Consequences

from the corners of her eyes. “I want to think about now.”
    “But you should know—”
    “All I know is that I love you today. I hated you then. It is too much of a contrast for my mind to accept. I want to concentrate on today.”
    “I love you today too. Tell me what I can do to help. Claire, anything you want, it is yours.”
    He couldn’t take away her memories. That was what she wanted more than anything. “I want you. I want you to love me and fill me with so many good memories that I don’t have room for the others.” She kissed her husband. “Tony, fill me completely.”
    Claire wasn’t thinking. Her body was in control; more accurately, out of control, moving in sync with desire. She didn’t think, because she feared if she did it would be about the past and not the present. Instead, she surrendered her body and her mind to her husband. There was a time she’d tried to keep her mind, but no longer. He possessed them both.
    His lips found her soft skin and watched as her eyes responded. He wanted to see the spark, to have it be there. Briefly he thought about the saying the end justifies the means . If that were true, then he wasn’t sorry. In his arms, beneath his body, responding to his touch, was the woman he’d watched for so long. He suckled her hard nipples, and she moaned deeply, wanting—no, needing him . At that moment and time, sorry was not at all what he was feeling.

 
Nothing improves memory more than trying to forget.
—Unknown author
     Chapter 38
    It was happening again. The satin sheets dripped with sweat as Claire gasped for breath. Trembling, she concentrated on inhaling and exhaling, convincing herself that she could breathe. This was only a dream or a nightmare. Once over, she never remembered the scenes, just the terrible feeling of helplessness. It always ended when she heard the beep and woke. It was the same damn beep she’d heard when she first arrived. It meant her suite was locked. When the dreams first started, she could roll over, find her sleeping husband, curl up next to him, and fall back to sleep. Now regulating her breathing, she knew that wasn’t possible. Like so many times before, she needed to get out of bed and complete her new routine.
    The steady breathing from a few feet away told Claire that Tony was sleeping peacefully. Quietly, she lifted the covers and eased out of bed. Her hands shook as she tied her robe and tiptoed to the hallway door. “This is dumb,” she whispered as her feet crossed the lush carpet. However, it was now her reality. She knew sleep wouldn’t be possible without completing this new drill. Gripping the metal lever, she pulled, and the door easily opened. She closed it and went to the balcony. Moving the draperies aside, the French door opened without hesitation. The rush of fresh air filled the room and her lungs. She walked through the opening, gently closing the door behind her.
    Her perspiration-drenched body relished the cool night breeze. Standing at the rail, she inhaled the spring air and lifted her hair to dry the perspiration from her neck. It wasn’t that she wanted to remember the feelings of a year ago. Truly she didn’t. When she stepped onto a patio, terrace, or into the backyard and memories would start to surface, she could stop them. It was at night while she slept that the compartmentalization of her interment would come rushing back. Then in the minutes or hours that followed, she would attempt to calm her lingering fear. It was the one she tried to keep away, the terror that at any moment, without warning, history could repeat itself. The sickening realization that she would be completely helpless to stop it was what robbed her of sleep.
    The cool cement under her feet brought her back to present. She shivered, pulled her cashmere robe tighter, and wished that she’d grabbed slippers. But the trembling wasn’t caused by the cold. She knew it was her dream. Looking up she noticed the clear black velvet sky peppered with stars. Absentmindedly, she thought, That’s why the temperature dropped.
    Sighing, she fell into a chair. This knowledge would never matter again. Her job was her name, Mrs. Anthony Rawlings, meteorology was gone—forever. She’d left the suite in such a panic she hadn’t looked at the clock. It really didn’t matter, sleep was out of reach. Pulling her legs into her chest and covering them with her soft robe she began her mental therapy session. Her still rapid heart rate