Convicted by Aleatha Romig
“Yes, and I’ll bring more color! We’ll get this room to reflect how much better you’re doing!”
“Oh”—“I’d like that.” Closing her eyes, Claire added, “I wish...”
Meredith waited for Claire’s voice to regain strength. When it didn’t, she asked, “What do you wish?”
“You’ve done too much”—“I can’t”—“ask for more.”
Meredith lifted Claire’s chin until their eyes met. “You saved me from jail today; what do you wish?”
“For the gray”—“to go away.”
“It will. Each day, we’ll make everything more colorful.”
Claire shook her head. “No”—“the gray in my hair”—“I’m not that old”—“What will Nichol think?”
Meredith smiled. “Oh, honey, I’ll be back tomorrow, and we’ll bring color back to your hair. What color do you want to be?” With a grin, she added, “More pink?”
With her head settled on her pillows, a faint smile came to Claire’s lips. “No, I like brown”—“I like brown”—“a lot.” Her eyes closed.
Meredith set the box on the floor, placed the pillows next to Claire and covered her with a blanket. Gathering Claire’s dinner dishes, she thought about Claire’s words. Yes, Meredith remembered the stories of Claire’s hair. She also knew the color of Tony’s eyes. It went without saying—Claire definitely liked brown.
Tomorrow, Meredith had a new goal—Claire’s hair would return to the beautiful shiny chestnut color she had in college. As she turned off the light and closed Claire’s door, Meredith giggled. Her job description was ever changing—soon she could add beautician to her résumé.
It's not so important who starts the game but who finishes it.
—John Wooden
The tropical sky darkened; hues of orange and red faded to black. Tony looked out toward the now calm sea as the ball of fire which warmed their world, once again, found its home below the horizon. As evidence of the ravaging the sea had endured at the hands of the tropical storm, seaweed and driftwood littered the normally pristine white sand surrounding the lagoon. The shore wasn’t its only victim. Palm trees lay precariously strewn across paths, over one another, all around the island, downed by the strong winds.
Tony paced between the windows and Claire’s delivery bed. Their mattress needed to be replaced, what difference did it make if their baby was born upon it? Madeline exchanged the cool compress on Claire’s forehead for a cooler one and fed Claire ice chips. Tony watched; however, his attention was divided between his wife and the men he’d sent out to sea. Every so often, he’d look out toward the water hoping—praying—for signs of Francis and Phil. Nearly two hours earlier, he’d received a call saying they were on their way back with Dr. Gilbert. The trip usually lasted thirty to forty minutes, so they should’ve arrived over an hour ago. Occasionally, Tony’s gaze would meet Madeline’s. Though she didn’t say a word, he knew by her furrowed brow that she too was worried. He just didn’t know if it were solely because of Francis, who’d warned them hundreds of times about navigating a boat after dark, or if it was also about Claire.
Claire’s stifled cries brought Tony away from the reflective glass panes to their brightly lit suite. Every light in their room was on, along with multiple additional lamps that Tony had retrieved from around the house. Claire’s contractions were occurring closer and closer together. He knelt beside her bed, kissed her cheek, and waited for her response. One moment, she wanted him near—the next moment, she didn’t want to be touched. At one time during the evening, Madeline cornered Tony in the bathroom, while he dampened more cloths for Claire’s head. “Monsieur, what Madame el is saying and feeling, it is normal. She needs you to stay strong.”
Tony nodded. He didn’t know what normal was anymore. His whole world was different than he’d ever foreseen. The addition of their child would only further propel it into an oblivion he never before knew existed, and as for strength—he could do that. It was his thing. If he could endure the pain he saw in Claire’s eyes in her stead, then he would without hesitation.
“You don’t have to be strong,” Tony encouraged. “Scream if you need to scream.” This time, she took his hand and squeezed. For a moment, he considered screaming. Never before had his petite, gentle wife exhibited so much strength. He worried the bones in his fingers may not survive; and then all at once, her grip lessened and the clouds of pain floated away revealing shiny emerald eyes as tears slipped down her cheeks.
