Chapter Thirteen

Aloha. The first three days in Hawaii, I did nothing but read on the beach, swim and sleep. By the fourth day, I looked indigenous. I love the sun. I love the feel of its harsh, ultra-violet rays burning through my joints releasing the years of cold and darkness from my body. Tension melts as the heat waves beat against my shoulders.

Mornings were spent in the beach house’s pool. In the afternoon, when the pool was shaded, I moved to Sunset Beach. Yes, the Sunset Beach. Surfers galore. Truly paradise. Fresh pineapple for breakfast and mahi mahi for dinner interspersed with the occasional shaved ice.

On the fifth day of my stay, I unzipped the lining of my suitcase and pulled out a passport, Ohio driver’s license, and a MasterCard. I packed a good book, a bottle of water, and a notebook in my bag and drove the rented Ford Fiesta into Honolulu.

I had an appointment. One I had arranged months before.

The office was cool, quiet, and decorated in beach chic—white washed furniture, Cape-Cod-blue-sky pillows and sand colored walls. The hushed songs of the Islands created a feeling of serenity and peace.

It reminded me of an upscale day spa, which wasn’t altogether a bad atmosphere for a doctor’s office.

I flipped through the pile of magazines instead of reading the book I’d brought along. It’d been quite a while since I’d caught up on the latest gossip concerning unruly teenaged starlets and most up-to-date fashion for the Emmys. Or would it be the Oscars? Whatever. I envisioned showing up at the next PD function in the fiery red dress Queen Latifah was sporting and grinned at the reaction I’d get from the Dispatch Doxies. Well, truthfully, I was thinking of Joe’s reaction.

The nurse stepping into the waiting room interrupted my fantasy. Then, she called my name, “Dr. Shanahan?”

I rose from the chair and followed her into the exam rooms. Whew. At least the cosmetic surgeon didn’t make me weigh first. I liked the guy already.

The nurse opened a door and led me into a medical suite complete with a couch, arm chair, and a coffee table filled with glossy medical pamphlets, tall, skinny glasses and a pitcher of ice water with oranges and lemons floating on its surface. Tucked in the corner was an exam table. I’d stayed in five-star hotels that paled in comparison.

After a short wait the doctor came in. “Dr. Shanahan, it’s very nice to meet you.” He was a tall, stocky man with dark hair and a ravishing smile. “I’m Dr. Tanaka. What can I do for you today?”

I pointed to my face. “I need this fixed.” I needed the flattened nose and crushed cheekbone to go away. I wanted my old confidence back.

“Let me take a look at that.” He sat next to me. “Hmmm . . .” He touched my nose and moved my chin from side to side. “Was this a result of one break or an accumulation of several?”

I’d known this would be difficult, but the intensity of the anger and resentment I still harbored surprised me. A hot flash of rage coursed through me. I inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, trying to get my emotions in check.

Dr. Tanaka dropped his hands from my face and said, “I didn’t mean to upset you. Take your time.”

My hands still shook, but the quivering in my gut had subsided.

“Sorry. It was very traumatic. A car accident. My sister died.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said in a soothing voice. “Why wasn’t reconstructive surgery done at the time of the accident?”

“We were in Kosovo,” I continued with my lie.

“I understand.”

“How long ago did this occur?”

“Two and a half years.” I gave him a crooked smile. “I’ve finally worked up the nerve to have this done.”

“Guilt?” he asked.

I feigned surprise. “Yes, how did you know?”

“Many patients believe if they survived a crash and a loved one didn’t, they deserve the disfigurement. A constant reminder of their loss.”

I laughed. “My therapist didn’t call you, did she?”

“No, Dr. Shanahan.” He chuckled. “May I call you Claudia?”

“Please do.”

He continued with his examination and took lots of notes. All business. When he finished, he asked me, “May I see the photographs you brought in?”

“I didn’t bring any.” I had no evidence of my prior life. None. I was dead certain of that. Nothing that could trace me back to Maggie Shaw, not even a picture of my old nose.

The doctor gave me a puzzled look. “Why?”

“I’d appreciate it if you’d look at my bone structure and determine the best features for me. I was never all that happy with my nose anyway.” I looked at my hands. “My main goal is to do something so I can breathe through both nostrils.”

“Well, Claudia, that we can do.” He smiled. “Let me confer with my nurse.”

