When he was within reach, Claire remembered all she wanted to say—all the questions she’d compiled in her thoughts. Though the questions came to mind, with increased vigor, no words materialized on her lips. Standing tall and proud, Claire remained silent. She couldn’t calm the mayhem long enough to decipher her words. The best plan was silence until...

Without warning, one of Tony’s arms surrounded her growing waist and the other captured her neck. The sound escaping her lips couldn’t be classified as words. On the contrary, it was more involuntary as her body submitted to his. Every touch, every move, and every angle was determined by him. Claire’s body no longer waited for internal instruction. It was programmed to respond to the contact of the man towering above her, inhaling her aroma, and caressing her body.

His hands held her tightly within his grasp. She didn’t fight. Why would anyone fight their rightful place? Instead, the sounds from her mouth—the moans from her chest—were a plea, a request for more. Truthfully, Claire wasn’t even aware she was making the noises, yet she heard them. Within seconds, his fingers were intertwined in her hair. It wasn’t much, but Claire suddenly felt the need to apologize. “I’m so sorry.”

The strong, determined mission of his lips quieted further commentary, until he came up for air and said, “No, I’m sorry.”

Could six words mend an insurmountable gorge? At first, Claire wasn’t sure—until they did. As the words left their lips—the gap disappeared. They were together, and nothing could separate them. Claire was in Tony’s arms, tasting his kiss, and inhaling his amazing scent. The world beyond their bubble was suddenly insignificant. She wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, on the beach, holding one another.

His eyes held the key to her heart and soul. Peering into Tony’s dark gaze of desire, her world lightened into the place she wanted to be. Claire knew she could remain there for a lifetime. Then, slowly, the world around them infiltrated her senses—soft sand materialized beneath her toes—a gentle, salt scented breeze moved strands of her hair—the orange glow of the setting sun created an orange hue—and sound of propellers told them that the plane was leaving.

Unable to contain her sudden panic, Claire held tight to Tony’s hand and looked beyond their bubble. Heading back toward the plane was the man who’d made their world right. Claire gasped and looked up to Tony with her head shaking. “We can’t let him leave.” Then louder, she yelled toward the plane, “Phil!”

He looked their direction.

“Stay,” Tony commanded.

Phil’s progress stalled. He turned back as they walked toward him.

When they were all together, Tony held out his hand. While the two men shook, Tony said, “Thank you. We can never thank you enough.”

The glowing sun reflected in the golden flecks of his eyes. Phil looked to Claire and then to Tony. “You already have.”

Tony said, “I was wrong to fire you. You’ve kept Claire safe and brought us back together. I want you to work for us. Stay.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Rawlings, my bank account is quite healthy. There’s only one person for whom I’d be willing to postpone my early retirement.”

The rush of panic that moments earlier had filled Claire’s chest, as she saw Phil leaving, subsided. Smiling, she released Tony’s hand and took a step toward her babysitter—her bodyguard—her friend. When she was but inches away, she lifted her arms. “Please stay. You’ve given me back everything. I know I can never repay you...but I hope you know—I want you to be part of our lives.”

Their hug wasn’t intimate. It was nothing like the display he’d witnessed moments earlier; nevertheless, it was a connection—a bond he’d never before experienced. As Claire’s arms encircled Phil’s neck and her petite frame leaned against his chest, Phil knew that he’d stop at nothing to protect her, to protect her baby, and to facilitate her happiness.

He spoke softly, “Do you want me to stay?”

Her green eyes spoke volumes, but it was her words that secured his future, “Oh yes, more than I can say, but the decision is yours.”

“I have one stipulation.”

Tony stepped forward, protectively placing his arm around Claire’s shoulders. “And that would be?”

“I don’t do diapers.”

The lingering sound of the plane faded into the twilight sky as Tony, Claire, and Phil made their way up the path toward the house.

Do what you feel in your heart to be right—for you‘ll be criticized anyway. You’ll be damned if you do, and damned if you don’t.

—Eleanor Roosevelt

Stepping through the doorway into a sea of familiar faces, Emily held tight to John’s hand. Everwood’s conference room bustled with counselors, therapists (speech, occupational, and physical), doctors (primary care, neurology, and psychiatry), rehabilitation nurses, and administration representatives—all with one patient in mind—Claire Nichols Rawlings. Various members of Claire’s care team greeted the Vandersols as they made their way to some empty seats at the table.

When it came to planning and treatment, Everwood was well known for their excellence. This was true with all their patients, but some patients received extra attention. It was no secret—Claire Nichols Rawlings wasn’t the average patient. First of all, she was incredibly wealthy. Second, her sister, next of kin and power of attorney, was excessively demanding, as well as incredibly involved, and lastly, Claire’s brother-in-law was an attorney, well versed in medical law. If pertinent revelations regarding her case were to be discussed, it required the presence of all members of her care team.

Today’s meeting was in regard to the information in Dr. Fairfield’s report. Dr. Carly Brown eased herself into the chair beside Emily. Squeezing Emily’s free hand, she whispered, “Don’t worry. Dr. Fairfield wouldn’t be addressing this entire crowd if he didn’t have some valuable theories.”

Tired of theories, Emily feigned a smile. Fighting the emotion building in her chest, she managed, “Thanks, Carly, I’m just afraid to get my hopes up.”

Dr. Brown smiled. “Hope is all we have. Don’t give up on your sister.”

Breathing deeply, Emily blinked back the tears. “It’s one thing for me to be disappointed—I’m used to it, but I keep thinking about Nichol having to deal with this one day.”

John leaned over, keeping his voice low as the rest of the room continued to murmur, “Let’s concentrate on Claire. Nichol’s young; we can keep her uninformed as long as possible.”

Emily nodded as she swallowed her tears. Everyone was taking a seat—some around the table and many in chairs at the perimeter. The overflowing room quieted as Dr. Fairfield began his presentation.

“Thank you all for joining me here today. I’ve spoken to many of you in the last few weeks; many over the phone. It’s nice to meet you in person. Let me begin by explaining my role as a neuropsychologist...”

Emily listened as Dr. Fairfield reviewed Claire’s condition. At first, it wasn’t anything she hadn’t heard before—

“It’s well documented that psychosis like what Ms. Nichols is experiencing can be the result of traumatic brain injury. Recent studies have supported the theory of delayed psychosis. This has been well documented in veterans as well as NFL players. It’s characterized by slowly developing psychosis or delayed rapid onset. There are case studies which have documented rapid onset occurring as long as fifty-four months post injury.”