Chapter 27

Zane chewed on a fingernail, his nerves nearly getting the best of him. Clara had been at the house for less than ten minutes, and he was already getting a creeped out feeling in his gut. The ghost stuff freaked him out, and he just wanted Clara out. She had been officially moved out for a week, and he was glad. He liked the kid well enough, but something about her set him on edge.

Clara, for her part, was ignoring Zane. He and Kerri sat in the front room of the large, somewhat rundown Victorian, allowing her to wander through all the rooms and floors at will. She was trying to get a feel for the place, and much like Alex Estrata’s place, allowing herself to be led by the energy. The house had a heavy feel to it that she didn’t remember feeling before.

When she’d arrived, she’d asked Kerri in depth about what had been happening – if anything – over the past week. Nothing quite as traumatic as the night she’d been in the shower, Kerri said, but she also felt the heaviness in the air, and Zane seemed to be even more moody than usual. Things continued to disappear or move, seemingly of their own accord.

As Clara made her way through the house, she couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever was in the house didn’t originate there. It didn’t feel as if it were someone who used to live in the house, or even on the land, as it had been in her English teacher’s house.

She needs help…

Clara stopped, her hand on the banister about to make her way downstairs from the second floor. She looked around, expecting to see her grandmother standing behind her.

She followed you…

“Who is she?” Clara asked softly, eyes scanning the hall and opened doorways around her. She very much felt as though she were being watched. Though she didn’t feel she was in danger, or the source had any sort of malicious intent, but she felt uneasy, all the same.

Susannah…

Clara heard the name as clear as if someone three feet away had said it, and it wasn’t the voice of her grandmother. She turned away from the stairs, deciding to stay on the second floor, as that’s where she felt Susannah’s presence.

“Are you stuck here, Susannah?” Clara asked conversationally, walking toward Kerri and Zane’s bedroom, eyes ever on the lookout. “Do you need my help?” She heard nothing. “Susannah? Are you here? I can’t help you if you won’t help me.”

the bedroom was empty, as Clara expected, and the energy wasn’t as heavy. She left it, heading into one of the two guest bedrooms. She found herself drawn to the one that was piled with boxes and old, unused furniture. It had effectively been turned into a storage space since the attic had been in use by her.

“Wow,” she whispered, almost able to feel the air clinging to her skin. Her solar plexus was wide open, excepting the energy in such large quantities that it was making Clara feel nauseous. She put her hand over her stomach, trying in vain to block it.

Save me…

Clara whirled around, instantly stopping cold. Halfway across the small room she saw the vision of a tall woman, her dark hair cropped short and curly. The figure of what looked to be a man was with her. Clara knew instinctively that she was seeing Susannah, and was about to see what had happened to her. She tried to prepare herself for the worst.

Susannah raised her arms, trying to ward off the myriad of blows that was being rained down upon her head, face and shoulders. It looked as though he were beating with either a pipe or a candlestick, Clara couldn’t tell. She gasped in horrified wonder as blow after blow was dealt until finally the image faded.

“Jesus, Susannah,” she whispered, her voice shaky with emotion. “What do I do, Grandma?”

Kerri…

Clara turned to see Kerri peeking into the room, looking unsure, almost like a child creeping into her parents’ room in the middle of a thunderstorm. “Everything okay?”

Clara nodded. “I think so. I’ve made contact.” Something occurred to her. She realized that Rebecca hadn’t mentioned Kerri’s name to alarm her of her presence, but had said it as a guide. She wanted Kerri there, and Clara understood why. “Bring Zane in here.”

Kerri shook her head. “He won’t come, Clara.”

“Do it.”

Kerri, surprised by the hard, authoritative tone of her little sister’s voice nodded without further argument, and left the room. Minutes later the couple appeared. Zane hung back while Kerri entered, stopping halfway between him and Clara. Clara reached for them both.

“I need you both to come here.”

“Nah, that’s okay,” Zane said, sounding just like a little boy. If the situation hadn’t been so serious Clara would have laughed.

“Zane, take my hand,” she said instead, holding out her left hand to him. Reluctantly he took it in his much bigger one. Kerri took Clara’s right hand and took Zane’s in her other hand. “Do you guys feel it?” Clara asked, looking at them both.

“It feels so heavy in here,” Kerri said. She looked at her boyfriend to see he was nodding.

“Because that’s where she stays. Her name is Susannah.”

“Why in here?” Zane asked, looking around uncomfortably.

“Because this room isn’t used that much,” Clara said.

After shadow, Clara. Go find her in the after shadow…

Clara closed her eyes, not entirely sure why she did. “I need you guys to stay quiet,” she said, her voice low and soft. “I need you to trust me, and no matter what, do not let go of my hands.” She truly had no clue what she was saying and why, but decided to go with it.

Find her. Find Susannah…

As the darkness behind Clara’s lids began to clear, she found herself in a backwards world. It was the same world where she’d been the night of Erica’s party, almost five years before. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself and push away the panic. She could see the room they were standing in, but it was as though the sun had gone out, leaving eternal moonlight to guide her way.

Looking to her left, Clara saw the ghoulish outline of Zane: dark and featureless, though seeming larger than life. She shivered. To her right was the figure of her sister, just as dark and sinister as Zane’s. they didn’t belong in this world. The living had no rights. This was a place for the dead.

The room began to recede, and Clara could see Susannah standing not far from her. She looked frightened, so very, very frightened. Clara walked towards her, reaching out a hand.

“I need you to come with me, Susannah,” she said, her voice soft. Susannah could only stare, not sure what to do. “I can help you. I can free you.” She reached the much taller woman and looked up into her face, eyes so filled with the shadows of her violent death. “You came to me for help. Let me help you.”

“Clara? What’s going on?” Kerri asked, feeling a change in the room. It was as though some sort of energy were gathering right into the center of the circle the three of them had created with their linked hands.

“Don’t be afraid,” Clara said, eyes still closed.

Clara realized they were in some sort of hallway, the walls seeming to be painted black. It was eerie, though not exactly threatening. Even so, Clara knew she had to get Susannah and herself out of there.

“Grandma, help me,” Clara whispered, never seeing her sister and Zane’s eyes on her.

At the end of the long hallway a door opened. Beyond the opened entrance – or was it an exit? – Clara could see Rebecca’s silhouette against the golden light that she knew was the other side.

“Come with me,” she said, holding tightly to Susannah’s hand as she began to make her way down the hallway and towards her grandmother, who had entered the hall, but only by about ten feet.

“Who is that?” Susannah whispered, her voice shaky with fear.

“She’ll help you. I promise.” Clara smiled back at the frightened woman, holding tight to her hand.

Kerri could feel her heart beginning to pound as a coldness began to envelope the space the three of them created between them. It wasn’t cold coming from the windows or the cold November day beyond. It was a cold that seemed to have its source between them, and it started from the inside and worked it’s way out, not the other way around. She shivered, as did Zane, who met her gaze.

“What is that?” he mouthed.

Kerri shook her head with a slight shrug.

Clara led Susannah to where her grandmother waited, then gently placed the frightened woman’s hand in Rebecca’s.

“I’ll take her from here, Clara.”

Clara stood back, watching as Susannah literally put her soul in Rebecca’s hands. They made their way towards the open doorway, stepping across. The tall woman turned back once, gave Clara a large, grateful smile, then passed through, vanishing into the light of the other side.

Clara felt a coldness wash over her, bringing her back to the guest room in her sister’s house. She gasped, almost as though taking a breath for the first time in minutes. The air in the room seemed to get extremely heavy, and then without warning, the coldness washed over all of them, dissipating, leaving a calm in the room that was palpable.

Zane looked around, stunned. The room was lighter, and seemed to be brighter, too, though he imagined that had to be his own imagination talking. He felt that the heavy presence that had been in his house was gone, and he truly had no words for how that felt. He felt frightened, grateful, and very humbled to have witnessed something that he felt at a gut level was extraordinary.

Kerri let go of Clara’s hand, wiping at a tear that was about to escape her left eye. She felt emotionally drained, and had no idea why. She looked at her boyfriend and saw he was equally affected.

“She’s gone, isn’t she?” she asked Clara, who simply nodded. “I can tell. God, it feels so different in here.” She looked around the room, as if seeing it for the first time in a month. “What happened?”