“Where’s Dr. Gilbert?”
“He’ll be here soon.” Did he sound confident? Tony hoped he did. He tried multiple times to contact Phil by phone, but Tony knew the phones had poor reception when out to sea. The only way to make contact was the two-way radio. The transmitter and receiver were in the boathouse. Earlier, Tony mentioned going to the boathouse and trying to reach them, but Claire’s sudden look of panic stopped him in his tracks. She was determined that he needed to be with her. Didn’t she understand, he was useless, and Dr. Gilbert was the one she needed?
“Tony? Tony!?”
“I’m right here.”
Her face contorted as she made a sound he’d never heard.
“I’m right here. What can I do?” he asked.
Breathing through the pain, she spoke in but a whisper, “There’s so much pressure.”
Madeline lifted the sheet and felt between Claire’s legs. When her hand emerged, it was covered in blood. Tony felt his own blood drain from his face. Mercifully, he was on his knees. If he’d been standing, Tony feared his show of strength would fail as he’d be prone on the floor.
Madeline looked directly into his eyes. “Monsieur, we’re going to bring your bébé into this world.”
Tony nodded—at least he thought he did.
Madeline emphasized, “Now, Monsieur!”
Claire screamed as Madeline, once again, explored below the sheet.
Although Madeline’s voice was calm, her words took the air from Tony’s lungs. “I’m not feeling your bébé’s head. It’s too soft. She’s coming bottom first!”
Before he could respond, Claire’s hoarse voice pleaded, “Oh, please, please help my baby.”
Tony soothed her forehead with his hand, unsure what else to do. “Madeline, tell me what to do.”
“Let me see your hands, Monsieur.”
He did as she asked and held up his hands.
“Too large—I will help your child come. I worry about the cord. Did the doctor ever mention breach?”
Claire shook her head, tears flowing easier than words. “No, but the last ultrasound was almost two months ago.”
“She has turned, but it is all right. Many women deliver bébés this way. I worry about pulling if the cord is where it should not be.”
Claire’s breath was a ragged plea, “Please...I don’t care about me, save my baby.”
The hair on Tony’s neck stood to attention. “I care! We will save both of you!”
Before he finished declaring, Claire screamed again. The sound echoed through the house and over the island. Blood now covered Madeline’s hands and arms. Tony saw splashes on the front of her dress.
Madeline instructed, “Go to the kitchen; in the cabinet near the stove there is a case. It is brown. Bring it to me.”
Tony looked down into Claire’s now clouded eyes. Again, she cried out.
“I’ll be right back,” he promised as he kissed Claire’s damp head and stepped away. Rounding the end of the bed, Tony’s shoe slipped on the wooden floor. Looking down, he stopped. On the floor, seeping into the cracks between the bamboo planks, he saw a puddle of blood.
“Go, hurry!” Madeline’s command propelled his stilled feet.
Tony wasn’t well-versed on anything in a kitchen; however, he knew a stove and a cabinet. Flinging open the doors he found a brown case. When he opened the case, his heart stopped beating. The cutlery was shiny and clean with sharp looking blades. Bile rose in his throat as he imagined one of these knives being used o
When he entered the brightly lit room, Claire’s eyes were closed and her chin rested against her chest. “What happened? What did you do?”
“Nothing, Monsieur, it’s her body. It knows. Her muscles must relax, and this way, she will not feel the pain. Please open the case.”
He did.
“That one, with the shorter blade”—then she saw the bottle—“Pour the bourbon over the blade.”
He wasn’t sure how he managed to move. Everything was on high alert, yet in slow motion at the same time. The red filling their room wasn’t that of anger—it was Claire’s blood. Tony wanted it all to stop.
As he handed the knife to Madeline, their eyes met. “Monsieur, I’m doing my best to save your child.”
“And my wife, Madeline—save my wife.”
