Claire Voyant

by Saralee Rosenberg

  Not that I knew this from personal experience. If I had to guess, I’d say it had more to do with the fact that there were high doses of antidepressants downhill-racing in my bloodstream. It was also helpful that despite Gram’s shocking admissions, she was there to cradle me in her arms, just as she had when I was a frightened child trying to forget a scary dream.

  Yes, I was aware that she had single-handedly changed the course of my life by making a decision independent of my knowledge or consent. And yes, like a premeditated crime, she had sent me into a flying lion’s den for a chance encounter with a grandfather I never knew.

  But she was still my beloved Grams. Still the historian of my past, able to chronicle even the most insignificant days of my life, as she had been there to share them with me. So in spite of all that had just transpired, all that she had confessed, I could neither hate her nor hold her liable. At great risk, she had carried a burden for thirty years, in order that I be kept out of harm’s way.

  Yet as willing as I was to forgive her for her transgression, I felt no such compassion for my parents. Looking back, they loved me to the extent possible, but Grams loved me unconditionally. They were my legal guardians, but she raised me. They met my physical needs, she saw to it that I was emotionally strong.

  Perhaps I owed my parents a big thanks, but I owed Grams my life.

  It used to make me crazy whenever my agent called and said, “So what do you want first? The good news or the bad?” Frankly, it’s a stupid question. Who wants to hear bad news under any circumstances? Half the time the good news isn’t all that terrific, or at least not enough to offset the bad news.

  So imagine how I felt the very next morning. Still numb from discovery, I was finally about to be released from the hospital, but not before being on the receiving end of all these good news/bad news scenarios.

  “The good news, Claire,” my neurosurgeon said, “is your recovery has been nothing short of miraculous. Normally in brain trauma cases like yours, I’d be recommending a few weeks in a neuro rehab center, but it doesn’t seem warranted here. However, given everything that’s happened to you, the shocking news about your family and the strange visitations from a deceased person, I am recommending that you seek intensive psychiatric treatment at a residential center in Boca that’s doing wonders with cases like yours.”

  Nope. Sorry. About the only thing I want from you is a prescription for enough anti-anxiety pills so I don’t even feel a sneeze coming on.

  “Great news!” my father said as he helped me pack up. “Elyce has been calling to see how you’re feeling, and then, this is so sweet, this morning she offered to let you use Ira’s parents’ vacation house in Hilton Head because they’re off in Spain somewhere. She said it’s right on the beach. A great place to recuperate. Then, Ira will try to get some time off so they can join you…give you two a chance to meet before the wedding.

  “Only trouble is, the house is in the middle of a major renovation, and they’re down to one bedroom, so you’d have to all squeeze in together. But I think you should do it anyway.”

  Really? I was thinking I should fly to San Francisco, buy a really ugly bridesmaid’s dress, climb to the top of the Golden Gate Bridge, and be the first jumper of the day.

  “Good news, Claire.” Ben held my hand. “Penny says she’s dying to meet you, of course, but she thinks it’s probably best if you wait until you’re feeling stronger before you plan any sort of reunion. Oh, and about that role in her new movie? She said to tell you that they really need to cast it this week, and apparently she already had someone else in mind. She thought since you knew the business so well, you’d understand.”

  Oh, I understand, all right. I understand that Penny is a low-life bitch who should be shot out of a cannon and dumped into the pool during the Vanity Fair Oscar party.

  But then, in an unexplainable shift, either the planets magically realigned or the god of darkness left for vacation. Either way, I was finally on the receiving end of some legitimately nice news. And for the first time since that fateful morning I flew to Miami, I didn’t see the world through eyes of despair.

  It started with a get-well call from Pablo. Naturally he and Raphael were praying for my full recovery. But he also informed me that the office manager’s job was still available, and I should just let him know when I was ready to start work.

  “You didn’t hold the job open for me,” I laughed. “You couldn’t get anyone else to take it.”

  “Actually, we did,” Pablo whispered. “She lasted four days, which may have been a record.”

