Convicted (Consequences)

all away, was the perfect blend. Claire knew her sister, Emily, would never understand, and with the recent news of Meredith’s book’s pending publication, the rest of the world would probably never understand. Claire wished she could explain. Thankfully, she didn’t need to. It was one of Phil’s most endearing qualities—he didn’t pry.
    Understandably, she never gave Phil the word for word, action for consequence, reminiscence of her life with Tony—At least, not like she’d done with Harry; nevertheless, Phil’s job involved knowing. If he hadn’t been good at his job, then he’d never sent the note in San Diego. Phil knew her past and never once had he questioned Claire about it; instead, Phil encouraged. He encouraged her to stay strong, protect her child, and trust her instincts. Right now, although she longed to hear from Tony, her instincts told her that she was finally safe. They reassured her that the trust she’d bestowed on Phil wasn’t misplaced. For once, she’d made a right decision.
    As the plane’s pontoons touched the surface of the shimmering water, Claire pushed her memories and desires away. This was her experience, her new life, and the future she was choosing to have with her child. The sound from the plane wouldn’t allow them to converse; therefore, Claire straightened her neck and squared her shoulders as she touched Phil’s leg. When he turned to acknowledge her, Claire smiled.
    She wanted him to know that she enjoyed the view outside of the plane—she was content. Phil probably realized her expression was forced; nevertheless, as far as Claire was concerned, it was real. She was tired of compartmentalizing—her new theme was fake it until you make it . Maybe in reality it was a bluff, but she had a lot riding on this bet—she’d secure her poker face and see it through.
    As Phil helped Claire out of the plane, she held onto his hand for stability, and looked all around. Below their shoes was a white, sand lined beach, and behind them was the shimmering lagoon which opened to an endless horizon of blue sea. Waiting patiently on the shore were two people.
    Phil’s research of possible destinations included staff members’ biographies as well as complete histories of the locations themselves. On this island, the main house was built in the late 1970’s by a wealthy Englishman who arrived with his staff of two. Francis and Madeline were married in Haiti prior to traveling to this destination. When the Englishman died, they stayed, and over the past thirty plus years, they’ve maintained the estate and cared for multiple families. Claire’s new house had many bedrooms and would have more than enough room for her and her child. Apparently, some of the previous owners had multiple children and grandchildren.
    The isolation of this retreat was one of its most appealing aspects. There was a time when Claire didn’t like being alone; however, she was tired of unknown threats. This retreat would provide her child with the security that only comes from seclusion. For her child, Claire was more than willing to accept the loneliness that came with an island that was only accessible by boat or plane. Civilization—or something close—could be reached by a thirty minute boat ride; weather provided. This region boasted 363 days of sunshine a year; however, the lush vegetation required rain. Though usually short in duration, Phil’s research reported storms which could be intense. Deluges of rain followed by powerful sun created the perfect combination for a sultry, humid climate. After nearly a month in cloudy, cool Italy, Claire was ready for the warmth.
    As they stepped toward the warm smiles of the caretakers, Madeline, a large woman with dark skin and a deep, rich voice, was the first to speak, “Welcome Madame el and Monsieur Nichols! I am Madeline and this is my husband, Francis.”
    Claire looked at Phil and grinned. She liked the sound of Madeline’s voice; it added to the warmth in the air. Offering her hand in greeting, Claire said, “Hello, thank you. I’m Ms. Nichols, but please call me Claire, and this”—she looked to Phil. How could she possibly explain who he was? His definition had changed so drastically over the last year—“This is my friend , Phillip Roach. He helped me find your wonderful island.”
    Francis shook Phil’s hand. “Madame el, but this is your island, and we are so very happy to help you with anything you need.”
    Placing her