He stepped out of the room and I poured a glass of orangey-lemony water, amazed at how easily I could lie to the doctor. When I thought about it, lying when I arrived in Barrow had been fairly easy. I was still jumpy and knew any mistake could result in Ray finding me. So, lying became a survival instinct. Once I made friends and started caring about people, I felt guilty about lying at times. I tried to convince myself that what I was saying might be a lie for Maggie Shaw, but it was the truth for Anne Sutton.

Lying meant keeping mum when Maggie knew the answer or solution to something that Anne couldn’t know. Maggie Shaw had traveled the world. Anne Sutton was a small-town girl from Tennessee. Maggie had a master’s degree and was a whiz at international marketing and finance. Anne had an associate of arts degree from a local junior college.

The biggest challenge was suppressing my language skills. For God’s sake, I think in Korean and dream in Mandarin. I almost blew my cover when an eight-year-old Korean boy came into the police department covered in blood and crying. The one English word he knew was “Honda.” It appeared as though I was able to ascertain that his father wrecked a four-wheeler behind the Top of the World hotel from that single word.

I dispatched an ambulance and the officers took the boy to Samuel Simmonds to meet his dad. The only person who noticed my amazing powers of deduction was Bernadette. When I whispered, “K wen chah nah yo—it’s okay,” into the boy’s ear and hugged him, she gave me a puzzled look.

“My manicurist in Memphis was Korean,” I explained.

“You learned a foreign language so you could communicate with your manicurist?” She cocked an eyebrow. “That’s taking nail care to the extreme.”

One look at my hangnail-ridden hands, and it was obvious that their care had been neglected.

“Priorities change,” I said.

Bernadette had simply nodded and walked away.

The nurse drew me from my ponderings when she came into the room with a book of noses. It was almost as fun as picking out wallpaper. After a lengthy selection process, I determined what kind of nostril construction I wanted and had an appointment for the next day.

Before the nurse left the room, she said, “I’m really sorry to hear about your sister, Dr. Shanahan.” She smiled at me. “Do you mind me asking what you were doing in Kosovo?”

I feigned sadness and told her, “My sister was implementing a grant program for the United States Agency for International Development. I was there visiting. On our way to Macedonia, we were hit by a tractor trailer rig. She died instantly.” I shook my head and looked at my hands.

“Don’t feel guilty about the surgery. I’m sure she didn’t want you to go through life carrying physical scars along with the emotional ones.” She squeezed my hand.

Thank God for Google. A lot of research goes into fabricating an identity.

Medical records are supposedly private, but unethical people know a myriad of ways to get their hands on them. Shoot, I did it all the time. Knew every doctor Mama and Ray saw and read every file on them. There was no way Anne Sutton was going to be associated with the procedure being done. Sure there were thousands of people throughout the United States getting nose jobs for injuries such as mine, but I wasn’t taking the chance.

It took years for me to work up the nerve to have the surgery. With Dr. Claudia Shanahan and the Macedonia-car-wreck back story, I was able to provide another buffer.

Therapy was still not an option even as Dr. Shananhan. There was no way I would tell my story to a professional who would have to document it. God knows I’d hacked plenty of medical records. Besides, I had no intentions of telling anyone what happened to me. Ever.

Since I couldn’t drive after the surgery, I checked into the King Kamehameha Suite at the Royal Hawaiian. This enabled me to take a taxi to and from the hospital, and I could recover in the lap of luxury. My recuperation plans included sitting on the palatial lanai and admiring Diamond Head as I sipped pineapple juice and soaked up rays.

The only time I’d ever had surgery was during the first year of marriage, when I had an ovary removed because of multiple cysts. I often wondered if one of the reasons Ray turned on me was because our chances at getting pregnant were limited. He always wanted kids, but I didn’t think he was mature enough to be a father. I figured after we were married for a few years, he’d grow up and we’d have babies.

When I discovered his nasty, spiteful nature, I was thankful for the Depo shots I was receiving in secret.

There was no time to prepare or fret before the previous surgery. This time, apprehension washed over me, but one look at my nose was all it took for my mood to change from tentative to celebratory.

I hadn’t rushed to have the repair work done because neither Mama nor Ray knew what I looked after all the damage. By the time I fled Arkansas, bruises and bandages still covered my face. I’d considered taking one photograph of myself, so I could show the doctors how my nose used to look, but decided against that for two reasons. One, I wanted absolutely no way to trace my new identity back to Maggie. Even a folded up picture in the bottom of a box in the back of the closet was too much risk. Two, if the doctors repaired my nose back to its former glory, someone might recognize me. Not that I expected many people from my former life to walk into the North Slope Borough Police Department in Barrow, Alaska, during the graveyard shift, but it wasn’t a chance I was willing to take.