  Even Grams had wonderful news to cheer me up. She had gone back to look at Abe’s apartment and loved it so much, she was moving in immediately. She’d also spoken to management and given the extenuating circumstances; they’d said if I wanted to live there temporarily, they would waive the bylaws that prohibited residents under the age of sixty-five.

  “You just gotta promise a few things,” Grams said. “No pets, no wild parties, and no fooling around with the men.”

  “Oh yuck. Why would they mention that?”

  “Because you know the kinda mess animals make. Who needs dog poop all over the grass?”

  But then came the granddaddy of the good-news calls, ironically because of my granddaddy. Right as we were walking out the door, the phone rang, and my father grumbled that I should let it ring because in exactly six minutes he would have to pay for another hour for the parking garage.

  “Just let me see who it is,” I said. “I’ll make it fast.” Please be Drew calling to say he thought about it, and I was the girl of his dreams.

  “Oh, for crying out loud, Claire. Let the operator take a message. You gave them your cell number.”

  “Just go. I’ll meet you downstairs…. Hello…. Yes, this is she…. Actually, no, it’s not a good time. I’ve just been released from the hospital, and—”

  “Who is it?” My father waited by the door.

  “I’m sorry. Who is this again?…Uh-huh…. Oh my God. Really?…No, of course not. How would I have known that?”

  “Claire, who are you talking to?”

  “Shhh.” I covered the mouthpiece. “Some attorney for Abe…. Yes, I guess I could meet you next week.”

  “Oh jeez. What did I tell you?” He smacked the wall with his palm. “Didn’t I say if you got involved and the family sued the airline, you’d be looking at years of litigation and testifying?”

  “Daddy, be quiet…. Excuse me. My father was talking to me at the same time…. Yes, I just turned thirty a few days ago. How did you know that?…I’m sorry?”

  “Tell them you’re not saying a word until you get your own representation,” my father barked in my ear. “Oy gevault. That’s what I need right now. More legal expenses.”

  “Oh my God…Are you sure? I can’t believe it…. Okay. Yes. Of course…. Next Monday at eleven.” I scribbled on the back of a prescription. “1500 Glades Road…third floor. Yes. I know Boca. Thank you. Thank you very much.” I hung up and collapsed on the bed.

  “What the hell did you say yes for?” my father yelled. “You can’t meet with anyone next week. You’re going home with us tomorrow, and I’m sure as hell not paying for another airfare to get you back down here. If they want to talk to you, they can take your statement by phone—”

  “He left me money.” I cried softly into a pillow.

  “What?”

  “There you are.” My mother rushed in. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you two. Up the elevator, down the elevator…you told me to meet you at the car a half an hour ago—”

  “Sha, Roberta!” My father waved. “Something just happened, and I want to hear. Claire, start from the beginning. Who was that on the phone, and what exactly did he tell you?”

  “Grams was wrong about Abe,” I whispered.

  “What’s she talking about?” my mother asked.

  “That’s what I’m trying to find out.” My father sat beside me.

  “He’s not a son
-of-a-bitch like Grams said. He did what he said…he put money away for me.”

  “Oh my God,” my mother gasped. “How much money?”

  “Oh jeez, Roberta. What kind of insensitive question is that to ask? Can’t you see Claire is struggling right now? But now that you brought it up…Claire, honey. Did the lawyer happen to mention an amount?”

  “Oh, ’scuse me.” An orderly rolled in a linen cart. “I thought you left already.”

  “Well, we didn’t.” My father looked at his watch. “And this room is paid in full until twelve-oh-one P.M.…which gives us twenty-two more minutes. So if you wouldn’t mind, please leave.”

  “Is anything wrong?” A supervisor entered.

  “Yeah, this guy thinks he’s at a Marriott or somethin’. He won’t leave till checkout.”

  “Hey, look. We’re in the middle of something important here. Just give us a few minutes, and we’ll be out of your hair. For God’s sake, my poor daughter has been here for over a week, and—”

  “Lenny, stop…. Please excuse him. We just need another minute.”

  “Whatever.” The supervisor signaled the orderly to return later.

  “Now, are you sure this guy was legit? Did he say specifically that he was an estate attorney? ’Cause this is Florida, and the state is crawling with slimeball lawyers who read the obits like they’re the comics, then try and get a piece of the action.”

  “I have no idea what he is. You were so busy screaming in my ear I couldn’t hear. All I know is he said his name was Marvin Greenberg…and then he said something about a trust fund in my name.”

  “A trust fund?” My father’s eyes lit up like a menorah on the eighth night.

  “Yeah, and the thing that’s so strange is, he said he was already in the process of trying to locate me, because legally he was required to notify me that on my thirtieth birthday, or upon the death of Abe, the money in the trust was mine. Which means I would have found out about him being my grandfather no matter what.”

  “Oh my God. This is so…I don’t know.” My mother sighed. “Bashert? Meant to be?”

  “I’ll tell you what it is. It’s incredible.” My father pounded his chest and looked up to thank God, like a ballplayer who just hit one over the fence. “Course I don’t have to tell you the income tax on the interest could be…phew, don’t even ask.”

  “I’ll get the details on Monday, but he called it substantive.”

  “Substantive?” My father repeated the word like a dreamy-eyed Pinocchio.

  “What’s substantive mean, Lenny?”

  “Are you kidding? It means our worries are over.” My father laughed. “Let’s say for argument’s sake he put away, I don’t know, ten grand a year for Claire…. If it earned an average of eight percent a year over thirty years?” He did a mental calculation. “Between reinvesting the dividends and compounding, that account could be worth well over a million by now.”

  “A million dollars?” my mother cried.

  “That’s right. And I don’t have to tell you with how volatile the market’s been, our investments have been in the toilet…. This could be a big, big help.”

  “What are you getting at?” I gulped. “I haven’t heard anything official yet, and you’re already talking like it’s your money…. It’s not your money, it’s my money. The trust is in my name.”

  “Whoa. Hold on, there, Claire. Nobody’s trying to take anything away from you, honey. I’m just saying, we need to be fair and reasonable here. We made a huge investment in you at our expense. Nobody gave us a dime. Did it strictly out of the goodness of our hearts.”

  “Oh my God. What are you saying?” I screamed. “To repay you for your kindness, I should hand over my entire inheritance to you?”

  “No, of course not. I’m just saying that what we did for you was at a tremendous sacrifice. You have no idea how tough it was for us at the beginning—we had no money, no house, no savings and then we’re strapped with a baby we didn’t expect—”

  “This isn’t happening. Tell me this isn’t happening.”

  “Lenny, she’s right. This is too much for her to handle right now…. When did you say you were meeting the lawyer?”

  “Monday morning.”

  “So fine. I’ll fly home with Lindsey and Adam, and Lenny, you stay down here so you can go with her to the meeting.”

  “No! Sorry. I’m going alone.”

  “That’s ridiculous, Claire.” My father sneered. “What do you know about estate settlements, trust funds, probate…?”

  “I’ll tell you what I know. I know that I can’t trust you to make any decisions on my behalf because you’re going to be too busy figuring out what your cut should be…and as far as I’m concerned, that is NOT your decision to make.”

  “You’re unbelievable!” my father hollered. “Where’s the gratitude? The respect?”

  “Respect?” I closed my eyes. “You have the nerve to talk to me about respect? Oh my God. Look at the two of you, standing there like the parents of the year. What respect did you show me? You lied to me, you betrayed my trust, you never once bothered to consider how I’d feel if I found out the truth, all these years you’ve treated me like a burden and a nuisance—”

  “We treated you all the same!” My mother shook her finger in my face.

  “Bullshit! Everything I ever wanted, you made me feel like I had no right to ask for. But whatever Adam and Lindsey wanted? No problem. I had to pay for every dime of my first car…and what happened when Adam turned seventeen? Bingo. Daddy takes him over to the Nissan dealer, and says, ‘Go on, son. Pick out something nice.’ And for years I begged you to let me go to that great performing arts camp in Wisconsin, and you said, ‘Nothing doing. Too much money.’ But when Lindsey wanted to go to that stupid gymnastics camp…oh my God, the girl didn’t know a cartwheel from a Ferris wheel, but suddenly money was no object.”

  “We were in a better financial position then,” my father argued.

  “And she was getting so fat. We thought a little exercise over the summer would help.”

  “Yeah, and you’re also wrong about the car.” My father sniffed. “Adam paid me back every month once he started working. Gave me a little bit out of his paycheck. Nobody got a free ride.”

  “He paid you back?” I laughed. “That’s a joke. He still owes me the two hundred he borrowed from me when he wanted new rims. You’re lying about this like you lied about everything else.”

  “How dare you open your mouth like that to me!” He raised his hand.

  “No, how dare you treat me like an obligation, then suddenly at the mention of a payout we’re like best friends.”

  “I can’t believe you would say anything so awful. Can you believe her, Roberta?”

  “Claire, you’re talking nonsense. We treated you like our own from day one.”

  “Maybe from your perspective, but I’ve had a lot of time to think this past week, and I don’t remember it that way. I don’t remember you coming down on Adam and Lindsey like you came down on me. It’s like with me, there was always this grudge or something.”

  “Oh, pull out the violin for poor little Claire.” My father groaned. “You make it sound like you were little Cinderella sitting by the ashes.”

  “Well, I’m sorry, but that’s how I felt. I tried so hard to make you proud of me. I got great grades, I was captain of the volleyball team, I won all these civic duty awards, I never got into any trouble, and believe me I could have done that big-time.”

  “Of course we were proud of you,” my mother said.

  “Then why didn’t you ever say it? Why didn’t you ever say, ‘Claire, we love you and we’re proud of you’?”

  “Oooh. Let’s all go to Claire’s pity party,” my father snapped. “Sorry, dear. But this is all in your imagination.”

  “Oh, really? So you remember it differently? You remember putting your arm around me, lavishing me with praise, and telling me you were so proud to be my father?”

 
“I didn’t say I was Ward Cleaver, for Christ’s sake.”

  “And what about you, Mom? You really think you were there for me?”

  “Of course I was. I took care of all your needs.”

  “Exactly. I never missed a dentist appointment. I was up to date on my shots. I got new shoes for school. You weren’t my mother, you were my manager. You did everything for me, but nothing with me.”

  “How dare you attack your mother like this? She tried very hard with you.”

  “Oh really? Then how come she never took me out to lunch? Or to the city to see a show? Or just out shopping like everyone else’s mother?”

  “Well, pardon me, but I had two other children to take care of!”

  “Yeah. YOUR children.”

  “You’re completely out of line here,” my father yelled. “And we don’t have to take this.”

  “You were both so cold to me. All I ever heard was what I did wrong.”

  “I never missed one of your volleyball games,” my mother pointed out.

  “Yes, but did you ever cheer for me? Every time I’d look up, the other parents would be going crazy screaming, and there’s my mother, blabbing with Elyce’s mom. You never once got off your ass to say, ‘Go, Claire!’”

  “And where were you, Dad? You never even came to my games.”

  “I was working! That’s where I was. Out busting my ass so I could support my family.”

  “Everybody’s father’s had jobs, but they found a way to come. And what about my senior year when I had the lead in Grease?”

  “Oh jeez. Here we go again. How many goddamn times are we going to have to apologize for that?”

  “My friends couldn’t believe it. You missed all three performances, and then you didn’t even send me flowers.”

  “Well, now, that was your mother’s fault. I told her to do something nice…and didn’t we watch the video like a dozen times?”

  “Watch the video?” I yelled. “Oh my God! You think that’s the same thing as being there for your child? The same thing as getting to hear the applause, and having everyone tell you how good you were? You think I wasn’t mortified when everyone else’s parents were waiting outside to say congratulations, and mine were hanging out at some stupid golf outing in Myrtle Beach?”