Clara shook her head, not wishing to share it. “Just know that Susannah has found peace, and it was beautiful.”

Clara sat on the front porch of the apartment complex where she lived with Shelby. She didn’t even feel the cold as she stared sightlessly into the night. Her mind was still back in that bedroom. She once again saw the pain and torture Susannah went through before she finally found the relief of death, only to be lost, trapped between two worlds.

She shivered, hugging herself tightly. She closed her eyes as she felt a tear make its way down her cheek, just about freezing on her chilled skin. She absently wiped it away.

“Hey.” Shelby sat on the stoop next to her, tugging her jacket tightly around her. “I was wondering if you’d used taking out the trash as an excuse to run off with the circus or something.”

Clara smiled, though didn’t look at the blonde. “No. Just sitting out here thinking.”

“About what?”

“Nothing.” Clara looked at Shelby, a sad smile on her face. She wanted so badly to talk to her about it, to be rocked and held and told she’d done good. Instead, she kept it inside, saying nothing. “Today at Kerri’s was just a little emotional, that’s all.”

“I bet. I’m glad you were able to help them out. I’ll have to start calling you Dr. Venkman?” she teased, referring to Bill Murray’s character in Ghost Busters.

Clara nodded with a weak smile. “You do and I’ll never answer.”

Shelby chuckled, completely unaware of the emotional turmoil inside her girlfriend. She gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Well come on in. It’s freezing out here.” She pushed up from the stoop and headed inside.

Clara looked up at the sky, the moon long hidden by the winter clouds, tears slowly sliding down her cheeks.

Chapter 28

Clara glanced over at the building, seeing her father’s truck parked out back. At least he was home. She hadn’t spoken to him since the whole Thanksgiving fiasco, and felt nervous sweat licking her palms. At first she hadn’t called because she was angry, but then she began to think maybe she was wrong and had overreacted, so then felt guilty.

“Shit,” she blew out, resting her head back against the seat, hands with a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. She hoped that her father would listen to her and just accept her like he always had. The only area of her life they’d ever disagreed in was whether or not she went to college. She’d ultimately given in, but not with this. He had no say in this, and his opinions couldn’t matter.

Finally gathering her courage, she unbuckled her seatbelt and let herself out of her car. Shoving her hands into the pockets of her jacket, head bent to avoid getting hit full-force by the wind. Shelby had offered to go with her for moral support, and now there was a part of her that wished she’d taken her up on that.

She made her way to his doorstep, grudgingly pulling a hand out of her pocket to knock. She waited, bouncing slightly on her heels as she waited for him to answer.

“Come on, Dad,” she muttered, looking around the parking lot of the building. Nothing. She knocked again, this time louder. After another moment of silence, she pulled out her key chain, picking out the key that would open the door and let her into the warmth of his apartment. He was probably showering, the CD player volume at ridiculous decibels, as per usual.

The living room was an absolute disaster – far more than usual. Magazines were spread all around the floor next to the coffee table. Two wine glasses sat on an end table, one still with the lipstick mark on it. There was a trail of clothes leading from the couch down the hall, and ending at the opened bedroom door with a red, satin thong.

Clara immediately felt embarrassment flushing her cheeks as she heard obvious sounds of some serious passion coming from down the hall.

“Ah, Jesus, Dad,” she muttered. She was about to backtrack when she heard –

“Do you hear something?” Her father’s voice.

“I think someone is in here,” a woman whispered.

“Hello?” Max called out.

Clara buried her face for a moment. “It’s me, Dad. Um, I’ll come back later,” she called out, her hand already on the doorknob for the front door.

“No!” he called. “I’ll be there in a sec!”

“Oh. Okay. Um. I’ll wait for you on the front porch.”

Clara couldn’t get out of there fast enough, having already seen and heard enough to traumatize her for life. She closed the door behind her and sat down, already beginning to shiver. “I cannot believe my dad was in there getting it on,” she muttered to herself, her words coming out in white puffs.

She heard movement behind her and turned as the door opened. Max was wearing a pair of jeans and a hastily thrown on shirt. His hair was mussed, and the stubble from Thanksgiving had turned into nearly a full, though still short, beard.

“I’m sorry about that,” he said, apology in his voice.

“Hey, it’s your deal,” Clara said, getting to her feet and shoving her hands back into her pockets. “Just like it’s mine.”

“Come inside, Clara,” he said, opening the door wider in invitation. “We have a lot to talk about.”

Clara walked towards him, ready to pass him when he stopped her. He looked into her eyes for a long moment, love radiating from him. He took her in a tight hug, as though his very life depended on it. Clara clung to him, her head resting against hic chest. She could hear his heart beating solidly in his chest, a large hand gently cupping the back of her head to hold her in place.

He kissed the top of her head then released her. He kept his hand on her shoulder as she stepped away to face the rest of the room. She was stunned to see Stephanie Greenwold sitting on the couch, a smile on her face.

All she could do was stare, her mouth hanging open.

“We’ve been meaning to tell you,” Max said from beside her.

“So why didn’t you?” Clara asked, finally pushing her shock aside.

“We were going to over Thanksgiving, honey,” Stephanie said, rising from the couch and walking over to her youngest. “It didn’t work out that way.” She took her daughter in a tight hug, looking into her stunned face as she released her. “We’re sorry we didn’t tell you sooner.”

Clara looked from one parent to the other. “What does this mean? Are you guys just gettin’ it on, or is there something substantial actually behind this?”

Stephanie looked at Max, a moment of silent communication before she turned back to their daughter. She raised her left hand, showing off the new engagement ring Max had given her two weeks before. “We’re giving it a second chance.”

“I could never fully walk away from your mom,” Max explained, his arm around her waist. He shrugged. “We both made some mistakes in the past, but it’s time to put it all behind us, and look to the future.”

“As a family,” Stephanie added.

Clara shook her head, stunned. “Why do I feel like I’m stuck in some after school special, or something? A family. Another shot. Mistakes. What?”

“We never stopped loving each other, honey,” Stephanie said, her tone soft with understanding.

“That’s why neither of us ever filed. Just couldn’t bring myself to do it.” Max smiled down at Stephanie, getting a girlish googly-look back.

“Whoa.” Clara moved away from them, running a hand through her hair. “I feel like I’m in the Twilight Zone.” A thought occurred to her, and she turned on them. “Does Kerri know?”

Max nodded. “We told her and Zane during Thanksgiving dinner.”

Clara truly wasn’t sure what to feel. Should she feel betrayed that no one had told her? Should she feel hopeful that her parents were getting back together? Or, should she simply run and not allow herself to get caught up in hope. Hope was a dangerous, scary thing. “Okay,” she finally said, not coming to any sort of decision within her own torn emotions. “Okay. So, congratulations I guess are in order.” She hugged each in turn.

“Thank you.” Stephanie kissed her cheek then led her to the couch. Clara sat down, flanked by her parents. “So, let’s talk about you.”

Clara blew out a breath, nodding. For a moment she’d forgotten all about why she was there, but the realization came crashing quickly back down up on her, bringing kamikaze butterflies with it. “Right. From your love life to mine. I think I pretty much said all I needed to say Thanksgiving. I’m a lesbian, am in love with Shelby and we live together.” She shrugged. “End of story.”

“When did this happen?” Stephanie asked.

“When did what happen?”

“When did you become gay?” Max asked.

Clara felt like she was in either a tennis match or an intense interrogation as she looked back and forth between her parents. She certainly did know that she felt trapped sitting between them.

“I didn’t become anything, Dad. It’s not like becoming a diabetic, or becoming pregnant. I’ve always been gay. I’m just allowing myself to be me.”

“Honey,” Stephanie began, choosing her words carefully. “We’re not trying to pick on you or make you angry. We’re just trying to make sense of this. You have to admit, it’s pretty sudden.”

“Not really. I came out at fifteen.”

Max looked away, running a hand across his beard. “Was it because Jason was killed?” he finally asked.

“What does Jason have to do with this?”

“Well, it seems that after he died, you went pretty quickly to Erica,” Stephanie said, picking a small piece of lint off of Clara’s coat.