She nodded.
At that moment, they heard the voices on the lanai. Turning, the doors to their suite opened and they saw Francis, Phil, and Dr. Gilbert. Francis said something about trees blocking their way as the doctor entered and assessed the scene. Looking to Tony, he said, “Mr. Rawlings, I need to wash my hands. Follow me and tell me everything.”
It was the abridged version—they didn’t have time for a full length novel. Tony emphasized the main points—Claire’s water broke roughly twenty-four hours ago—the contractions returned about six hours ago and had gained in intensity over the last two hours—she’d lost what appeared to be a lot of blood—had recently gone unconscious—and Madeline believed the baby was breach.
Dr. Gilbert nodded as he opened his bag. With a paper gown covering his clothes and surgical gloves over his hands, he took Madeline’s place at the end of the bed. When he eyed the knives, he nodded toward Madeline. “You have good instincts. Go wash your hands; I need an assistant.”
Tony moved to Claire’s head and stayed at her side. He talked in her ear and smoothed her perspiration drenched hair from her face. With all of his might, he tried not to listen to Dr. Gilbert and Madeline’s words. This wasn’t his personality. He was a take-charge person, a man who demanded all of the facts. Right now, he wanted to pretend everything was all right, especially when Dr. Gilbert asked, “Mr. Rawlings, I hope it won’t come to this; however, if you must choose between your wife and your child, what is your decision?”
How can anyone answer such a question? The life of the woman he loved more than life itself or the life of an innocent child who’d never experienced the world. Inhaling deeply, Tony looked Dr. Gilbert directly in the eye, and despite his new feeling of impotence, found his CEO voice, “Doctor, that decision will not be necessary. You will save them both.”
There wasn’t time to debate. Claire’s body continued to contract. Although she was unconscious, her muscles worked to expel their child. Tony heard the awful pop, sounding much like the puncturing of a piece of plastic. Burying his face in Claire’s shoulder he spoke—about what—he didn’t know. He talked about walks, lakes, and beaches. In the background, he heard a suctioning sound and the call for a scalpel. It wasn’t until he heard the cry of a baby, while still feeling the drum of Claire’s pulse under his fingertips, that he had the strength to lift his head.
In Dr. Gilbert’s hands, with Madeline gently wiping it clean, was the pinkest, most beautiful baby Tony had ever seen. He’d told himself that, if he needed to decide, it would have been Claire. He knew that was the way he would have gone. Once again, his life was a contradiction. He still would have chosen Claire; however, seeing the round face, tightly shut eyes, and open mouth—his body shuddered with relief, thankful he hadn’t been forced to make that decision.
Above the loud and proud wails of his child, Madeline proclaimed, “Monsieur, welcome your daughter.”
Before he could move, he squeezed Claire’s hand. “Doctor, is Claire..?” His voice trailed away, as he was unable to finish his question.
“She’s lost a lot of blood, as you said; but I believe once we deliver the placenta, place some stitches, and get her some fluids; your wife will be okay.”
With that reassurance, Tony stepped toward Madeline who now held his perfect baby girl wrapped in a blanket. Her eyes were shut, and she appeared content with the new warmth. The top of her small head had a thin layer of dark brown hair. Leaning near, Tony cooed, “Hello, my princess. I’m your daddy.”
The angst of the last few hours dissipated as Tony moved the rocking chair from the nursery and placed it near Claire’s head. After he washed his hands, he sat and Madeline placed their bundle of joy in his arms. Never had Tony imagined another woman taking residence in his heart. It belonged to Claire and had for a very long time. Once again, he’d been wrong. It wasn’t that the little girl he held replaced her mother—that wasn’t possible. No, this little girl expanded his heart, making her own space. It seemed unbelievable that his heart could grow—it wasn’t that long ago that Tony didn’t even know it existed. Gently, Tony kissed his daughter’s forehead and watched her nose crinkle.
“Monsieur, what is her name?” Madeline asked with anticipation.
