Claire Voyant (21 page)

“I don't know. You told me not to say anything about Drew's poetry, so I said the first thing that popped into my head.”

“Like you did when you met my dad and Drew? You just made stuff up?”

“Okay.” My heart pounded. “You know what? I don't know what your drug of choice is—”

“It must be the same as yours, 'cause you may think you fooled everyone, but I heard your bullshit little story, and I don't know who you talked to on that flight, but it sure as hell wasn't my Pops.”

Shit.
“I don't know what you're talking about, Delia. Were you there? Because I don't remember seeing you.”

“I didn't have to be there. I knew my Pops, and there was no freakin' way he would have sat there doing stupid crossword puzzles with you.”

Houston, we have a problem.
“Really?” I swallowed. “Why not?”

“'Cause they made him feel dumb, that's why.”

“Dumb.”

“Yeah, dumb. After he escaped Germany and came to America, he used to get the crap beat out of him every time the kids at school heard his accent.”

“I'm sorry. I'm not following you.”

“He never liked speaking English 'cause he was always afraid of being teased, or people thinking he wasn't smart because he didn't know the right words to say…. That's why he hated doing speeches and stuff, even though he was asked like all the time. Believe me,
I knew my Pops. The last thing he would have done was sit there figuring out a seven-letter word for
appetizer.
”

“He was just trying to be polite.”

“Not his style.” Delia glared. “That's how I know you're as fake as your Louie.”

Why I bothered staring at my own pocketbook I had no idea. It
was
a fake. Although compared to the ones sold by the street vendors with the cheap zippers and glued-on logos, it was a good fake.

“I never said we spent hours at it. All I said was—”

“It makes me want to puke that you're trying to take advantage of my family.”

“I swear, Delia, I'm not trying to do any such thing. I told them the truth.”

“Really? Even that whole business about Pops having friends where he lived?”

“I didn't say they had sleepovers.” I gulped. “I just said he found some men to play cards with.”

“No. Sorry. Thanks for playing.” She honked. “This is a guy who spent his whole life raising money, meeting with world leaders…he never would have sat on his ass all day playing cards.”

“He said he liked having the company.”

“He could give a shit about company, okay? I know for a fact because I visited him before he left for New York, and he told me he doubted anyone would even notice he was gone, because he hadn't made a single friend. Everyone there was too busy complaining about their aches and pains and their ungrateful children. Nobody liked to talk about books or movies. It was killing him to be so idle. In fact he said that as soon as he got back, he was telling my dad to start looking for another place for him.”

“I…um…don't remember him saying anything like that.”

“Course not. It's hard to remember shit that never happened.”

“Delia, this is insane. You're making it sound like I made this whole thing up.”

“Yeah, 'cause you did…. I even called the airline and talked to one of the flight attendants, and she told me everything.”

Oh God. She knows how to play “Liar Liar.”
“What's ‘everything'?”

“Like that after he had the heart attack, you had to check his wallet for ID because you had no idea what his name was?”

I blinked hard, hopeful that it would hold back my tears. Never did I think that the dawn of my undoing would be at the hands of a little brat whose only skill was nailing counterfeit pocketbooks.

“Which means that this whole big thing with your parents is a bunch of crap,” Delia yelled. “How can you be all bent out of shape that they lied to you, if you're exactly like them?”

Is she right?
“Is…does…do your father and Drew know anything?”

“Hell if I know. It's not exactly like we sit around the kitchen table talking over Cheerios.”

“I don't know what to say, Delia.” I blew into a tissue. “I feel so…”

“I could give a shit how you feel. I just don't want you staying at my house, okay? I don't like you, I don't trust you.”

“You know what? Right now I don't like me or trust me, either. But I still need you to believe me…. He looked like a typical old guy. I had no idea who he was, that he was rich. The only reason I got off the plane in Jacksonville was because I was trying to stop feeling so damn guilty for ignoring him the whole flight.”
Oh crap!

“What?” Delia choked. “Are you saying you never even talked to him?”

I looked down.

“Oh my God. You're an even bigger asshole than I thought.”

“I'm not an asshole, okay? You have to believe me. I'm really a nice person. I was just depressed. I needed to be alone. The way I was feeling that morning, I wouldn't have talked to anyone.”

“I can't fucking believe you! You ignored him the whole time, then got off the plane and made up that whole bullshit story? You're a psycho!”

“I was just trying to help, okay? I thought if I told your dad and Drew that Abe didn't die alone, that he'd made a friend, they'd be comforted by that, and they were. But then they were so happy to hear what I was saying, I guess I got a little carried away.”

“You guess? Oh my God. You fucking told them that my Pops was proud of both of them.”

“Well, I'm sure he was.”

“You are so pathetic. You put words into a dead man's mouth. No wonder all this bad shit's happening. It's 'cause you deserve to get your ass kicked. You're a horrible person.”

“No, I'm not. I swear. I'm a good person who made a mistake, okay?”

And that was that. Without any sort of drumroll, I folded like a house of cards, collapsing on the floor like a battered rag doll. I didn't have the strength to argue, or the mental prowess to smash a return over the net like Venus Williams. Delia won. She beat me. She said I was a horrible person, and she was right. I deserved all of this pain and misfortune.

“It doesn't matter whether you believe me. But this is the absolute truth. When I was in the hospital, I was praying to die. I kept thinking, how am I going to live the rest of my life knowing that I did something so shitty? Especially to such a good, kind man. It's like finding out you snubbed Santa Claus the day after he delivered millions of toys to needy children. And then on top of that to find out that he was my grandfather. And that my own grandmother set it up so that we'd meet on the plane. And that I blew my one and only chance to ever talk to him…. Delia, I swear, if you want me to be punished for what I did, you are getting your wish. There is nothing you could say that could make me feel any worse than I do right now.

“My life is completely fucked up. It's like I've been disconnected from everything I know, like when they pulled all those tubes out of me in the hospital…. No way am I ever going to be able to think of my parents as my real parents. They're just going to be the people who took me in out of pity…. And maybe I'm supposed to feel grateful to them, but I don't. I'm so angry that they hid the truth from me. I will never be able to see that as anything other than arrogant and cruel.

“And then to find out that my real mother is this big, famous Hollywood star who I've always idolized, and she was right under my
nose all these years while I was out there killing myself to get these nothing parts, and that my father died when he was even younger than me? It's fucking crazy.

“But that's not even the worst of it. You're right about something else. I do have feelings for Drew. I think he's wonderful. He's smart and funny and sensitive…and after reading the lyrics he wrote, I'm even more crazy about him. But what difference does it make? He's in love with another woman, not to mention he's my first cousin. So there is no chance I'll ever be with the one man I know I could love forever.

“I really want to die, Delia. I do…. I don't think I'll ever get past all of this. It's too much. It's just too much.”

“What's going on in here?” Shari rushed in. “I was just in a deep meditative state when I realized I heard crying.”

I couldn't look up at her. Couldn't face another Fabrikant who was about to make a horrible discovery about me.

“Um. Nothing,” Delia said quietly. “She's just sad right now. I guess everything hit her at once.”

Hello?
I peeked, and saw that Delia was both pale and shaken. Did that mean she had a heart after all?

“Oh, you poor thing.” Shari knelt down to hug me. “You poor, poor thing…. But don't worry, Claire. You've come to the right place. We'll take good care of you. Whatever it takes. We'll help you heal. Won't we, Delia?”

“Yeah.” Delia smoothed my hair. “Definitely.”

I
F A FILM DIRECTOR WAS SHOOTING THE FOLLOWING SCENE, HERE IS
what audiences would see up on the big screen:

Angle on: A compassionate mother and daughter,
SHARI
and
DELIA
, caring for a grief-stricken young woman (
CLAIRE
) too incapacitated to care for herself. Their gestures seem instinctive, as if they are following ancient customs and traditions.

Angle on: Claire being tucked into Drew's sumptuous bed and brought a tray of food. She is void of emotion and oblivious to her caregivers' efforts.

Angle on: Shari and Delia speak to Claire in hushed tones so as not to agitate her.

Cut.

The thing is, that scene actually took place. Only I wasn't there. Well, I was, but I wasn't. I have no idea how, but somewhere between Delia deciding she felt sorry for me and Shari deciding she was going to make it her mission to help me heal, I left the physical plane of existence and witnessed this entire scene from an aerial view.

I'm not joking. I actually watched Shari grab a pair of sweats and a University of Miami T-shirt from Drew's dresser, help me change, tuck me into bed, then instruct Delia to bring me a tray of food.

I was sure I was dreaming, except that the images seemed so real. Normally my dreams look like outtakes from
Candid Camera
: mortifying situations at the hands of a prankster. Which made me wonder:
If I wasn't dreaming, was I dead? Had God decided he'd heard enough of my
kvetching
and said, “Fine, Claire. You don't want to live anymore? You're outahere.”

But how could I be dead? I could still hear conversations. Could still smell the jasmine tea, and the toast with strawberry jam. Could still feel the sadness in my heart, and the dread of tomorrow.

So if I wasn't dreaming and I wasn't dead, then what was I?

Sydney and a bunch of her Looney Tune friends were into this thing called astral travel, where they'd all sit around and try to leave their physical bodies for dimensions unknown. Frankly, I thought all of that paranormal stuff was a bunch of hooey, which is why I would tell her that no, I wasn't interested in visiting a parallel universe. I was having a hard enough time getting along in this one. And that if she and her friends were so interested in group travel, they should check out Caribbean cruises.

But what if I was wrong? What if it was possible to check out for a while? To leave your body, while your soul traveled? It might explain how it was me, Claire, curled in bed, crying in Drew's pillow, and at the same time, me, Claire, fluttering overhead like the Flying Nun. Might explain how the longer I hovered, the more vivid the colors in the room turned, as if a brilliant, sacred beam of light was shining through.

Then I saw it. The vibrating, silver cord connecting my physical body to my soul like a fibrous web. And it hit me. Ready or not, I was having an out-of-body experience. And no sooner did I give credence to this possibility than my astral travel agent appeared.

“Oh jeez, Grandpa Abe. You scared me to death.”

“That's not a very popular expression over here,” he laughed.

“Really? Because no one wants to be dead?”

“Because there is no such thing as dead. We retain the same energy force here that we do on earth, only without physical form…. Now tell me. How does it feel to be light and free?”

“I don't know. Like yogurt? I guess it feels nice. Are you sure I'm not dead?”

“No, Claire. You are very much alive.”

“And very confused…I have a hell of a lot of questions for you.”

“There is no hell, as there is no heaven.”

“Gee. Doesn't that pretty much put the Catholic church out of business?”

“It puts every religion out of business. Once you cross over, you have returned home to the peaceful universe from which you arrived, and it is safe, and free of judgment.”

“Okay, now I get it. This
is
a dream, and we're in a remake of
Oh, God
. You're George Burns, and I landed the Teri Garr part.”

“No.”

“So then what
is
happening? Please don't tell me this is an out-of-body experience.”

“I prefer to call it soul travel.”

“Is that anything like
Soul Train
? Because I loved that show growing up.”

“Sorry, no. But you'll be happy to know that you are about to embark on a distant journey, where you will reunite with the spirits you have known and loved through many lifetimes.”

“How distant? Enough to rack up frequent flyer miles? Because if I am traveling to another dimension, that should be worth a lot, right?”

“It is worth more than you can imagine, Claire. I am going to help you return to the light, and remember why you chose this life path.”

“Wait, wait, wait. You're saying I purposely picked a life that involved pain and misery? Because that I'm not buying. Who would be stupid enough to volunteer for a life as pathetic as mine? See how miserable I am down there? I'm sad, I'm scared, I'm—”

“Going to be fine.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because you are surrounded by guardian angels who are guiding and protecting you.”

“Well, I hope they're not expecting a raise anytime soon, because it seems to me that they've been asleep at the wheel. My life is a disaster. Can't you see that?”

“I can see that you are struggling to make sense of your karmic lessons.”

“Wait…. How do I know you're not just any old spirit? If you were my grandfather, you'd know exactly what I was going through…. Where's your German accent? Do you have identification?”

“I have no pants. Where would I keep it?”

“Good point. But can you prove you're him? Can you tell me about my life down there?”

“Yes. That is my other granddaughter Delia, a twenty-two-year-old lost soul, and her mother, Shari Deveraux Fabrikant, a fifty-two year old lost soul. You are Hannah Claire Fabrikant Greene, a thirty-year old actress from Long Island who recently made some startling discoveries about your past after the man seated next to you on a flight—that would be me—passed over on your lap.”

“So I guess it is you. But then why are you being so nice to me? I treated you like—”

“I know.”

“I am very sorry,” I said. “You have no idea how bad I feel. I was already so miserable….”

“And I am sorry, too. It is why I could not leave you.”

“Why should you be sorry? You at least tried to talk to me. I'm the one who blew you off.”

“No, dear. I did it first—when you were born. I'm the one who made the terrible mistake of abandoning you when you needed my help. I could have done so much more.”

“Hey, yeah. That's right. You could have done so much more. You could have made Penelope take responsibility for me. You could have sent Grams the money you promised. You could have—”

“Done the courageous thing instead of choosing to do nothing at all…. It was a difficult time for me…. Helping strangers, but not my own family…. I couldn't bear the truth that I had raised a selfish, irresponsible daughter who shared none of my values. But I knew that with a nice family to raise you, you'd be better off than most. And that was that. Until one morning I woke up and said to myself that before I die, I must meet you.”

“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?”