Truth - Romig Aleatha - Страница 25

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 cafe 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.