Convicted

Of course, she recognized it. Looking up, she saw his blue eyes penetrating her black veil. Her world was no longer concealed, yet it didn’t make sense. How could Harry be there in Venice? Why was he there? Was he really there? New questions flooded her already saturated mind.
  
  
  Listen to your intuition. It will tell you everything you need to know.  
 —Anthony J. D'Angelo 
The familiar ring beckoned Sophia to the kitchen of their Provincetown home. She recognized the melody, telling her of her husband’s waiting call. Hurriedly, clicking the ANSWER button, Sophia allowed her smile to radiate through the screen. They hadn’t spoken in almost a week and her excitement at the handsome profile picture was hard to contain. Waiting for their conversation to connect, Sophia stared at his smiling face knowing that soon she’d see him, as if he were right there with her.
“Hi, honey,” she answered as the video feed fought to catch up to the audio. Her thoughts and concerns from earlier in the day disappeared as her husband’s soft brown eyes transcended miles, continents, and oceans.
“Hey, beautiful.” After almost a week apart, merely the sound of his voice made Sophia melt into her chair. “Tell me you’ve heard the news.”
Sophia’s mind searched for recent information. She’d been so busy with her parents’ affairs, art studio, old friends, and preparations to return to the West Coast, she hadn’t looked at a newspaper or even her homepage in a couple of days. That was part of the charm of living on the Cape—it was a world of its own. Grinning at her husband’s image, Sophia answered, “Oh, you know me—always up on the latest headlines!”
Derek grinned and shook his head.
Sophia continued, “I don’t think I have. Whatever it is, it must be pretty big if it got to you in Beijing.”
“Yeah, I’d say it’s big. It’s big enough that I’m heading back to Santa Clara tomorrow.”
“I’m getting there tomorrow too! I already have my flight booked.” Excitement about their reunion dimmed as Sophia pondered the possibilities of Derek’s agenda change. “I’m thrilled, but why? You aren’t scheduled to come home for another week. What happened? Does it have something to do with travel—has there been a safety alert, are you all right?”
“No, travel is fine. I’m fine, but Anthony Rawlings is missing!”
Sophia stared incredulously at the screen, trying desperately to put her husband’s words into a frame of time and space. She hadn’t spoken to Derek since her strange encounter in her studio with Mr. Rawlings. Wrangling her thoughts into a manageable quorum, she asked, “When? What do you mean he’s missing?”
Derek shrugged. “I’m not sure of all the details. A mandatory webinar just concluded. Roger gave everyone from Shedis-tics the basic information. I don’t think he wanted any of us to learn it from the news or internet. I haven’t had a chance to look, but Roger said it’ll be everywhere soon. The entire Rawlings Industries Empire is in defense mode. You know—circle the wagons—stand tall—and get ready for whatever happens.”
Sophia shifted in her chair. “Honey, remember we were supposed to talk last Saturday?”
Derek’s attention was suddenly diverted to something at the side of his screen. “Ah, sorry, babe, I couldn’t get to Skype. Things were crazy. You know, being back in the states for your parents’...” His voice trailed off as he looked back to the camera, concern filled the blue eyes peering only at Sophia. “I’m sorry. Don’t get me wrong. I didn’t want to be anywhere else, but with you”—the lines in his forehead disappeared as tiny creases formed around his eyes and a loving grin emerged—“That’s where I want to be now, too.”
Sophia smiled and shook her head; strands of long, blonde hair moved gently across her face. “I know that. Don’t worry, but Derek, I need to tell you something that happened on Saturday. First, tell me, when did Mr. Rawlings disappear? And what do you mean disappeared?” With each word, her volume increased, exposing her growing concern.
“I think it was last weekend, sometime—something to do with the FBI and the disappearance of his ex-wife.” The sound of an incoming call echoed behind Derek’s voice. “I really need to go. I’ll see you at home tomorrow. Things are insane! I love you!”
“Derek!”—she yelled toward the small monitor—“Derek!” Making her words move fast, Sophia added, “He was here last Saturday! He was in my art studio!”
Her speed of speech was inconsequential. Her husband’s image was gone—their connection severed. Sophia stared at the screen for a minute. In place of her husband’s moving, talking image, she once again saw his profile picture and name. It went without saying; things must be wild at Shedis-tics and all the other Rawlings’ subsidiaries. No matter, Sophia wanted to know when Mr. Rawlings went missing, and when did his ex-wife go missing? She did remember Mr. Rawlings saying he was off his game. It was all so strange.
Sophia had thought it was odd having him at the studio, asking her to dinner, offering to buy a painting, and then not showing to dinner. She remembered waiting at the restaurant for an hour before she left. Of course, she was perturbed and wondered why he’d invite her, just to stand her up. Then, as she sat alone at the table, Sophia recalled Mrs. Cunningham’s remark during the gala, last spring. She said Mr. Rawlings was well-known for his inclination for punctuality.
This new information added to the peculiarity of his visit.
Trying to make sense of everything, Sophia walked back to the bedroom to finish packing. Going home to California held much more promise now that Derek would be there too.
 
 
Claire looked up to see Harry’s customary blonde hair blowing in the brisk wind off the lagoon, while his blue eyes stared steadfast in her direction. The black veil covering her world ripped open, exposing her sudden vulnerability. Shaken by this new paradigm, she was unable to speak. Everything was out of context. She had a wig which made her hair black, and contacts that made her eyes a dark brown. She wasn’t Claire Nichols, yet she was. Phil was the only familiar person who belonged in her new parallel universe. He was the only one she could trust. How many times had they both discussed that? How many times had they practiced what should happen if their bubble was indeed penetrated? 
Words didn’t form as she continued to gape. Her instinct told her to turn, run, and pretend she didn’t know the man now close enough to touch. She could respond in Italian and act offended by his proximity. If she did, would Harry understand? He’d never mentioned his ability to speak other languages—nor had she. While her internal debate raged, Claire stood and faced the man she hadn’t seen since the hospital in Palo Alto—the man who saved her and her baby’s life—the man who, for a brief moment in time, thought he was the father of her child. Claire’s hand fought the urge to flutter above her growing midsection.
Oh, she knew Phil would tell her to turn away. They were supposed to leave soon. If only she’d made her decision about their hidden location. If only she hadn’t gone out alone. If only her life wasn’t such a mess—alas, she hadn’t—she did—and it was.
As Harry’s gaze intensified and his hand reached toward her arm, better judgment prevailed and in near perfect Italian, Claire responded, “Excuse me, sir. I’m afraid you have mistaken me for someone else.” Immediately, hurt registered on Harry’s face. It wasn’t confusion brought on by a language barrier—no, she saw anguish caused by her deception.