“That’s when I met her, Mom.” No longer able to take the squeeze, Clara shot up, moving to pace in front of the coffee table, putting the low piece of furniture between them. “Guys, you can’t just boil this down to nuts and bolts parts and pieces. It just is. I’m not gay to piss you off. I’m not even gay to rebel. I like girls. I always have, I always will.” She held up a hand to forestall what she knew her mother was about to say. “I don’t need to date guys to see if I’m gay anymore than you needed to date girls to see if you were straight. I’m asking you both to please respect me enough to know that I know what’s best for me. Okay?”

Stephanie and Max stared up at their daughter, too stunned to say anything. All they could do was nod dumbly.

“Good. Now,” Clara blew out, “tell me about this re-marriage business.”

Chapter 29

1996

Winter came, bringing the holidays with it, and then they went, bringing the end of a semester and sunny skies. Clara tossed her keys up into the air, catching them with gusto as she made her way to her car. Classes were officially over, and she felt great about how she’d done. Over the past semester she’d decided to listen to Shelby, and buckle down.

After everything that had happened with the situation in Kerri and Zane’s house, Clara had been rocked to the core. Her emotional center had been hit hard, and she hadn’t fully bounced back from it. So, she decided that maybe Shelby had something with the whole school thing. Maybe she did need to put the Medium stuff aside, and concentrate fully on her future. On their future. Shelby was the one, she was sure of it!

Finals were over, and she couldn’t wait to get the results back. Her first semester in college she had pretty much bombed. Nothing had to be re-taken, but she could have done monumentally better. The second go around, well, the smile spread across her face said it all.

The drive to the apartment was slow, as midday traffic clogged the arteries of the city. They had begun to pack the previous weekend. They had decided a bigger place was in order. Clara had left her job with Cassandra at The Pagan, deciding to completely cut her ties with her old life. She needed space and distance from all of it. She no longer did readings for clients, instead re-directing her focus.

She had gotten a job with a hardware chain close to where their new place was, and was making two dollars more an hour there than she had been while working for Cassandra. The bigger wage had allowed her and Shelby to get a nice two bedroom apartment that was nearly double the size of their old one, and was in a better neighborhood.

The past seven months had flown by, it seemed. Clara had finally gotten used to the idea of her parents being back together, though it was strange to go home and see them both there, and not just a matter of her father over fixing something for Stephanie. Zane and Kerri still lived in the house over on Seacrest, and nothing had been said since the situation the previous fall. Zane certainly treated Clara better, but it was never talked about just exactly why.

She was just about to her exit when she decided to stop downtown and get Shelby something nice for the weekend. They had planned a romantic couple days, both having taken time off work for it.

Clara parked off of Main, deciding to walk down the main drag, which was lined with locally owned shops that carried that which couldn’t typically be found in a Wal-Mart or mall.

The sidewalks were busy, other people getting the same idea as spring fever hit the city. Clara managed to avoid being gutted by a couple whose hands seemed to be welded together, and they weren’t budging. She saw a small shop that sold lingerie, and immediately got a mischievous grin on her face. Shelby had a magnificent body, and Clara loved to see it in satin.

She was about to push open the door when she noticed a woman out of the corner of her eye. Turning, she saw that the woman was balancing a package on one hip while trying to dig her keys out of her purse with her one free hand. Her car, an expensive-looking sports car, sat at the curb, it’s glossy red finish glittering in the sun.

Clara was about to turn away to head into the shop, but something stopped her. She turned back to the woman, and for no reason that she could figure, she ran over to her, grabbing her, and with a scream from the startled woman, nearly threw her back away from the street and her car. The woman landed on one knee, her package falling to the ground with the sound of breaking glass.

“What are you doing?!” she demanded, about to get to her feet.

Clara looked at the woman, just as startled as she was. She was about to apologize profusely when she felt a strange sensation along her right side – the side which was closest to the street – then a shove. She stumbled a few feet towards the shop front when a screeching rent the air. A moment later, the woman’s sports car was an explosion of glass and metal as an out-of-control pick up truck smashed into it, pushing the car onto the sidewalk, and exactly where the woman would have been standing.

Clara and the woman watched on in stunned silence, neither able to do much more than take their next breath. No one moved in the truck, the horn blaring, along with the sound of a distant car alarm.

“Oh my god,” Clara breathed, finally getting her bearings. She ran to the truck, shouting to anyone who was listening, “Call 911!”

The man in the truck was knocked unconscious, a nasty gash bleeding profusely on his forehead. Clara grimaced as the smell of blood assailed her senses. She reached in, checking for a pulse, relieved to find one. Past the driver, scattered on the floor of the large truck, were bottles of beer and a few of hard liquor. She looked back to the man unable to hide her feelings of disgust.

“Is he dead?” someone asked, standing behind Clara.

She shook her head. “No. Just unconscious.” She could hear the wailing of sirens getting closer, so took a step back, body trembling from the rush of adrenaline and fear. She could see the woman still standing on the sidewalk, her face pale. “Are you okay?” she asked. The woman looked at her blankly for a moment, then slowly nodded. It was only then that Clara noticed the expensive rings and clothing the woman wore. She looked to be in her later thirties, forty at most. Her auburn hair was piled high on her head, her gold and diamond earrings dangling like ice from her ears.

The woman seemed to finally really see Clara. “How did you know?”

“Know what?”

“What was about to happen. I assume that’s why you threw me onto the sidewalk like so much trash.”

“I’m sorry about that. Something just told me to get you out of the way. I’m sorry-“

“You saved my life, and that’s not something I take lightly,” the woman interrupted. She reached for her purse, which had also been thrown to the ground, digging until she found a piece of paper and pen. She looked at Clara expectantly. “Name?”

“Uh, Clara Greenwold,” Clara said automatically, unsure what the woman was doing.

“And your phone number?”

Clara hesitated, but the look on the woman’s face told her there was no room for argument. She gave her the number. “Why?”

“I’ll be in touch,” the woman said, holding her heavily-ringed hand out. “My name is Isabelle Van Wurt. I’m in town with my husband. He’s doing business. I’ll be in touch so I can take you to dinner and thank you.” With that, the woman turned and walked away, not even bothering to salvage what was left of her package.

“Do you think she intends to sue you or something?” Shelby asked, winding noodles around her fork, splattering spaghetti sauce on her placemat with the action.

Clara shrugged. “I sure as hell hope not. But, you can’t get blood from a turnip, so…”

“What a strange lady,” Shelby muttered, placing her fork in her mouth.

What a strange incident, Clara thought to herself, but said nothing, instead focusing her attention on her dinner as Shelby changed the subject, prattling on and on about the project she had to do for her summer class. Clara half-listened, half-shut down. She had learned how to put herself into auto-pilot mode: she got up every morning, went to class without fail, listened and took notes, then came home and did homework, or did it in the library. Every day. Not thinking, and not really feeling.

She glanced up at her girlfriend – who was still talking – and studied her. Shelby was a beautiful girl, no one could deny that, including Clara. But as she looked at her, really looked at her, she saw a woman who was ambitious and a bit controlling. She saw a woman who wanted the best for Clara, but on Shelby’s terms. She saw a woman who perhaps didn’t accept Clara as much as Clara thought she did.

Looking back down at her dinner, Clara’s mind began to wander, reliving the events of earlier in the day once more. She hadn’t allowed herself to feel or open up in such a long time that it had felt strange when she’d pushed Isabelle Van Wurt out of harm’s way. She had to admit – if only to herself – that it had felt good. She had been holding herself back, trying to pretend her “gift” didn’t exist. It was almost like someone who was drawn to numbers, a math genius. It was like that person trying to oppress their natural talents and abilities and inclinations by never looking at numbers, and if they did, they simply saw them as 1, 2 and 3, and not a puzzle to be solved by a brilliant mind that was wired to do just that.

She thought back to a few times at school when she’d seen a spirit walking through the trees, or when she’d heard her own voice spoken softly on the breeze. She’d ignored it, pushed it aside like it wasn’t there. She smiled to herself as she suddenly had a mental image of herself, eyes squeezed shut, hands over her ears, “La la la la la, I can’t hear you!” echoing in her mind.

“What’s so funny?” Shelby asked, realizing Clara wasn’t listening, but instead seemingly sitting there chuckling down at her plate of pasta.

Clara looked at her with a small smile, shaking her head. “Nothing. Nothing’s funny at all.” She grabbed her napkin and wiped her mouth before pushing back from the table.

“Where are you going?” Shelby asked, dinner forgotten.

