Convicted (Consequences)

paper”—“It’s so pretty.”
    Meredith eased the bow off and carefully ran her finger under the tape. With the paper loosely covering the gift, she left it beside Claire on the bed. Apprehensively, Claire removed the paper and took off the lid. Pushing the tissue paper aside, she revealed three bright pink throw pillows. Two were circular and one was a square with ruffles. Hugging one of the pillows close to her chest, Claire smiled and asked, “Can they stay here?” “It would be great to have color.”
    “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