Claire Voyant

by Saralee Rosenberg

  “So wait. You knew you were going to have a heart attack on the plane?”

  “No.” He laughed. “That came as a surprise.”

  “Oh wow.” I shivered. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Think how I felt. But it’s not words that matter now, dear. It’s understanding and forgiveness.”

  “Are you saying that you forgive me? Because that would really help me so much.”

  “Yes, I forgive you, Claire. And I understand why you didn’t speak to me…. Do you feel better?”

  “Yes. Definitely.”

  “Then don’t you think that if you could forgive and understand the people you are angry with, they would feel better, too?”

  “I don’t care how they feel. They did something far worse than me.”

  “No, they did something far better. They didn’t look the other way. They opened their hearts. Raised you as their own. Shared whatever they had.”

  “Yes, but they taught me never to lie, and then they deceived me big-time. They’re hypocrites.”

  “It takes one to know one, dear. Didn’t you refuse to acknowledge me, and then lie to my family? Your parents didn’t lie to you, Claire. They just chose to shield you from the painful truth. It’s not the same thing.”

  I could not answer.

  “Let me save you from a lifetime of hurt. Forgive yourself. Forgive your family. Forgive my daughter—”

  “NO!”

  “Why not?”

  “Because…I don’t know…This may sound stupid, but…I think I like anger. It’s safe.”

  “Anger makes you feel safe?”

  “Well, maybe not safe. It’s just that I understand it better because I got so much practice as a kid. I mean, think about it. When you’re little, and you’re mad at someone, or things aren’t going your way, you get to scream, slam doors, have a tantrum, be mean, and everyone puts up with you.

  “Then you grow up, and all of a sudden it’s not okay to react that way anymore, except that it’s the only response that feels normal. Oh, and anger gives you the perfect excuse to act crazy, get stoned, not pay your bills, eat Doritos in bed….”

  “But it can also be an excuse to hide from the truth and feel self-pity.”

  “True.”

  “Claire, anger is a luxury you can’t afford, because the price tag is paid in the currency of pain.”

  “Were you this smart on earth, Grandpa?”

  “I wish I had been.”

  “But you have to admit, I do have a lot of good reasons to be angry.”

  “I think you have a lot of good reasons to be grateful.”

  “Can’t I be both?”

  “Not if you want to move on.”

  “Hey, look.” I pointed to myself. “I’m smiling…. How come they don’t know I’m gone?”

  “You’re not gone. You are there. And here.”

  “I gotta tell you. As neat as this little talk is, it’s still a little creepy.”

  “It shouldn’t be. You often return to the other side.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Have you ever noticed that when burdened by a problem, somehow things look different in the morning? Maybe you wake up with an idea or an answer?”

  “I guess. Yeah, that’s happened.”

  “Where did the ideas come from? Was it coincidence that you suddenly knew what to do?”

  “I don’t know. Are you telling me that thoughts are put into our heads?”

  “Exactly. And have you ever dreamt you were flying, but there was no plane? Or felt you were falling, but didn’t get hurt? Have you ever been awoken by a sudden jolt?”

  “I think so.”

  “That was your soul reentering your body. Sometimes it goes smoothly. Other times there is an urgency to the return, and the vibrations are so strong, the landing can be quite abrupt.”

  “Really?…and what exactly do we do over here? Look for long-lost relatives?”

  “Sometimes you reunite with those you have loved and lost. Other times you come in search of reassurance, courage, patience, answers. Every journey is different.”

  “So what’s going to happen when I go back? Will all my problems be over?”

  “That is quite up to you.”

  “Okay. Well, can you tell me this: Is there any chance I’ll hook up with Drew? I really want to know, because I’m in love with him.”

  “Yes, I see that.”

  “But you have to tell me before my heart breaks. Is he going to marry Marly or not?”

  “Don’t you think it’s best to return, and find out for yourself what is meant to be?”

  “No, I think it’s best that, if you already know how this ends, you should give me a heads up.”

