Claire Voyant (16 page)

“Thank you. Wow. Those are beautiful. And so huge. How many are there?”

“Eighteen.” Drew saved me the trouble of counting. “Marly thinks twelve is too ordinary.”

Yeah, and ordinary is a terrible sin.
“Well, it's a beautiful bouquet, and I'm very touched. Thank you again.”

“My pleasure.”

“So is it still my birthday?”

He looked at his watch. “For a whole 'nother five hours.”

“Oh God. Hands down, it's been the absolute worst birthday of my life.”

“Hey, we were just glad it wasn't the last birthday of your life.” He slumped in the guest chair. “Believe me, one funeral a week is enough.”

“I see that,” I said. “You look like hell.”

“Well, then we're twins, 'cause you look like crap yourself.”

“Yeah, but I have a good excuse.”

“So do I.” He sighed. “So do I.”

“I'm sorry. Forgive me. I remember. Your grandfather just died.”

“Funny thing about that.” Drew sighed again. “Turns out you were right…so did yours.”

We let the enormity of that statement linger, as the implications were so devastating, neither of us could fathom where to start. Until I realized there was something I absolutely had to know.

“Does she…does Penny know about me?”

He nodded.

“What happened?” I hoisted myself up. “How did she find out?”

“It's a long story, Claire…probably not a good idea right now…you've been through so much.”

“No, please. Tell me what's going on.”

“It's not my place. You really should wait and discuss all of this with your parents.”

“Uch, don't even use that word. They don't deserve it.”

“Claire, c'mon. However weird your life started out, they raised you. They love you. You're their daughter. Nothing has changed.”

“Maybe for them nothing has changed.”

“Look, I'm not telling you that this whole thing isn't crazy. But maybe you just need to give it some time before you write off your family. They're all you know, and—”

I cut him off. “Has she come to see me?”

He didn't answer.

“Well, has she asked about me? Does she want to see me?”

“She had to fly back to L.A.” Drew looked down. “Something sort of came up…she had to deal with it right away.”

“Are you serious? She left without seeing me? Oh my God….”

“It's not that she didn't want to see you,” he said. “It's just that it…well, it was sort of a medical emergency.”

“A medical emergency? You mean she finally realized she had no heart?”

“She has a heart, Claire…it was actually a problem with her face.”

“Oh. She found out she had two of them?”

“Trust me. It's not what you think.”

“The hell it isn't. Is she even human? I'm her daughter, okay?
Doesn't that mean anything to her? Why does she keep running away from me?”

“She's not running away, I swear. It's just that…Oh God…I really didn't want to be the one to have to tell you this. But you know the night you were supposed to come over for dinner? Right before Pops' funeral? Then you ended up falling asleep in my bed. Remember? You were so tired, and you had a high fever, and you just wanted to sleep…. Turns out this blood clot had formed on the back of your head, and if I hadn't gotten home when I did, it could have burst, and you would have died in my bed.

“I called for an ambulance, they rushed you to the hospital, then Viktor went to find your parents. Then, when everyone got to the hospital, your father walks in, took one look at Aunt Penny, and—”

“Smacks her right in the jaw?”

“Yeah. That's right. He told you?”

“Not exactly. He told me he hit a woman. He didn't say who…. I just figured it out now.”

“He didn't just hit her, Claire. He threw a left hook that broke her jaw in two places.”

“Oh my God.”

“But thank God she was in a hospital so they could treat her. She actually had to have her jaw wired, and that's how she ended up going to the funeral—with a mouth full of metal.”

Serves her right!
“Oh my God!”

“That's why she flew right home. So she could see her plastic surgeon…because…well, her face-lift got pretty messed up. She's got some serious complications.” Drew sighed. “And now so does your dad, because she's threatening to press charges. Maybe even sue him for damages.”

“Are you serious? She wants to take legal action against the one guy who was willing to raise me after she took off and never came back? That's…I don't know…really sick!”

“I agree.”

“You do? But she's your aunt.”

“It still doesn't mean she's right. Look…I know our situations
are totally different, but they sort of started out the same. I mean, my real father died when I was a baby, too. But then my mom married Ben, and after a while, it didn't matter how our family came together. He treated me like his son, I loved him back…it wasn't complicated. He was my dad.”

“Yes, but you knew the truth the whole time. You weren't lied to, you weren't—”

“Oh, believe me, I get why you're angry. And when you leave here, you'll take however much time you need in therapy to deal with all this shit. I'm just saying, try to remember that he's not the one who gave you away. He's the one who raised you, who loved you—”

“Yes, but—”

“Nothing. I mean, I know he's loud and crazy and you can't tell him anything. But I saw the look on his face when he threw that punch, and there's no doubt in my mind, the man has never thought of you as anything other than his daughter. He would do anything to protect you.”

“I know,” I cried. “What I don't know is how I'll ever forgive either of them for betraying me.”

“I'm not saying they were right. I'm saying you're still you. What you look like, how you think, what's important to you. It doesn't matter what your name was.”

“It's not that simple. Don't you see? It's like when I was a baby, I got handed the script that was supposed to be my story. So I learned all my lines, and understood my role, and figured out how to deal with all the other characters, but then after thirty years of being in the same goddamn show, one day I turn the page and find out that I'd gotten it all wrong. My real story was nothing like the script.”

“I don't think that's true. It's the same story, just the unabridged version, maybe. But whatever. It doesn't mean you can't have a happy ending.”

“It doesn't?” I stared at him.

“Absolutely not. In fact, you of all people deserve a happy ending.” Drew handed me tissues, and after a loud nose blow, which I'm
sure was very sexy, I couldn't stop staring at this wonderfully sensitive man I barely knew but already adored. A man who could see me at my absolute worst and not seem to notice or care. How awesome it would be to have someone in my life this intelligent and understanding…after I got out of jail for strangling my parents.

I
T TOOK THIRTY YEARS, BUT
I
WAS FINALLY THROWN A SURPRISE PARTY.
Not the kind where twenty people jumped out from behind the couch and scared me to death. Not even the kind where I suspected something fishy was going on but couldn't fathom the incompetent people I knew pulling off anything requiring that much attention to detail.

No. My surprise party was different in that it began quietly, in a private hospital room, without food, music, decorations, and with only a single guest. Someone who was hardly in a festive mood himself.

After listening patiently to my sad tale, Drew told me that he, too, was exhausted from the events of the past week. And also a little down. Over the past year, he'd been having second thoughts about working with his father, and even contemplated going back into podiatry. “But how could I leave him now? His father just died, and if his only son doesn't want to be business partners anymore, he's going to feel so abandoned.”

I was about to go into my famous sometimes-you-have-to-follow-your-heart speech when my family arrived, carrying balloons and a cake. Not that it helped liven the party. If they'd walked in with Chippendale dancers it wouldn't have mattered. Sulking was a plane you wanted to fly solo.

I made a few snippy comments, but not even my normally combative father picked up his verbal sword to joust. Drew squirmed,
while my mother busied herself straightening up the clutter in the room. What was wrong with this picture? Shouldn't Adam and Lindsey be fighting, or at least calling one another by their rightful names, Fatmoronloser and Dumbass? And where was Grams' big mouth when I needed it most?

Was I actually wishing for my family to behave as badly as they normally did? Anything to distract me from letting my emotional dam burst. For there was so much I needed to say to them. But not from a hospital bed. And not on my birthday.

To break the ice, I was about to ask Grams what I'd missed on
Days of our Lives
when I realized that she was the quietest of them all. In fact, she looked downright glum. No doubt my parents were making her pay dearly for having pried open the big family secret. In fact, they had probably moved her into an assisted living doghouse by now.

But there was no time for small talk, as more guests had arrived. The way they streamed in, it looked like an opening of another Ben Fabrikant club. So much for the hospital's strict rules limiting the number of visitors at one time. Everyone on the rope line had made it past the nurse/bouncers.

Viktor was the first to hand me a gift. “Heppy birthday to thi girl who hez everything.” He pecked my cheek and handed me a pile of the latest tabloids to hit the newsstands.

“Thanks, Viktor. With any luck, there's a shot of Antonio Banderas in a Speedo.”

“No, but there is excellent story about yur mother, Penny. Maybe you like to read about her.”

Oh my God. Tell me he didn't just say that. But from the way Drew turned ashen and my father looked as if he were going to throw another punch, I hadn't heard wrong.

Fortunately, that's when Marly walked in, bookended by her parents, Sharon and Milt, and her younger sister, Marissa. They were followed by Ben, his wife, Shari (aka Drew's mom), and their daughter Delia aka Miss Why-Did-I-Have-to-Come-Here.

Whereas I should have acted appreciative that all of these
strangers had given up their Sunday night for me, instead I became fixated on the ladies' jewelry. It just amazed me how different their opinions were on what constituted good taste.

Then, as I was about to check out how badly the men had accessorized, it occurred to me that one more party guest had just arrived. Only this one was presumed dead and buried.

To his credit and my relief, Abe didn't go the Hitchcock route. He neither rattled the blinds nor made the lights flicker. He simply nuzzled up next to me and surrounded my space with a warm, powerful energy. And by virtue of the fact that no one screamed, I knew that I was the only one who sensed his presence.

The fact that I didn't startle everyone by jumping out of bed or shrieking at the top of my lungs was amazing, given my history of hysteria over things considerably less frightening.

Understand that I slept with the lights on until I was eighteen, and the only reason I stopped was because my bitchy, boyfriendless roommate at IU threatened to throw my study lamp out the third floor of McNutt Hall unless I turned it off so she could get some sleep.

So you'd think that having a dead man hanging around my personal energy field would set me over the edge. Yet I remained calm. Not because I was getting used to Abe showing up. It was because there was something about his aura that made me feel safe, as if I were in his protective custody.

“Hi, Grandpa Abe,” I whispered.

“What did you say, Claire?” My father signaled that he couldn't hear above the crowd noise.

“Nothing.” I shivered. What was I supposed to do? Confess that I thought my deceased grandfather was here and in some sort of unexplainable way was trying to comfort me?

“Claire?” My mother bent over me. “You're shaking like a leaf. What's wrong? Should I go get a nurse?”

“No.”

“But you looked like you were about to go into convulsions or something.”

“You stay, Roberta,” Sharon said. “I'll go get someone.”

“Don't. I'm fine.”

“Yur not looking ez good ez before,” Viktor said. “Maybe something is happening to you.”

“I'm just tired.”

“From what, for God's sake?” My father came over. “All you've done is sleep and eat—”

“Lenny, sha!” My mothered eyed him. “Don't start.”

“C'mon, Claire. Let's sit up now.” He fluffed my pillows and hoisted me so I was in an upright position. “All these nice people came to see you. Hey, why don't we all sing?” He turned to the guests. “Let's hear a good, rousing rendition of happy birthday. That'll cheer you up, right, honey?”

“No.”

“We'll deal with this crap later, okay?” he whispered through clenched teeth. “But don't be rude. You're embarrassing the hell out of me.”

Oh no. We can't have that, now, can we?

I felt like I was fifteen all over again. The only thing that had ever mattered to my father was that Adam, Lindsey, and I “be good” for company. Even if he hated who my mother invited—and he hated most everyone—we still had to clean our rooms, set the table with the “good” dishes, and put on decent clothes. (“Get back in your room young lady, and find an article of clothing that covers your
pupik!
”)

But obviously this hadn't worked in reverse. He didn't seem to care one bit that I was humiliated for not having figured that I was born to other parents. In fact, I could just hear my father's snippy retort. “What the hell difference does it make how you got here? Take out the garbage.”

The very thought of that upcoming conversation made me want to stuff my face.

“Can I please have some of that candy?” I pointed to the wrapped box that Drew had brought.

“After we cut the cake,” my father said.

“Lenny, she's not a child. If she wants some candy, she should have some candy.”

“I didn't say she couldn't have it. I'm saying, these people don't want to spend all night here. Let's get on with the show. Anyone got a match?”

“That's sure a shitload of candles.” Adam pointed to the cake. “There go the smoke detectors.”

“Adam. The mouth. Watch the mouth…. Whose got a light?”

Viktor and Milt drew lighters from their pockets as if they were in a showdown at high noon.

“No, wait.” I tugged at my father's hand. “I'm so in the mood for caramel, you have no idea.”

“I'm sorry to disappoint you, Claire.” Drew coughed. “But it's not candy.”

“It's not?” I grabbed the narrow box off the night table and shook it. “What is it, then?”

“Oh jeez,” my father said. “It's a gift of some sort. What difference does it make what it is? You can open it after we do the cake. We got you one of those chocolate banana concoctions.”

“What are you talking about?” my mother said. “You weren't even at the bakery. Don't listen to him, Claire.
I
picked it out. It's pralines and cream. Your favorite.”

“You're sure this isn't candy?” I shook the box again.

“We could go see if the gift shop is still open.” Marly reached for Drew's hand. “I mean, they probably don't sell Godiva or anything…”

“Hold on, Marly.” Ben pointed to the box. “Drew? That's not what I think it is, is it?”

Drew looked away.

“Damn it, son! Didn't we discuss this? And didn't we agree this is not the time—”

“I heard what you had to say, but I think you're wrong,” Drew replied.

“Oh, please? Tell me what it is,” I said. “I hate surprises.”

“You do?” Drew took back the box. “Then you know what? Your dad's right. Let's all sing happy birthday and cut the cake.”

“No.” I grabbed it back. “We want what's in the box. We don't care about the cake.”

“Oh my God.” My father started to perspire. “Who the hell is
we,
Claire?”

“Mr. Fabrikant. Grandpa Abe. Whatever. He says we want what's in the box.”

“Well, isn't this just great? Now she's hearing voices. Should we call a doctor or an exorcist?”

“Can you tell us what's happening, Claire?” Ben's voice cracked.

“Yeah.” Drew jumped on the bed like a little kid. “What's going on?”

“I'll tell you what's going on,” my father said. “She's lost her mind…‘We want what's in the box,'” he mimicked me. “Hey, here's an idea. Since Abe wants to play
Let's Make a Deal,
ask him if he'd rather have what's behind door number three.”

“Stop it, Lenny! She's just having a little hallucination.”

“A little hallucination? I'm sorry. Is it just me, or does anyone else think that's a problem?”

“What are you getting so worked up about? You heard what the doctors said. Patients with head traumas are a little
ferkakt
for a while…until the swelling around the brain goes down.”

“I'm not
ferkakt,
Mother. Trust me. I'm a lot saner than either of you.”

“Oh shit,” Adam whispered to Lindsey. “This is gonna get ugly.”

“Oh, I see,” my father said. “We're nuts, but meanwhile, you're the one who thinks there's a ghost in the room…. m Not that anyone here is going to buy into that crap. Except for your mother, of course,” he sneered. “We all know how she feels about that wacko John Edward…and thank God for TiVo so we don't ever have to miss even a single episode for the next ten years.”

“You like John Edward?” I asked my mother.

“I think he's wonderful…how he helps so many people.”

“Oh, me, too.” Sharon nodded. “At first I wasn't sure if he was for
real, but then a friend of mine who lost her husband flew to New York and ended up being one of the ones he picked on the show. She said he was amazing.”

“Yeah, he's great,” I said. “So, wait.” I looked at my mother. “You've got 'em all on TiVo?”

She hesitated before nodding yes.

“Good to know!”

“Oh my God. Am I the only normal, rational person left in my family?” my father asked.

“That's a laugh,” Grams snorted. “You're crazier than all of 'em.”

“Is that so, Gert? So you think that, what? I should just go along with the crowd? Sorry. I don't buy it that a man who was just buried six feet under isn't really dead.”

“It's 'cause you have like zero spirituality, Daddy,” Lindsey whined. “You don't believe in anything.”

“For your information, young lady, I happen to be a very spiritual person.”

“Yeah, right.” Adam slapped his back. “The only spirits you like are eighty-proof.”

Everyone laughed, but you'd have to be dead not to feel the tension mounting. This was not exactly the frolicking, good-deed-charity-event-for-the-sick-girl that Ben and Drew had planned. I was afraid not to say something.

“Believe whatever you want, Daddy. But Abe has been with me since he died on my lap.”

Except that.

“He has?” Ben and Drew asked.

“Yes.” I blushed.
Nice ice-breaker, Claire. Keep talking. Because it's not like these people weren't already thinking you're a California airhead.

But what I really felt bad about was that I hadn't intended to “out” poor Abe. What if he'd wanted to keep our out-of-body relationship confidential, and I'd just violated some sacred trust? This was all my dad's fault. If he hadn't pushed me to a breaking point like he always did, I wouldn't have felt compelled to say something to annoy him.

Now I understood how my mother must have felt all these years
being on the receiving end of his scoffing tirades. Nothing she ever said or did was right. How had she slept next to him for thirty years and not suffocated him with a pillow yet?

I took a deep breath and explained that I didn't care who believed me. As unfathomable as it was, what had been happening to me was very real. I had seen the ghost of Abe at the airport. I'd felt his presence when Drew asked me to speak at the funeral, and then again in the limo when Viktor was driving me to South Beach. In fact, I was fairly certain that he was with me right now.

No one said a word. It was a game of chicken. Whoever spoke up first in support of me would be the next one to be scorned.

“So like what's he doing right now?” Drew whispered. “Do you think he can hear us?”

“I don't know. Do you want to try to say something to him?”

“Oh, for Christ's sake.” My father threw up his hands. “This is such bullshit! Look, everyone. I apologize. I know Claire has been through a lot, but you don't need to indulge her like this. We'll get her whatever medications she needs to—”