Convicted (Consequences)

which Tony asked Claire to fill personally. The first was a nanny. Over the course of many days, Claire interviewed potential caregivers. Finally, she decided on a younger woman named Shannon. Granted, the grandmotherly types were experienced, but each one reminded her of Catherine in some way. She felt much better with Shannon.
    The second position Claire needed to fill was the head of the estate’s security. At first, Claire protested about the need—Tony reassured her there had always been a security team on the estate. Regardless of a decreased threat level, people in their position were always in need of security. Thinking about Nichol, Claire acquiesced. After the fourth interview, Claire realized who she wanted, and it wasn’t one of the names listed on her paper. That night when Tony arrived to take her to Nichol, she told him, “I know who I want as head of my security. I just don’t know how to contact him.”
    “You were supposed to get a list with numbers. Was one missing?”
    “No, I don’t want anyone from that list. I want Phillip Roach.”
    Tony’s look of surprise quickly morphed into his new constant expression of indifference. “He isn’t the type of man to leave a forwarding address. I don’t know if he can be reached. Besides, the people on that list have been prescreened. Any one of them will do nicely—”
    Claire interrupted, “I don’t want one of them.”
    “Why do you want Roach?”
    “I know him, and I feel comfortable with him,” Claire argued her point with conviction. “With all the new people working around me, I’d like some familiarity.”
    “Anyone can become familiar after time.”
    “Tony, you said I could have anything I want. I want him .”
    He didn’t offer further protest. This time, Claire had closed the conversation. She wanted Phil, and Tony would find him.
     
     
    During her days before Nichol’s arrival, Claire learned her way around the responsibilities of her new home. She also enjoyed outings with Meredith, Courtney, or Sue. There were even times she’d get in her new car and drive. It wasn’t that she wanted to go anyplace in particular. It was more the validation of knowing she could. Years ago, when she’d made her requests, they all came with the same stipulation—each freedom required authorization. Although she remembered hating that domination, the complete opposite didn’t make her happy either. Each time she drove through the gates, she realized, no one knew or cared where she was going.
    Her only obligation, other than evenings with Nichol and their sessions with the child psychologist, was her outpatient counseling sessions. Twice a week, she drove the thirty plus minutes to Everwood. Although an essential rule of therapy was complete honesty, Claire never mentioned her and Tony’s living arrangements. Only Meredith and Courtney knew the truth. Perhaps it was her reluctance to discuss it at length. Her friends heard her brief explanation and mercifully accepted it at face value. The counselor would want to know her feelings and thought s. Claire didn’t want to admit those to herself much less someone else.
    She didn’t want to admit that Tony’s placid stare hurt not only her pride, but her ever crumbling heart. From their first meeting at the Red Wing there’d been a hunger in his eyes. When he first brought her to the estate, that hunger frightened her and filled her with a sense of vulnerability and defenselessness. It was as if his eyes told of a need that only she could fill. To someone with no knowledge of what that need might include, it was a daunting assignment. With time, the hunger became comforting. No matter how much money or success Tony obtained, there was part of him that sought what only she could give. In a world of opulence, it made her feel needed and desired. That same hunger pulled her back into his arms, bed, and life when their reconciliation was only a charade. While on the island, the ravenous hunger transformed. No longer were his attentions divided, yet at no time did she feel unwanted. Through the years, when she saw him across the room, she’d look into his eyes and know he was thinking of her. Just one look, one glance and her insides would tighten—most of the time, she knew before she saw . His black eyed gaze could reach out and touch her, even without visual confirmation. Now, the look was gone—his eyes were neutral—void of emotion. Unless they were with Nichol, the color wasn’t