  “Are you always this pushy?” He laughed.

  “Usually I’m worse…. Just tell me. Heartbreak or husband?”

  “I do see love in your future.”

  “But with Drew? Not some other guy?”

  “I see that you are happy, and if this is what it takes, then perhaps it is God’s will.”

  “So then let’s go back. I don’t need to do any exploring. I’m ready to start the rest of my life.”

  “I will miss you, Hannah Claire.”

  “Miss me? No, wait. I want you to come with me.”

  “It is time for me to return home as well.”

  “But we just met. And I really don’t think I can do this alone.”

  “You will never be alone. I will be in your heart.”

  “Well, can’t you at least stay until I get my life back together? I have so many questions. Did you really leave me money? Should I live with Grams in your apartment? Should I work for those crazy guys over at Casa deMiro? Will I ever get a decent role in a film?”

  “You haven’t asked about your family, dear. Don’t you want to know about them?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m never going to feel close to them again.”

  “It matters a great deal, because they love you. And even though they made mistakes, just as you did, they need forgiveness, just as you did.”

  “But they’re not my real family.”

  “Of course they are. Family is not about the people to whom you are born. It is a covenant with the people with whom you have been bound by God to share your life and your love. Family is not about blood, it’s about heart. Never give up on family, Claire. They are the heartbeat of your journey. The keepers of your soul.”

  “But—”

  “There are no buts. It is a universal truth.”

  “I guess I understand. But I still want you to watch over me.”

  “I will.”

  “Then can we work out a sign so I know that you’re watching?”

  “Yes. Why don’t you tell me your favorite flower?”

  “Oh. Um. I’m not really a flower person…. They’re all nice.”

  “Then a favorite song.”

  “Much better. I love music.”

  “I love music myself. How about ‘My Sky’?”

  “Never heard of it.”

  “It’s one of my favorites. If it’s okay with you, I’d like that to be our song.”

  “And I’m thinking, shouldn’t it be one we both like?”

  “Soon it will be.”

  “Well, wait. What was the name of it again?”

  “‘My Sky.’”

  “Who sings it?”

  “I do.”

  The summer between my junior and senior years in college, I backpacked through Europe with two of my sorority sisters. After the first month, we would often wake up in the morning, clueless as to where we’d slept. Venice? No, that was Monday. Barcelona? Possibly.

  That’s how it felt when I awoke from a deep slumber in Drew’s room and checked out my surroundings. I needed time to remember why I was in his bed. All I knew was that what woke me was a sudden thud, which oddly felt like a gymnast’s dismount from the balance beam. Fortunately, there were no judges commenting on my nice extension or ho
lding flash cards stating my score.

  It was an even greater relief that I wasn’t being judged for a beauty contest, for my hair was greasy, my clothes were rumpled, and my b.o. smelled like eau de gross. And yet I felt a lightness of being, as if my feet could touch the ground but keep me afloat at the same time. The image in the mirror shouted, “Do something with yourself,” yet my skin had an angelic glow, and my eyes shone.

  What really struck me as odd was the time. How could it be only three P.M.? I felt so well rested, surely I’d been out for more than a half an hour. Either this was one great bed, or Delia had used the same “tea” as that I had for Grams.

  Except that something was nagging at me. Something I wanted to recall, but what? Maybe it would come to me when I jumped in the shower. For whatever reason, everything usually came to me in the shower—Oh right. How could I forget? The last thing that came to me in the shower nearly killed me.

  Better not take chances, I thought. I’d clean myself up and hopefully find bread crumbs leading to the kitchen. I was positively famished and just wanted to sneak downstairs to throw some lunch together without running into a dagger-throwing Delia.

  As I tip-toed through the empty hallways, praying that I didn’t inadvertently end up in the lion’s den, I suddenly forgot what ailed me. I was too preoccupied checking out the unusual floor plan.