“We’ll wait until Claire awakes. We never pinpointed one girl’s name.”
Tony saw the exchange of looks between Madeline and Dr. Gilbert. Dr. Gilbert explained their concern, “Mr. Rawlings, it’s almost midnight. The people of these islands are strong in their traditions and beliefs. No child should enter the next day without their proper name. It’ll bring uncertainty and unhappiness to the rest of its life.”
Tony looked at his watch; it was 11:53 PM. His mind went back over all of their naming discussions. They had gone through list after list of names. She’d said Blaine could be for a girl too, but that didn’t feel right. The conversation that came to Tony’s tired mind was one from when he first arrived on the island. This baby, he’d said, won’t be a Rawls or a Nichols but a Rawlings. She was a Rawlings; nevertheless, Rawls was part of Rawlings no matter how much Tony tried to run or hide from the fact, and his daughter was also a Nichols, something he wanted her to know with pride. Clearing his throat, Tony looked up at Madeline and Dr. Gilbert’s expectant eyes, and said, “May I introduce our daughter, Nichol Courtney Rawlings.”
Madeline’s smile beamed, reaffirming the joy that now filled the suite.
When Claire awoke, she was lying on a bed in her room. Somehow, she knew it wasn’t their bed, but nonetheless, next to her propped against the headboard was her husband. When she turned toward him, her eyes opened wide and her lungs forgot to inhale. In his arms, wrapped in a blanket was a sleeping baby. With tears streaming down her cheeks, Claire lifted her head. Her body ached, yet she could move without effort. “I did it?” she asked as his tired eyes met hers. The soft chocolate color drew her nearer.
“Yes, Mrs. Rawlings, you did.” He leaned down and their lips met. Looking lovingly into her eyes, he added, “You did a superb job.”
Claire righted herself to sit beside her family. In the bend of her right arm was the too familiar pinch of an IV. Choosing to ignore the painful sensation, Claire concentrated on her family. Despite Tony’s obvious exhaustion, she saw the pride behind his expression. Once again, Tony brushed his lips against hers before he placed their baby in her arms. “May I introduce our daughter?”
Claire’s heart melted. “A girl—M—Madeline was right.”
Shaking his head, Tony replied, “I don’t think she should ever be doubted again.”
“We didn’t decide on a girl’s name.” Claire’s words came as she gently unwrapped the blanket, exposing the present she’d been carrying for nine months.
“She has a name.”
Claire looked up. “Oh?”
“There’s some island wives’ tale that forbids the changing to the next day
Claire tried to grasp the reality of not only having a daughter, but that she was already named. “Is it Raquel?” It had been his go-to name in all their debates.
“No, I wanted a name that would unite our family; one that said the Rawls vendetta is over.”
Claire didn’t know what to say. Tony’s words were more emotion filled than she could remember hearing. “What is it? What name did you choose?”
“Nichol.” Tony’s eyes begged for understanding.
Claire’s lips parted and her eyes sparkled. The game was done—no more strategizing or manipulating; instead of declaring a winner, they’d called it even. Their daughter’s name was Claire’s ultimate prize. Claire’s heart filled with pride. Immediately, she knew it was Tony’s way of telling their daughter she was both a Nichols and a Rawlings. “Oh, Tony, I love it! We never even talked about that.”
Tony’s chest moved as he exhaled with relief. “Nichol Courtney Rawlings.”
It was the most beautiful name she’d ever heard. As Nichol’s eyes opened and Claire saw the chocolate brown she loved, she whispered, “I wanted your eyes. You wanted a girl. We’ve been blessed with both of our wishes.” Nichol’s mouth rooted toward Claire’s breast.
Tony’s eyes drifted closed as his head fell back to the wall. It had been a long forty-eight hours. Before he fell asleep, Claire heard him say, “A wish, a dream, a miracle—Whatever it is, it’s real.”
It has been said, ‘time heals all wounds.’ I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone.