Convicted (Consequences)

his feet. Despite—or perhaps because of—his honesty, Claire felt nauseous. Lifting her knees as high as she could, she rested her head against them. Tony immediately knelt beside her. When his arm encircled her shoulder, her body tensed.
    Of course he felt it. He had an uncanny way of sensing her thoughts and moods. It was what had always made lying so difficult, even when she was his prisoner . She recognized his tone—guarded and aloof. “You said you wanted to know, so I’m trying to start at the beginning.”
    She shook her head, unsure if she could speak without vomiting. After a few more minutes of silence, his embrace disappeared. Though her eyes remained closed, she felt him move away. When she opened them, she was alone. Claire saw his figure rounding the bend of the beach, going the direction they’d been walking.
    Tears coated her cheeks and the gasps of ragged breaths replaced the sound of the surf. This was much more difficult than she ever imagined. Claire wanted to know, yet the thought of being watched—since the age of eighteen or nineteen—made her literally ill. If it were true, if he had truly been watching since that time, then her other suspicions were probably true. He was probably responsible for Simon’s internship and job offer. He was probably responsible for her parents’ death, her scholarship, her job loss at WKZP...He’d orchestrated her entire life! The possible confirmation was too much to bear.
    By the time she stood, the sun had set and a blanket of black velvet peppered with stars covered the island. The moon’s rays glistened on the now calm lagoon. Each step took effort. Lost in thought, she didn’t see her surroundings or hear the sounds of the night. In time, she reached the path. Lying on the sand, all alone, were her sandals. She didn’t know how Tony could’ve gotten back to the house without her seeing him. Then again, she didn’t know how long she’d been on the beach. The aching in her head that came with the sudden onslaught of nausea, increased. She wondered if he’d left. Had her reaction been so hurtful that he’d forget her and their child? Claire’s thoughts went to the boat. If he’d taken it, surely she would have heard the motor; then she remembered Francis’ warning the day they went into town. He told her to always schedule morning appointments. The seas—they are unpredictable after the sun sets .
    While her temples throbbed at the idea of Tony out in a boat alone, her thoughts were dominated by the words and meaning of his revelation. Claire berated her reaction as she passed the threshold of their dark home. She’d asked for truth—he’d given it, yet instead of facing it with strength, as he said she would, she crumbled at his feet. Damp sand fell from her dress and bare feet as she mindlessly walked through the unlit rooms to their bedroom. Once at her destination, she gazed about their room. The doors to the lanai were open wide with moonlight as the only source of illumination. The room and beyond was filled with shadows. As she was about to turn on a light, she heard something—or someone—on the lanai.
     

     
    Earlier…
     
    Tony didn’t know where to go— he was on a damn island! Each step away from Claire became more and more determined as his feet pushed deeper and deeper into the sand. He trudged forward with his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. She said she wanted truth; he gave her the damn truth. Was that some kind of sick joke? Ask for something—no, demand it—and then when you get it—throw it back! When he stopped and looked back, all he could see was beach. He wasn’t sure if she’d gone back to the house, or if he’d rounded too many bends.
    As he continued walking, the beautiful scenery around him went unnoticed. Before he realized, sunlight was waning. Straight ahead, through the twilight, near the shore, he saw a structure. Curiosity propelled him forward until he recognized the building. It was the boathouse he’d been to the day before with Francis. Tony followed the path through the vegetation until he reached the door. It wasn’t locked. Watercrafts weren’t his normal means for transportation; then again, he’d never lived on an island before. Yesterday, he’d watched Francis maneuver the boat, and he reasoned it wasn’t that much different than a car.
    Turning on the light, Tony walked through the garage-like area onto the floating docks and around to the other side of the boat. Francis