  Honestly, who lived like this? Whose house had a circular staircase leading to an indoor garden, which led to a meditation room with a large balcony overlooking an atrium, which was situated next to a media center and a glass enclosed gym? It didn’t even seem like a house. More like one of those full service, business hotels that offered an array of facilities that sounded perfect in the brochure. Hopefully I would run into the concierge, who could direct me to the kitchen.

  Fortunately, my own global positioning ability was working, for as I turned down the next hallway, eureka!, I found the kitchen. At least I think it was the kitchen. I had never seen one that was two stories high, sporting a balcony and an ocean view. And was that a café on the second floor? It looked like a mini-Starbucks, with comfy couches, magazine racks, tables and chairs, and a magnificent oak coffee bar.

  I could just imagine waking up every morning, shuffling down the hall in my pj’s, and being greeted by a perky young boy who was standing by with my latte and a newspaper. Maybe Ben wasn’t kidding when he made that remark about Shari having one butler for regular, and another for decaf.

  As I explored the sea of cabinets, and a refrigerator the size of my entire kitchen back in L.A., it dawned on me that it had been weeks since I’d eaten a real meal. I just hoped that Shari wouldn’t think badly of me if I stole the leftover sushi.

  I was in the middle of devouring eel when a housekeeper walked by with a laundry basket. By virtue of the fact that she did not ask what I was doing there, I assumed she knew I was the sick guest in Drew’s room.

  What I did get out of her was that the Mrs. was outside. Sure enough, when I peered through the glass wall facing the back of the house, there was Shari, perfectly posed, practicing what looked like pranayama yogic breathing with her trainer. Talk about being breathless. He was stunning.

  Had I not been enjoying my lunch, I might have asked to join them, but then the phone rang. Having no idea if anyone was home, or if there was a secretary on staff who took messages, I didn’t answer. But by the third ring, I figured it was the least an appreciative guest could do.

  Bad move. Very bad move. If only I hadn’t picked up.

  Chapter 23

  “OH MY GOD.” I HUNG UP THE PHONE AND STOOD SOLDIER-STILL.

  “Claire.” Shari clapped. “Welcome back to civilization. How are you feeling?”

  I turned to see her and Handsome Yoga Man prance through the sliding doors, rolled mats and towels in hand. “I didn’t know you came down.” She hugged me.

  “I can’t believe it.” I sank into a kitchen chair. “She hung up on me.”

  “Who did? If it was Delia, don’t give it a second thought.” She wiped her sweaty brow. “She is so rude with that call waiting. Honestly, she doesn’t even bother saying good-bye.”

  “It wasn’t Delia. It was Penny. And she hung up on me.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you’re mistaken, because lately we’ve been getting so many wrong numbers.”

  “No, it was her. It’s right here on the caller ID…P. Nichol. And it’s a 323 area code, which is L.A. I’m telling you, it was her, and she hung up on me.”

  “Now, why would she do that? Did you have…words?”

  “What words? All I said was hello, and then she said, ‘Delia?’ Puff of smoke. ‘It’s Aunt Pen. Mom home?’ So I said, ‘No. Hi. It’s not Delia, it’s Claire.’ And then she hung up on me.”

  “Oh.”

  “Why doesn’t she want to talk to me?” I burst into tears. “What have I ever done to this woman other than be born? I’m the one who should be hanging up on her, not the other way around. I mean, it’s one thing to decide you don’t want a baby at nineteen, but grow up already—the cat’s out of the bag. I’m her flesh and blood. How do you hang up on your only child?”

  “I guess this isn’t a good time.” Yoga man rubbed Shari’s shoulder. “And I really have to run.”

  “No, wait.” She reached for his hand. “I wanted you to meet my niece, Claire. Claire, this is my yogi, Ron.”

  Why do I always look like crap when I meet the hottest men? “Hi. Nice to meet you, Ron.” I extended my tear-soaked hand.

  “Nice to meet you, too, Claire. Hey, look. I’m sure you’ll be okay with Shari helping you figure things out. She’s great.” He kissed her smack on the lips far longer than any teacher ever kissed me.

  So Viktor was right again. Shari kept a stable of lovers, and this one must have been the flavor of the month. Maybe instead of her leftover sushi, I should go for her leftover men.

  “Have a good weekend.” Ron patted my head. “See you Monday morning?” He winked at Shari.

  “A good weekend?” I repeated. “It’s only Tuesday.”

  “Actually, it’s Friday.” Shari wiped her sweaty brow.

  “No way. I just took a quick nap. I slept, what? An hour tops.”

  “No.” She laughed. “You’ve been asleep for three days.”

  “Three days? How is that possible? I can’t even hold a job for that long.”

  “Well, you did wake up every once in a while, and we’d tried to get some food into you, but you always fell right back, and Dr. Zhivago said to just let you do what your body was telling you.”

  “Who?”

  “Dr. Zhivago. From your neurology team at the hospital.”

  “I’m sorry. I have a doctor named after a movie? Who’s his partner? Dr. No?”

  “To be honest,” she whispered, “I doubt that’s his real name, but who really knows?”

  “Whatever.” I slumped into the chair. “What am I going to do?”

  “There is nothing you can do. Just try to relax, compose yourself, take long, deep breaths.”

  “Shari, my life is getting sadder by the day. I don’t think proper breathing techniques are going to solve much.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” She grabbed a water bottle from the refrigerator. “I just thought if you could find a calm center, you could think more clearly. How about we start by getting you back on schedule with your medications? I’d like to have you in the best possible shape for your doctor’s appointment Monday, and then, of course, Ben is taking you over to meet the attorney handling Abe’s estate.”

  “I just don’t get it. Why couldn’t she at least say, ‘Hello, Claire? How are you feeling? What are your plans?’ How do you just say nothing and hang up?”

  “I’m not one to defend her, believe me. Over the years we’ve had our differences. I just think this all happened so fast—”

  “Fast? She’s had thirty years to think about it.”

  “She’s overwhelmed right now.”

  “What should I sa
y?”

  “I’ve known her for many years. She’s not the easiest person to deal with.”

  “SHE’S MY MOTHER!”

  “Just give her some time. I’m sure she’ll come to her senses, although she can be beyond stubborn. One time we asked her to fly in for an awards dinner honoring Abe, and I don’t know, it was something with a trunk show in Milan, there was a conflict, and she told Ben to change the date of the dinner, but he said no, this was planned a year in advance, and they’d already sold sixty tables. Do you know that she still wouldn’t change her plans? It was a mess…Abe was so disappointed. So you see, it’s not you. She’s just difficult—Oh. There’s the garage door. Delia’s back.”

  “Great.” I gulped. “Did she happen to mention anything about me?”

  “Well, yes, of course. She’s been very concerned.”

  “No, I mean did she say anything to you about a conversation we had?”

  “Hey.” Delia walked in, armed with shopping bags and dry cleaning. “Look who’s up. How’s it going?”

  “Much better, thanks.” I wonder what it’s like to have nothing to do all day but spend Daddy’s money and pick up clean clothes. “How about you?”

  “Same shit, different day.” She threw everything down on the counter and opened the fridge. “Hey! Where’s the sushi from last night? I’m like dying for it.”

  “It’s there,” Shari said. “Check the second shelf.”

  “Um, no, it’s not. I’m really sorry, Delia. I was starving, and it looked so good…”

  “Okay. Whatever. I’ll just call and order more. No biggie.”

  No biggie? Did I miss something here? First you wanted to kill me, now you’re being nice?

  “So do you like want to do something?” Delia downed some black olives.

  “Who? You mean me?”

  “Oh, no. Delia. That’s really not a good idea. Claire is very weak now. She needs—”

  “I’d love to.” I jumped up. “I don’t care what, as long as it feels normal. Dinner. A movie….”