Convicted - Romig Aleatha (читать книги полностью без сокращений .TXT) 📗
The radios and their phones were on the boat. She got back to her feet. The boat was now on the edge of the turquoise circle. Beyond that ring, the waters deepened. Pacing a track in the sand, Claire spoke reassuringly to their child, “It’ll be all right. Your father’s a good swimmer. He can do this. He can save us.”
Were her words meant to comfort the little life within her or to comfort her? Claire didn’t know. She wanted to scream his name, call him back, have him beside her, but she knew he’d never hear her. She could yell until she was hoarse, but no one could hear her.
The sun sank lower, and Claire refused to move. Sometimes she’d imagine she saw the boat coming toward her, and then she’d blink and it would be gone. Her mind went all directions: Would—could she survive? Would anyone find her? Was Tony still swimming? How long had it been?
We have always held to the hope, the belief, the conviction that there is a better life, a better world, beyond the horizon .
—Franklin D. Roosevelt
Sophia waited inside the downtown Iowa City Restaurant, shivering inside her thick wool coat. Growing up on the East Coast, she wasn’t unaccustomed to cold; however, there was something excessively bitter about the Iowa December wind. As she watched the snowflakes swirl through the air beyond the windows, she buried her hands deeper into the pockets of her coat. The gray skies weren’t producing enough snow to cover the drab ground, just enough to exacerbate her spirits. Experience told her that December was only the beginning of the miserable cold. Iowa would get worse before it got better. I wish we were back in California. Even Sophia was surprised by the thought. She never would’ve imagined considering the West Coast home.
Straightening her neck, Sophia encouraged herself, if I can have those thoughts about Santa Clara, maybe one day I’ll be able to consider this home. It was more wishful thinking, but she was trying. After all, things were going very well for Derek.
He loved his new job, even with the challenges Rawlings Industries faced. Each evening, when he’d return home to their new house, Sophia saw pride in her husband’s eyes. She knew he was a hard worker, yet to be singled out by Anthony Rawlings—even under such strange circumstances—Derek considered it his noble duty to help this company stay afloat.
Timothy Benson took a personal interest in Derek. Sophia thought it was funny how Tim and Derek were so close in age, while many of the others she’d met at the Rawlings corporate headquarters were older, probably closer to Mr. Rawlings’ age. Tim was forming his personal team of consultants, men and women with fresh ideas ready to take on the challenges of a struggling fortune 500, multibillion dollar conglomerate. He wanted people willing to face cameras, the press, and boards of directors—people who when confronted, would stand firm in the belief that Rawlings Industries will survive. It was likely that very soon, the SEC, Securities Exchange Commission, would be investigating Rawlings Industries. Many times, personal wrongdoings by high ranking business people translated to professional wrongdoing. Tim was determined that Rawlings Industries would make it through such an investigation. In the process, he declared that not only would every division be transparent, but without blemish. The founder and CEO may be missing, and there may be continued allegations regarding issues in his personal life; however, the company Anthony Rawlings started from nothing—was steadfast.
Claire Nichols’ sister and brother-in-law continued to cause Rawlings Industries headaches. An entire division of the Rawlings’ legal team, whom Derek explained should be concentrating on company matters, was fully devoted to Anthony Rawlings’ personal legal issues. To date, they’d managed to stall production of Claire Nichols’ memoirs, but Derek said they probably couldn’t be delayed much longer. Apparently, it was a publication tactic from the Rawlings’ team. Traditionally, books released near the holidays don’t fare well in sales. Knowing they’d eventually lose the war, the legal division’s plan was to continue the fight until a time when the release would be theoretically less successful.
In this instance, Sophia questioned their tactics. As an artist, she knew publicity was publicity. The additional exposure the memoirs received from the suits and counter suits would likely propel the book My Life As It Didn’t Appear to number one in no time.
Thankfully, Iowa wasn’t as backwards as Sophia had feared. The Quad Cities and the universities all helped to make it more than a large corn field thousands of miles away from the nearest coast. Sophia had met many of the people in Derek’s new circles. Their wives were nice. Sophia especially liked Sue, Tim’s wife; however, with one small child and one on the way, their priorities were considerably different. Sophia and Derek discussed children and the possibility was there. Right now, he needed to concentrate on work. Sophia knew that when she had a child, she wanted to do it for the right reason—being lonely in a new state—in her opinion—wasn’t the right reason.
Deep down, Sophia knew that before she became a parent, she needed to work through some personal thoughts and feelings regarding her birth parents. Since the phone call back in California, Sophia hadn’t heard from the woman claiming to be her mother—of course, she had told her not to call. Sometimes she’d wonder about the woman. Was she still married to Sophia’s father? Was she ever married to him? If they’re not together, did she know where he was? What about siblings—did she have any?
The Rossi’s were always open about her adoption; it never bothered Sophia—until they were gone. While they were alive, they did everything to fill her life with all the love and support parents do. Perhaps, now that they’re gone, it was a void Sophia subconsciously wanted filled; however, how did she know if the woman from the phone call was capable of filling that void?
Sophia wasn’t completely without friends. She’d met an acquaintance—repeatedly—at different venues. Although admittedly, Marie was slightly eccentric, Sophia found her presence comforting. There was something familiar about the woman that Sophia couldn’t pin-point. With time, when at gallery openings or invitation only showings, Sophia found herself scanning the crowd for the older woman’s face. With so many changes, Marie seemed to be a reoccurring constant; therefore, when Marie invited Sophia to lunch at the Atlas on Iowa Ave, near the University of Iowa’s campus, Sophia gladly accepted. She decided that it was nice to have someone to talk with—someone with similar interests.
“Can you believe how cold that wind is today?” Marie’s voice pulled Sophia from her internal thoughts.
Smiling, Sophia shook her head. “No! I know we didn’t live out in California for very long, but I miss the climate out there. I liked the more constant temperature.”
Marie laughed. “Oh, my dear, this is just the beginning; wait until the snow really starts to fly.”
After settling at a table, they chatted about nothing in particular. It was nice to forget the wind outside, the move to a new state, and just talk. Marie’s gray eyes gave Sophia a sense of warmth she didn’t understand. As an artist, she often dissected people’s faces without realizing she was doing it. Sophia saw sadness and loss in Marie’s eyes; however, there was also a spark of excitement that tugged at her like a magnet. When Marie would suggest a new exhibit or a museum, the ideas seemed extraordinarily inviting. In some ways, it was like a mirror at a circus. Marie’s eyes reminded her of her own—yet they were different—complicated—multi-tasking. Sophia couldn’t put her finger on it...nevertheless, she was drawn, like a moth to a flame.