Clara didn’t look at her as she scraped the remnants of her dinner into the trash then rinsed her dish and loaded it into the dishwasher. “Out for a while. I need some alone time.”

Shelby was very aware of her girlfriend’s need for personal time and space, though it was never easy to deal with. She didn’t understand it, but knew there was nothing she could say without starting a fight. She’d learned that the hard way. Even so, she felt this time it was different; something was wrong.

“Did I make you mad or something?” she asked, pushing back from the table, her chair screeching against the linoleum.

Clara sighed, not in the mood to do this now. She shook her head, looking at her from across the small kitchen. “No. I just need-“

“To be by yourself, I know.” Shelby couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice. “You’ve needed to be by yourself more and more.” She paused, hands on hips as she stared Clara down. “Is there someone else?”

Clara was taken aback by the question, and she immediately shook her head. “Not even close. I swear.”

“Then what is it?”

“I need to go somewhere where I can be myself!” Clara yelled, shocking both of them with the anger behind her words. She didn’t want to say anything she’d regret, so she grabbed her keys and wallet and headed out the front door.

The city was quiet as she drove around, her head wrapped in a fog. She wasn’t sure where she was going, she just drove, her little car steady and sure. It was probably the most steady and sure thing she had in her life at the moment. Something was wrong inside, something missing. She couldn’t put a finger on it, but it was beginning to haunt her, which she couldn’t help but see as ironic since she’d left the ghosts behind.

She thought about school, which she was doing well in, but didn’t like. She’d allowed herself to be talked into getting a business degree, as Shelby said that no matter what Clara did in life, knowing how the business world worked would always come in handy. It seemed to make sense at the time, so Clara had gone with it. Now, as she drove around, she wondered if she was masochistic. She hated the business classes, even though she was taking them at a Freshman level. What about as she got further into the program? They’d get harder and far more complex and in depth than what she was doing now. Not only that, but she didn’t want to just do well because she had a good brain in her head and could go on auto-pilot and do the work. She wanted to actually enjoy what she was doing.

She stopped at a red traffic light and tapped her fingers on the wheel as she waited. She could change her major, maybe keep business as a minor, perhaps?

“I hate business!” she yelled in the empty car, slamming the steering wheel for emphasis. “So what do I like?” she pondered. She felt compelled to talk to her grandmother, get her advice, but she stopped herself. Part of her knew exactly what Rebecca would tell her. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “I can’t go back there again. It’s not healthy for me. Shelby’s right about that.”

Clara heard a soft scraping sound and watched in astonishment as a small, blue bird landed on the hood of her car, its beady black eyes staring at her, first left, then right. She immediately felt Jason’s presence with her, as though he were sitting in the passenger seat next to her.

“What?” she asked the bird, who did not react, nor did it fly away, even as Clara tried to shoo it away with a wave of her hand out her window. It continued to stare at her. Clara stared back, almost losing herself in the heat of the strange connection. She heard a car honk behind her, the bird flying away as she realized the traffic light had turned green.

Shaken, Clara drove on.

Shelby was long asleep by time Clara made her way to the bedroom. She undressed quietly, not wanting to wake her. She slid under the sheets, tired, but completely discontent. She lay in the dark for a long while, staring up at the ceiling, hands behind her head. She had noticed the note left by Shelby on the kitchen table when she came in. So Isabelle Van Wurt had called, huh? Clara had wadded the page up and tossed it into the trash.

She turned to her side, facing the window and nearly jumped out of her skin. Her grandmother stood there, looking down at her. Clara sat up, unable to take her eyes off of her. Rebecca smiled, amused before sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Don’t worry,” she said in her usual soft tone. “Shelby can’t hear me. I need you to listen to me now, Clara, and take what I say to heart.” Clara opened her mouth, but was silenced. “No,” Rebecca said, shaking her head. “You listen now. You were given a gift for a reason, and it’s not to be wasted. Do you know why you’re so unhappy?”

Clara shook her head. “No.”

“Because you’re following the wrong path. Always remember that, Clara. You have a path, as does everyone. When you fall off that path, or go the wrong direction, depression and uncertainty will soon follow.” She smiled, reaching a hand out to caress Clara’s hair. “You don’t need to search anymore, my love. You found your path and your path found you.”

Clara felt her heart swell with comfort and confusion at her grandmother’s visit. “It’s unhealthy for me, Grandma. Seeing dead people, talking to them…”

“Says who? It’s all about perspective. No one ever dies. The soul can’t. The time in this life has simply finished. It doesn’t mean that person doesn’t still have a role to fulfill for those here on the earth plane.” She dropped her hand, standing. “Don’t let others tell you what you should or shouldn’t be doing. That, my love is what’s unhealthy. You have a wonderful gift, and this life you’re meant to use it.”

Clara jerked up in bed, realizing she was alone. Her heart pounded with the adrenaline of the dream she’d just had. She was completely alone in the bedroom, save for the sleeping form next to her. She looked over at Shelby, noting the way some of her hair had fallen onto her forehead.

Blowing out a breath, Clara laid back down, turning onto her side to face the window. She started when she noticed something on the nightstand beside the bed. She reached over to take it between her fingers, gasping quietly when she saw it was Shelby’s note about Isabelle Van Wurt.

Chapter 30

Clara looked around the long car, never having been in a limo before. The tan interior was leather, the bar mahogany. Isabelle Van Wurt sat next to her on the long bench seat, her manicured hands clutched in her lap, and legs crossed like a proper lady. To say Clara felt like a hick from the sticks was as much of an understatement as there ever was.

“You didn’t have to go to so much trouble, Mrs. Van Wurt,” she said, breaking the silence. The wealthy socialite looked over at her.

“Well, I couldn’t very well pick you up in my little car, now could I? I’m afraid the damage was far more than the most talented mechanic could handle.”

Clara smiled, but said nothing more. She wished she could have just met Isabelle and her husband – who would be joining them – in her own car. The limo pulled up in front of one of the most expensive hotels in town. Clara looked up at the giant building, trying to keep her reactions to a minimal. She remembered always looking at the gorgeous building when she passed it, wondering what it looked like inside, and what it would be like to stay in such a place.

“My husband, Raymond, is waiting upstairs for us in our suite. I hope you don’t mind, but we’ve ordered dinner to arrive there in,” Isabelle checked her lady’s Rolex, “fifteen minutes.”

“Um, no. That’s fine.” Clara smiled, but was actually about to choke on her nervousness.

The door next to Isabelle was opened and the uniformed chauffeur extended a gloved hand to help her out of the car. Next he helped Clara, who smiled shyly at him. Once out in the mild May air, Clara looked around, bending her neck back as she took in the ornate building that rose seventy stories above the sidewalk.

She followed Isabelle into the building, marveling at the marble floors – highly polished – and the expensive, heavy furnishings and décor. They made their way to the elevators, where a tuxedoed man asked which floor.

“The penthouse, please,” Isabelle said, digging her cardkey out of her purse.

Within moments they were walking down a dimly-lit hallway, where only two doors adorned either side. Isabelle led the way to the one on the left, inserting the keycard in the door, which beeped softly with a blinking green light.

The suite was larger than Clara and Shelby’s entire apartment. She looked around, owl-eyed at the size and sophistication of the rooms. There was a huge bedroom, dining room and living room area, as well as two bathrooms. Deeper inside Clara could hear a deep, male voice talking. From the one-sidedness of the conversation, she figured he was on the phone.

“Darling, we’re here,” Isabelle called out, dropping her purse on the bar and making her way around to the business side. “Would you care for a drink, Clara?” she asked.

“Oh, uh, no. I’m not old enough,” Clara said, feeling immediately stupid.

Isabelle, on the other hand, was completely amused. “That’s not what I asked now, is it?”

Clara grinned. “Whatever you’re having.”

“That’s more like it.” Isabelle began to bring out bottles of various sizes and shapes and shades of liquor within. Clara had no idea what she was making, as she’d never been much of a drinker.

“Well, hello there!” Raymond Van Wurt boomed from the opened doorway of the bedroom. His deep baritone filled the entire suite. He walked over to the bar where Clara had settled on a padded stool. His gelled hair shone in the overhead lights of the bar area. “I’m Raymond Van Wurt. You must be our new friend, Clara Greenwold.” His extended hand was large and tan, a heavy gold pinky ring winking at her.

“Yes, sir. Nice to meet you.” Clara shook his hand, hiding her reaction at the tight grip he had. She wasn’t entirely sure what to make of the Van Wurt couple. She’d never met anyone so rich before.

“None of that. Call me Raymond or Ray.” He made his way around the bar and placed a kiss on Isabelle’s cheek. “Hello, sweetheart. Yes, perfect,” he said to the drink she offered him. He took a long sip. “I hope you ladies are hungry. I wasn’t sure what you liked, Clara, so I’ve ordered enough food to feed a small army.” His laugh was as demanding as his voice. “Come!” He walked to the living room and sat on one of the massive leather sofas.

Doing as asked, Clara mirrored his position, drink in hand. She sipped it, recoiling from the strong taste of vodka. She heard Raymond’s chuckle.

“Careful with that. My wife has been known to add gasoline to her drinks.”

“Oh, stop,” Isabelle said, sitting next to her husband. The couple looked at Clara, making her want to squirm in her seat.

“So,” Raymond began, getting down to business. It was always business for him. “I understand you saved my wife’s life from what could have potentially been a very messy situation. Quite lethal, too.” He studied her, his head slightly cocked to the side. He didn’t even flinch when someone knocked on the door to the suite. Without a word Isabelle got up to retrieve their dinner. “Tell me, Clara. How did you know that car was coming?”

Clara swallowed heavily, setting her drink down on the glass-topped table in front of her. She used the motion to stall for time to decide. She could tell him she simply heard or saw the truck coming. She could tell him she had a random hunch. She could tell him that she was simply crazy, and felt the need to tackle his wife to the ground, and got lucky that there happened to be an out-of-control truck coming at the same time.

Tell him the truth…

Or she could tell him the truth.

“I knew she was about to be hit,” she finally said, catching Raymond’s gaze.

“How did you know that?” he asked, sitting back and casually crossing one leg over the other.

“I have abilities that … tell me things.”

Raymond sat forward, completely intrigued. He raised a hand to ward off Isabelle’s invite to dinner. “Tell me more.”

Clara took a deep breath and started at the beginning, from her earliest memories of her gift as a child. Isabelle had taken her seat next to her Raymond again, both engrossed in what they were being told. None of the three cared that their dinner was cooling. Raymond didn’t say a word or ask a question until Clara had finished her story.

He cleared his throat and sipped his drink. “Who can you see about me?” he asked, eyeing her in a challenge.

Clara was taken slightly aback, not expecting to be doing a reading, which she hadn’t done in many months. “Now?”

“Now.”

Clara resettled herself, the hunger pangs in her stomach replaced by nervous butterflies. She felt a great deal of pressure suddenly placed on her shoulders, as though what she was about to do had high stakes for her future. She closed her eyes for a moment, concentrating on getting focused and opening up. Grandma, keep me strong and focused, she asked. As she took another cleansing breath, she felt a peace wash over her, as if she’d done a reading only yesterday.

Looking at Raymond once again, she felt her mind opening up as information began to come in. Raymond and Isabelle watched as it seemed Clara was having a conversation with herself. She’d nod and mutter, “Okay. Wait, say again?” Isabelle looked at her husband only to get a shrug in return.

“Okay,” Clara said to Raymond. “What is your connection to a red wagon? You know, the kind with a metal body, big black and white wheels with the little red knobs holding them on,” she described, seeing the wagon in her mind.

Raymond looked at her for a long moment, trying to figure out what she was talking about. He was coming up blank. “I haven’t the slightest.”

“Okay.” The wagon image faded, one of a big brown dog in its place. “I’m seeing a dog. A very…” her voice trailed off as she got a better fix on it. “big dog. Floppy ears with a blue collar.”

Raymond’s face paled slightly. “That was my son’s dog, Archie. He died when RJ was eleven.” Then it hit Raymond. “The wagon! I used to take RJ to the park in that wagon.”

Clara barely noticed as Isabelle got up from the couch, leaving the room. “Okay, good. Whoever is coming in keeps telling me to tell you about peach cobbler. With raisins.”

Raymond let out a bark of laughter, nodding vigorously. “RJ loved the stuff. My mother used to make it for him every time he went to her house.”

“Has your son crossed, Raymond?” Clara asked gently, trying to get a hold on the situation. Raymond looked away for a moment, clearing his throat before nodding. “Alright. Well, I think it’s him, then. RJ, give me one more thing to verify that it’s you.”

Raymond watched anxiously. His son had been dead for thirteen years, and he hadn’t expected to hear from him that day. In truth, as a skeptic, he hadn’t expected to hear from anyone. His thoughts were interrupted by Clara’s next question.

“I’m hearing jangling, like either change in a pocket, or keys,” Clara made the sound she was hearing as best she could. “Does this ring any bells for you?” She made the noise again.

Raymond nodded slowly. “RJ always carried around a ring of keys, He worked in corrections.”

“I see.” Clara stopped, another image taking over her entire focus. “I’m seeing a large tree. I mean, this thing is huge.” She opened her arms to emphasize, still focused on the image in her mind. “What does this tree have to do with anything? I can’t get it out of my head.”

Raymond shook his head, unsure.

“Did he have a big tree in his yard? Like, dead center in the front?”

“Yes!” Raymond said, remembering.

“Okay, that must be it.” Clara waited for the tree to disappear, but id didn’t. Her brows drew. “Something with this tree, Raymond. Typically when an image won’t leave it’s because it has some sort of significant meaning that I’m not getting.” She looked at Raymond, hoping he could tell her something so she could move on. “Was there someone hiding behind this tree?”

Once again Raymond’s face paled. He took a long swallow from his drink, nearly finishing it. “The police said he was possibly taken by surprise.”

Clara nodded. “He was ambushed. Someone was hiding behind that tree, waiting for him.” She felt her stomach clench as she realized where the reading was headed. “Raymond, you’re aware your son was murdered, right?”

“Yes. We never knew all the details, but we knew it was murder, yes.”

Isabelle returned to the room, standing behind the couch her husband sat on, her hands resting on his shoulders. Her eyes were slightly red, as though she’d been crying.

Clara didn’t notice as her focus was once again turned inward. The tree faded, to her relief. She’d gotten it right. A very sudden, and very painful pain hit her in the back of the head. Her hand immediately went back to feel the spot, almost expecting blood to come back on her hand. She grimaced at the shock, then the pain disappeared as quickly as it had started. “Did he have any bumps or cuts on the back of his head?”

Isabelle nodded. “Yes. He had extensive bruising at the back of the skull.”

“He was hit there. I’d say knocked out.”

Isabelle and Raymond looked at each other. “That was never released in the media,” she said quietly.

“What else can you tell us about it?” Raymond asked. He wasn’t interested in new details, as he felt he knew enough to know what had happened to his son that night, but he wanted to know more of what Clara was capable of. A plan was already hatching in his head.

Kerri and Zane watched as Clara paced back and forth, her excitement palpable. Keri’s head was spinning from all that she was being told. “Wait, wait,” she said, waving her hands to get Clara’s attention.

“What/” Clara stopped her pacing, looking down at her sister.

“Let me get this straight. You’re telling me that this rich business guy from Los Angeles wants you to go back with them so you can do readings for his rich friends?”

Clara stopped to think about it as put in such simplified terms. “Yeah,” she said, nodding. “That’s about it.”

“That’s crazy, Clara,” Zane said. “What about here? School, your family-“

“Shelby?” Kerri finished.

Clara plopped down on the couch, not wanting to think about any of those things, but she knew she had to. She’d made commitments to both her girlfriend and her classes. She ran a hand through her hair as she looked at her sister. “I’m torn,” she finally admitted, slapping her hands on her thighs.

“What are you torn about?” Zane asked. “You’ve got it pretty good here.”

“But I’m not happy,” she countered. “I haven’t been for awhile, Zane. I’m trying to live a life that isn’t meant for me.”

“Leaving your family and everything you’ve ever known to move to California is?” Kerri asked, brows raised in challenge.

“I can’t stay here forever, Kerri. I happen to know for fact that you and Zane have wanted to move to Oregon for years.”

“That’s different. We both have college degrees and jobs to go to.”

“And I don’t?” Clara asked, hand to her own chest. “Isn’t that what Raymond Van Wurt offered me?”

