Truth

into the living room. The swirl of emotions combined with her pounding head and queasy stomach stymied her footsteps. She became mesmerized by the tall floor to ceiling windows. Flooding the luxurious room were hues of red and orange; the panoramic expanse radiated colors of the setting sun as it reflected off the purple haze covered mountains. Momentarily she became awestruck by the beautiful view.
    Amber switched on the lights, filling the room with sudden brilliance and taking away the outside. Claire turned from the now dark window back to reality, which now included the glare of her roommate, accompanied by an unfamiliar angry tone, “Don’t you get mad?”
    Claire stared at Amber’s expression. She’d met more intimidating expressions before. Slowly she responded, “Yes, I get mad.” Nonetheless, her true emotion remained concealed by her calm tone.
    “ Then show it!” An eternal silence pursued. Eventually, Amber huffed and returned to the kitchen.
    The sound of cabinets closing too loudly declared Amber’s ability to show her emotion. Claire knew she should talk – she had no idea what to say. So instead, she reached for her jacket, grabbed her purse, and walked out the front door.
    Palo Alto had many small cafés on University Boulevard, only a short walk from their condo. Most were open during the early hours, with all kinds of delicious coffee. While many of these establishments closed their doors in the evening, other street fronts brightened with dining choices as the sky darkened and the lights of the city came to life. When she opened the door and walked from the brightly lit foyer of their building, the cool dusk air hit her face. The street lights illuminated the sidewalk, and people hustled along the pathway. Suddenly, Claire realized it was Saturday night.
    She didn’t want to go to a real restaurant. She didn’t want to sit and watch happy patrons chat and eat. No, she wanted time alone, time to sift and consider her thoughts and feelings. Without thinking, she turned toward the northeast, away from the setting sun and toward the water.
    During her first week in Palo Alto, Harry showed her a beautiful park along the San Francisco Bay. Perhaps she’d lived too long on private property. Her desire for fresh air and nature overtook concerns for the descending darkness or abandoning side streets. With each step toward her goal, the tension in her head and neck eased.
    Could it be possible to hate and love someone too? Claire wondered. The overpowering compassion back at the condo wasn’t just for a young man in a tragic situation; it was for the young man who grew up to become the husband she had loved. She blinked her eyes against the breeze and remembered good times. Theirs was a heated passion. She contemplated the man who made her hate her own existence one moment and love it the next.
    As her unconsciousness flooded with memories, feelings stirred deep inside. Concurrently, her consciousness screamed for her to remember his atrocities, the cruelties which outnumbered the kindnesses. However, her heart ached and argued -- perhaps, his positives could overtake his negatives. After all, doesn’t everyone have a good and a bad side?
    This is why I’m not ready to face him. This is why I can’t face anyone right now.
    Claire knew her thoughts and feelings were wrong. He’d given her every reason to hate him, seek vengeance, and aid in his destruction. So why was this so hard? She tried to push Tony back into his assigned compartment.
    Her thoughts moved to Amber. Instead of crossing Middlefield Road, Claire should be back at the condo talking to her friend. However, after spending so much time alone and years hiding her true emotion with Tony, Claire wasn’t comfortable sharing her feelings.
    She couldn’t control the way she felt. Apparently her mask wearing skills were rusty.
    Hopefully a walk along the shore will help me sort out my feelings and revive my energy. Then maybe I can face Amber. She deserves that.
     
    *****
     
    Parked near a four story stucco condominium on Forest Avenue, Phillip Roach compiled his information for Mr. Rawlings. Although Claire Nichols hadn’t used the phone with the number he’d determined was hers since she received the calls from Mr. Rawlings, Phil believed this was her place of residence.
    In the past twenty-four hours, Phillip learned a lot about Claire Nichols: She’d applied for her birth certificate and social security card – all