony asking, “Who was the expected recipient of
that dazzling smile?”

Tears came to her eyes as the realization
struck. Her presence wasn’t making Amber and Harry’s life more
exciting; she was putting them in danger.

The memories of her parents and Simon’s
untimely deaths paralyzed her movements. Water overflowed the pan
as she stood motionless staring at the tiled backsplash. It wasn’t
the mosaic design holding her trance; it was her new thoughts about
Amber. She’s flying home tomorrow from meetings in Houston. Simon
died in a plane crash. Claire’s heart began to beat
erratically.

Harry appeared behind her. So deep in her
sudden rational or irrational terror, she didn’t hear him approach.
She jumped as he grasped her shoulders. As if from a tunnel she
heard his voice, echoing against the cavern walls, or maybe he was
repeating himself, “Claire are you all right? Claire, Claire are
you all right?”

Her grip on the handle of the pan failed.
The metal pot fell to the depths of the sink as water droplets
splashed violently coating the tile, granite, and porcelain. Her
body trembled as she tried to speak, “It’s me. I have to leave. We
need to call Amber.”

“
What’s you? What are you
talking about?” Harry tried to calm her; however, she barely heard
his words through the commotion within her head.

Finally in desperation she screamed, “Call
Amber, now!”

Still unsure of the reason for Claire’s
sudden outburst, he turned off the water, reached for his phone and
led Claire’s unsteady body to the table. Harry dialed his sister.
Once the connection was established, he handed Claire the
phone.

Her words ran together as she tried to
explain everything to Amber. Claire told her about Harry’s
accident, about Tony’s visit, and about her fear. Harry listened to
every word. When she spoke about Tony visiting the condominium,
Claire saw his neck stiffen and jaw clench. She pushed on.

Amber listened to what some might consider a
mad rant. As Claire finished, her voice slowed, reflecting her
utter exhaustion. She listened to Amber’s steady voice of reason as
tears slipped from her downcast eyes. Her fatigue wasn’t physical;
she’d slept until after five. It was psychological. All of the
research was well and good. She could plan and possibly implement a
great demise. However, none of that mattered, if her friends were
lost in battle.

Only after Amber promised a thorough
inspection of the SiJo plane prior to departure, did Claire hand
Harry back his phone. Harry spoke to his sister for a few moments,
hung up, and reached for Claire.

She wanted his embrace, his comfort and
support. Nevertheless, she knew if she took what he offered, she’d
in fact be condemning him. Resolving to keep him safe, she stiffly
returned his embrace. With her head safely against his chest the
trembling ceased. She started to speak, but Harry spoke first.