Kerri was silent, knowing that Clara had gotten her on that one. She looked to Zane, hoping he could maybe talk some sense into her little sister. It wasn’t that she didn’t want her to find her happiness, but she had hoped she could find it locally.

“That’s crazy,” Zane said. “You don’t even really know this guy, Clara. He could be a nut, or he could totally stand you up once you get there. Besides,” he said, brows drawn. “I thought you were a dyke?”

Clara rolled her eyes. “He wants to get me jobs, Zane, not fuck me.” She was amused as Zane turned away, embarrassed.

“Regardless, he has a point, Clara. Who is this guy? How do you know he won’t hurt you, or get you into a bad situation?”

“I don’t,” Clara said simply, meeting Kerri’s gaze head on.

“Then why consider it?”

“Why not? Besides,” Clara said, popping up from the couch again. “Who’s to say what I’ll end up doing at all.” She grabbed her keys from the coffee table where she’d dropped them when she’d come in thirty minutes before. She’d had Isabelle drop her off at her sister’s house after the evening ended. “Kerri, can you give me a ride home?”

Kerri was quiet on the way to the apartment. Clara glanced over at her from time to time, but said nothing, either. Kerri pulled up in front of the apartment complex and turned to her little sister.

“You’re not happy, are you?”

Clara shook her head. “No.”

“Is this really the right thing to do? It’s a huge chance you’d be taking.”

Clara sighed heavily. “I don’t know, Kerri. I’m not telling you I’m going to do it, but tonight made me realize that I need to do something. I’m not happy: I hate school, I hate my job, and I’m not happy with Shelby anymore.” She looked at her sister. “She doesn’t get it. Doesn’t get me.”

Kerri chuckled. “Very few do, Clara. I do hope you can find someone someday who does. Maybe go find another psychic or something.”

“Medium, thank you very much. I’ll try that. Maybe there’s MediumMatch.com or something.” The sisters laughed at that. “No, but seriously. I’m not happy with one single aspect of my life.”

Kerri blew out a breath and was silent for a moment. “I don’t know. Maybe heading out is the right thing for you. Maybe you need to go out and find yourself somewhere, other than here.”

Clara looked at her. “Do you mean that?”

Kerri nodded. “Yeah. Dad will be pissed, and mom will be devastated if you leave. You do know that, right?”

Clara nodded. “It’ll be a fight with him, I know.” She chuckled. “He had to fight so hard to get me to go to school, and now I just want to leave it all behind. I don’t belong there, Ker. I never did. It was a waste of time and money.” She scrubbed her face with her hands. “Ugh. I don’t know. I think the answer will just come to me one day. Until then,” she shrugged. “I think I’m pretty much stuck.”

“You’re never stuck, kiddo. Well, at least no more than you make yourself be. Ultimately you hold the reins. No one else.”

Clara leaned over and hugged her sister. “Thank you.”

The apartment was quiet as Clara made her way inside. A glance at the clock on the wall told her it was nearly eleven. She headed to the bedroom, surprised to see the bed unslept in. She turned on the light, looking for any sign that Shelby had been there recently, but found none. Nor did she find a note anywhere in the apartment.

Clara felt numb as she walked through the empty rooms, looking at a sea of material things that meant little to her. As she walked back into the bedroom, she realized that it all seemed so foreign to her. Like somehow she’d gone to meet with the Van Wurt’s and came back a stranger in a strange land.

Reaching into her pocket, Clara pulled out the piece of paper Raymond had given her, his personal phone number scribbled on it. She studied the unfamiliar numbers for a moment then grabbed the cordless phone off the dresser.

She waited for several moments until the line was picked up. “Okay, Raymond. I accept your offer.”

“Absolutely not!” Max Greenwold roared, face red. He shook his head. “it’s not going to happen, Clara.”

Clara looked at her father, her own anger building. “Says who?” she asked. “I’m twenty years old. Hardly your ward anymore.”

“No, but you did ask for my blessing in this,” he retorted, hands on hips.

Clara shook her head. “No. I asked your opinion. Very different thing than your blessing.”

Max threw his hands up in exasperation, storming from the room, leaving a hurt and angry Clara and a calm Stephanie behind. Stephanie moved over to where her daughter sat on the couch, her face as red as her father’s had been. Sitting next to her, she knocked her playfully with her shoulder until Clara met her gaze.

“You have no idea how much the two of you are alike,” she said. “Or how much he loves you.”

“He can’t control me, Mom,” Clara said, doing her best to bring her tone down a notch. Her anger wasn’t directed at Stephanie, and she had no desire to inadvertently pass it to her.

“I know, and I don’t think that’s what his intention is. Your dad has never been good at talking things out, Clara. You know that. The problem is, not only is he worried about you, but he’s about to lose his baby girl.”

Clara stared at her mother, surprised. That had never even entered her mind. “What?”

“You two got pretty close when you were living with him, honey. He doesn’t want to lose you, and he feels that by you moving to another state – regardless of the reason – he’ll be losing you. You could be moving because you got a job as an aerospace engineer, making two hundred thousand dollars a year, and he still wouldn’t want you to go.”

“Then why doesn’t he just say that?” Clara asked, exasperated.

Stephanie grinned. “Because he’s a man, Clara. That would make far too much sense.”

Clara burst into laughter, glad to be letting go of some of the tension inside her. She nodded in understanding. “So what do I do?”

“Nothing.” Stephanie hugged her and placed a kiss on her forehead. “Just let him come to you. I don’t want to see you go, either, but you’re a big girl. I know better than to try and stop you. All I can do is pray we’ve taught you enough for you to make smart decisions, and that you always know you have somewhere to go if things don’t work out as you hope they will.”

Clara felt her hest expand with love and gratitude as she hugged her mother tight. They clung to each other for long moments, knowing this was it. Tomorrow Clara would be driving her loaded car halfway across the country to an unknown future.

Chapter 31

Clara looked on in amazement as the palm trees passed by, their huge fronds dancing slightly in the late spring ocean breeze. She was in held in good company of average cars, such as her own, as well as BMWs, expensive sports cars, and even a Rolls Royce, as she drove along the Pacific Coast Highway. She reached over to the passenger seat and grabbed the computer print out that had the directions to the house on it. She was headed to the Van Wurt’s home in Malibu.

She passed by houses to her left that lined the coast, deceiving in the size portrayed on the PCH. On the beach below, their true splendor was revealed. Clara slowed, pulling off the side of the road to let a cab-yellow Hummer pass who was riding her tail as she’d slowed to try and read the house addresses. Once the Hummer had passed – with the blare of a frustrated horn – she continued, eventually finding what she’d been looking for.

The Van Wurt’s house was amazing, even from the PCH! The Two-story structure was gated, so Clara stopped in front of the wrought-iron, looking inquisitive as she studied the speaker box with a keypad built in.

“Can I help you?” a disembodied voice squawked, making Clara jump.

“Yes. Clara Greenwold,” she said, hoping she didn’t have to push any sort of button to allow her to communicate.

“One moment.”

There was a moment of silence before the gate slowly swung open, allowing her to pull onto the grounds of the estate. The front of the house was all glass and modern steel. There was an orange Ferrari parked to one side and a black Mercedes next to it.

Clara blew out a breath, feeling quite unsubstantial in her beat up old Honda. She unbuckled her seatbelt and drew her courage around her and headed out of the car.

A woman answered the ring of the doorbell within moments, smiling graciously at Clara, who stood on the massive front stoop, feeling very small.

“Good afternoon, Miss Greenwold,” the woman said, stepping aside to allow her in. “My name is Margaret, and I’ll take you to Mr. Van Wurt.”

“Thank you,” Clara said quietly, following who she assumed was the maid. The inside of the house was just as grandiose and contemporary as the outside. Metal sculptures dotted the hall and rooms, along with modern art: huge canvases filled with raucous color that made absolutely no sense to Clara, whatsoever.

She was led through a maze of rooms and stairwells, the sound of surf getting closer with every corner turned. It wasn’t long before the booming voice of Raymond Van Wurt could be heard, as well. He was talking to someone, their quieter, higher-pitched tone heard from time to time, though it was obvious Raymond held the lion’s share of the conversation.

Clara stepped out onto what was the top level of a multi-level deck made of steel that led down to the private beach below. Raymond sat in a chair, bare feet up on the rail of the matte finish of the metal, sunglasses hiding his dark, watchful eyes. The sun made his gelled hair gleam as it beat down on the top of his head. His companion, however, sat underneath the slate-gray umbrella, his face in shadow, though Clara could tell he was much younger than the fifty-something Raymond.

“Mr. Van Wurt, Miss Greenwold has arrived,” Margaret announced, heading back into the coolness of the house, her job complete.

Raymond’s feet hit the floor of the deck with a slap of bare skin against rubber – meant to keep the metal cool on hot days. “Clara!” he boomed, pushing up from his chair and hurrying over to her.

Clara accepted his enthusiastic hug. “Sorry I’m a little late. Got lost.”

“No worries, no worries. Tanner, I’d like you to meet my newest find, Clara Greenwold.” Clara and the visitor shook hands. “Clara, this is Tanner Roth, star of my newest venture, Starplay, airing on Sci-Fi next month.”

“Nice to meet you, Clara,” Tanner said, looking her up and down from behind the mirrored lenses of his Oakley’s.

“Nice to meet you, too,” she said, feeling somewhat shy and on display. He was handsome enough, certainly with the good looks of a starring role, but she got the slime factor from him. Once they’d shaken hands, she stuck her hands in the pockets of her jeans and took a step back.

“I’ll let you get to it, Ray,” Tanner said, turning to the older man. “Thanks for the chat.”

“Absolutely.” He turned to Clara. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll send Margie out to get your order.” He turned to Tanner, slapping him on the shoulder. “I’ll walk you out.”

Clara walked to the railing, leaning her forearms on it. She had expected the metal to be hot, but it was cool. Looking down at it, she realized it was treated with some sort of plastic coating, which left it smooth and shiny, even though it had the matte finish beneath it.

“Are you hungry, Miss Greenwold?” Margaret asked from behind her. She had her hands clasped together, head slightly tilted to the side as she waited patiently for Clara’s order.

“Um, yeah. Actually I am.”

“What can I get you?”

“Do you have lunchmeat?” Clara asked, somewhat unsure of what to say.

The older woman hid a smile as she nodded. “What kind, Miss?”

“Cara. Please call me Clara. And turkey? Maybe wheat bread, turkey and American cheese?”

“Mayonnaise, mustard, relish… ?”

“Um, Mayo and mustard, hold the relish,” Clara said, scrunching her nose.

This time Margaret did smile. “Lettuce, tomato? Pickles? Sprouts?”

“Oh. Lot of choices. Um, put whatever you want on there, I guess.”

Margaret nodded, her blue eyes twinkling in amusement as she headed back inside. Clara turned her attention back to the view beyond the house and deck. Below, down the beach she could see two people throwing a Frisbee around, a large black dog barking as it tried to chase the bright orange disc. Clara smiled, amused at the animal’s antics. She turned her focus back to the water, having never been to the ocean before.

“Pretty amazing, isn’t it?” Raymond asked, stepping up beside her.

Clara nodded then turned to her host. “It’s nice to see you again, Raymond.”

“You, too,” he said with a genuine smile. “I’m also very glad you’ve taken me up on my offer. I think we could be good for each other.” He leaned one forearm on the railing, turning to look at Clara’s profile. “Did you have a good drive out?”

Clara nodded. “Yeah. I think it was good for me, helped to clear m head and prepare.”

“Prepare? Do you think you need to prepare to do what you were born to do?”

Cara shook her head, mirroring Raymond’s position. “No, but I do need to prepare for the fact that I’ve uprooted my entire life, packed everything that would fit into my car into my car, and getting rid of everything else. It’s a huge step for me.”

Raymond nodded, taking his sunglasses off and tucking them into the loose-flitting button up shirt he wore. “It reminds me of when I was about your age. Isabelle and I packed up our VW van, and drove from New Jersey to Santa Barbara. Scariest thing I’ve ever done, to be honest.”

“And it worked out?” Clara asked, her voice small.

Raymond nodded. “In time, yes. I’ve had some of the best moments of my life here in California, and some of the worst, as you can attest to by what you saw during my reading.”

Clara nodded, remembering all too well what Raymond and Isabelle had endured by the murder of their son.

“But that’s life, isn’t it?”

“That it is.”

“Your lunch, Clara,” Margaret said, setting down an elaborate sandwich, piled high with fixings, as well as a chilled can of Coke next to a tall glass of ice. “Would you are for chips, veggies or anything on the side?” the older woman asked, taking the same stance of hands clasped, head slightly tilted to the side.

“Chips, please.”

With a nod, Margaret hurried into the house, happy to serve.

“She’s been with us for eighteen years now,” Raymond said, joining Clara at the table. “Can you believe that?”

Not sure what to say, Clara merely smiled, trying to figure out how she was going to get the sandwich into her mouth.

Raymond took his former position of bare feet on the rail, though this time he was under the shade of the umbrella with his guest. He watched her eat for a moment, then got down to business. “As promised in the deal, the guest house is all set up for you, so you can move in today if you like. As I recall, the deal was you stay there as you build your clientele, then it’s up to you where you’d like to go. I have a list of people for you, which I’ll share with you later.”

Clara nodded, butterflies settling in her stomach at the thought of doing readings for a bunch of rich, famous people. She had to force herself to swallow the large bite she’d taken. Wiping her mouth with the provided napkin Margaret had left when she’d brought a separate bowl of chips, Clara prepared to speak.

“Do you want me to do the readings in the guest house?”

Raymond shook his head, running a manicured hand across the soft cotton of his pants. “Nope. I’ve set aside space in the offices of Van Wurt Industries in downtown L.A. You can go in with me every morning, or go in when you have an appointment. Up to you. From what I’ve heard, it’s not a good idea to have readings in someone’s personal living quarters.” He rested his gaze on her. “Is that true?”

Clara thought about it for a moment, then nodded. “Makes sense. I’ll go in with you, if that’s okay.”

“Sure.”

The guest house was nearly as large as Clara’s childhood home, though all on one level instead of three. She tried to hide her reactions as Margaret showed her around. Two employees of the Van Wurt’s were busy carrying in everything from her car, placing them in the rooms Clara directed them to.

“Is there anything else I can get for you?” Margaret asked expectantly.

Clara shook her head. “Thank you.”

Left alone in her new home, she turned in a slow circle, not sure what to feel or think. Should she think she was the luckiest woman in the world, with the chance of a lifetime at her feet? Or, was she simply a fool walking into a viper pit? She liked Raymond a lot, and Isabelle was okay, too, but something told her that they were only nice when they were getting what they wanted out of someone or something. Would they tire of her?

Clara pushed negative thoughts out of her head as she made her way to the bedroom, which overlooked the ocean. She pushed the windows wide open, allowing the evening breeze. She wrinkled her nose at the strong smell of saltwater and sea life. She hoped she’d get used to it.

The house was decorated in muted, yet tasteful colors and fabrics, meant to be neutral enough for anyone’s tastes, yet still be elegant in their appointment. She wandered into the kitchen, somewhat smaller in proportion to the rest of the house, but still filled with all the latest gadgets and gizmos that made modern-day cooking easy and efficient. The cabinets were filled with the basic staples, leaving room for anything special Clara might want.

Impressed, but completely full from Margaret’s Dagwood-like sandwich, Clara left the room, curious to check out the rest of the house without Margaret’s watchful gaze on her. Not that she intended on doing anything wrong, but she’d always prized her privacy above just about all else.

That had been one argument Kerri had made against Clara taking Raymond’s offer. In the life she had now launched herself into, there would be little privacy or alone time. Raymond had made it very clear that she was there as a business prospect to him, and though he’d help her a great deal to get settled and established, he expected complete loyalty to him and his business. She would single-handedly be establishing a new area of his entertainment division for Van Wurt Industries. He had mentioned a television series in passing once, which of course brought to mind images of Medium Sylvia Brown on Montel Williams every Wednesday afternoon.

“Grandma, that would just be cruel,” she muttered having no interest in sharing such a personal thing with millions of people at once. What she did was part of a gift, nut a spectacle.

The offices of Van Wurt Industries in downtown Los Angeles were impressive: all modern steel and glass, much like the house in Malibu. She rode the elevator with an Armani’d Raymond. She felt rather underdressed in a simple pair of slacks and blouse, though he told her she looked fine. She wasn’t, after all, there for a board meeting, he reminded her.

The area that had been set up for her readings was a modest, but nice office with a seating area: couch and overstuffed chair. A desk was set back in the corner, next to the large office. There was nothing on the desk, as the office was unused, so was not outfitted for office work.

“Will this do?” Raymond asked, giving a hopeful look to his newest acquisition.

Clara looked around and nodded. “Yeah. It’s perfect.”

“Great. Oh! I almost forgot.” He reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, retrieving a black cell phone with a yellow sticky note attached to the small bar phone. “This is for you. Your new number is written on the sticky. Don’t worry about the time you use it.” He smiled charmingly. “I figured you might want a way to call your family back home, as well as any new friends you make here. Also, this will be your business phone. Clients can call you at that number.”

Clara took the phone, never having used a cell phone before in her life. “Wow,” she breathed. “Thank you.”

“Absolutely! Good luck today, and do me proud.” Raymond gave her a smile and a wink, then was out the door, leaving her alone in her new office to contemplate her new position.

She walked over to the window, looking down at the busy streets far below. “Damn, that’s far,” she whispered. Turning away, she looked out over the office again, deciding how she would handle the readings. Her gaze was drawn to the seating area with the designer furniture that looked about as comfortable as the futon she and Shelby had at the old apartment.

Shelby. She sank down onto the chair as she thought about her ex. For just a moment she wished she were back at the apartment with her. Clara felt terribly out of her element in Lost Angeles with Raymond and Isabelle and all their flashy cars and houses. At least with Shelby, she knew where she stood, and who she was.

“No you didn’t, Clara,” she whispered to herself, setting the cell phone down on the glass table next to the chair. “You only thought you did.” She blew out a breath and thoughts of Shelby and being homesick. She’d made her choice, and had to stand with it. Give it a chance.

“Excise me?” said a soft, male voice followed by a knock on the opened office door.

Clara shot to her feet to see a slight man standing in the doorway. He looked to be around thirty, his black hair cut short and sprinkled over his forehead. Smiling blue eyes met her gaze. “Hi.” Clara felt a bit sheepish, taken by surprise.

“Hi. I think I’m your next appointment,” the man said, taking a hesitant step into the room.

“Well, you’re my first, actually,” Clara said with a small smile. “Please come in. Close the door.”

The man did as asked, then turned to her for further instructions. She could tell he was very nervous, which actually helped her to feel a bit better about the situation.

“My name is Mike James,” he said, holding out a pale hand toward Clara, who took it. She looked him in the eye, as he wasn’t much taller than she was.

“Nice to meet you, Mike. I’m Clara.” They sat down, Mike on the couch, Clara in the chair. She couldn’t help but feel like she was about to facilitate a psychiatric therapy session. She pushed the thought away with a small smile. “So, what can I help you with today?”

Forty-three minutes later, Clara sat on the couch next to Mike, a Kleenex held lightly between her fingers. He smiled gratefully as he plucked the tissue from her and wiped his eyes and blew his nose.

“Are you okay?” she asked softly, wanting to give the poor guy a hug.

Mike nodded, giving her a weak smile. “I didn’t expect him to come through. I’ve always felt so guilty about what happened.” He blew out a loud breath, much of the tension and emotion from the reading leaving his body. “I can tell you I never played ball next to an ocean again.”

Clara smiled with a small nod. “I’m sure. Your brother knew you never meant to send him running into the undercurrent, Mike. He flat out said so.”

Mike raised his face to the ceiling for a moment, eyes closed as if in silent conversation with a brother long-dead. He nodded, seeming to get himself together. “Yes. He forgives me, regardless of how much he said there was nothing to forgive.” He looked at Clara again. “I needed to hear that from him.”

“He knew that. That’s why he came today, instead of your grandfather, who you expected.”

Mike studied her for a long moment, then a smile lit up his handsome features, baby blues sparkling. “You want to get a beer with me tonight?”

Clara stuttered, not sure what to say. “Uh, well. My girlfriend is at home, waiting, you know…” her voice trailed off.

A bark of laughter erupted from him. “That’s okay. So is my boyfriend.”

Clara joined him in laughter, now wondering why she hadn’t sensed it in him. “Well, in that case, I was lying about a girlfriend, and I’d love to have a beer with you.” She leaned into him to whisper conspiratorially, “But I’m only twenty.”

Mike grinned. “I don’t have a boyfriend, either, and that’s okay. We’ll get a Coke.” He pushed up off the couch, rubbing his eyes with his fingers. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Clara, and you’re a very gifted Medium.”

“Thank you.” Clara also stood, extending her hand out to him.

Mike looked down at her hand, then ignored it, grabbing her in a tight hug, his slight form stronger than it appeared. “Thank you so much,” he whispered into the hug.

Clara nodded, a feeling of satisfaction and contentment spreading through her. They parted and Mike handed her a business card.

“Call me when you’re finished here. There’s a great little place around the corner from here.”

Clara glanced down at the card before tucking it into her pant’s pocket. “Will do.” She walked him to the door of the office, surprised to see a woman with a raised hand, about to knock on the other side.

“Guess your next client is here,” Mike said with a wink, then stood aside, allowing the woman to enter. With a final smile and a wave, he was gone.

Chapter 32

The noise level was high as Clara and Mike found themselves a table. Happy hour had started, so the pub was filling up quick. Clara looked around, noting the old West-style theme of the pub, which amused her. So much of what she’d seen during her short time in the area was very new and contemporary. Modern in every way. It was kind of nice to see a bit of a throwback.

“What will you have?” Mike asked, leaning in close to be heard over a raucous group of men who had just passed.

“A Coke is fine,” Clara said, which Mike relayed to the waiting waitress, who quickly disappeared in the gathering throngs. Clara wasn’t sure why Mike had brought her to such a busy, loud place. As though reading her thoughts, he leaned towards her again.

“It quiets down fast.”

They sat in silence for a moment as their drinks arrived. Mike outfitted his Bloody Mary with pepper as Clara watched, a little disgusted. She hated tomato juice by itself, let alone with alcohol thrown in. As promised, the noise began to calm a bit, so Mike began to talk.

“So, how long have you known Ray and Belle?”

Clara chuckled. “Just a little longer than I’ve known you.”

Mike stared at her. “Are you crazy? Didn’t you move here from the Midwest somewhere, or something?”

“Yep. I packed up my little piece of crap car, and drove out after Raymond offered me basically a job to do the readings.” She shrugged. “It felt like the right thing to do, crazy or not.”

“I must say, I think you have bigger balls than I do.”

Clara laughed, “I certainly hope not, or you’re pretty much screwed.”

They talked on, Clara learning that Mike had been born and raised in the area, his father a Real Estate mogul, which left Mike with a pretty charmed life, though he didn’t go into the family business. Instead, after college, he struck out on his own path, finding success in the art world. Though not an ounce of artistic creativity in his fingers, his mind was brilliant, and his creative talent was in the art of making money. He had opened his first gallery in New York in 1989, and had since opened one in San Francisco, Ft. Lauderdale, and finally one in West Hollywood. He’d lived in New York and then Florida to get the two galleries going, but had finally gone back home to California, where he now lived.

“So, let me get this straight,” Mike said, pushing aside the empty glass of his second Bloody Mary. He was leaning forward on his crossed forearms. “You’re telling me you walked away from a college education - flat walked away from it – to come out here?” he asked. “To fulfill a job offer from a man you didn’t even know?”

“That would be correct,” Clara nodded, sipping from her third Coke and reaching to nab a chip from the basket of nachos they’d ordered to share. She had filled him in on the past twenty years of her history.

“Why?” his question was filled with the passion of a slightly buzzed man, passionate about education and building a future. Clara couldn’t help but think that Mike and Shelby would get along wonderfully.

“Because that’s not what I wanted,” she said simply, popping a fallen black olive into her mouth. “I wasn’t happy in school, wasn’t happy with my girlfriend, and knew I needed to make a change. I squashing too much of myself by trying to fit into their view of what my life should be.” She shook her head. “Never again.”

Mike thought for a moment, mulling over what he’d just been told, then smiled, nodding with approval. “Good for you, Clara! That took guts.” He raised his glass in salute, Clara clinking her own against it.

“Cheers.”

Weeks turned into months as Clara was set up with client after client. Most – at first anyway – were people that Raymond knew. They were people with lots of money who wanted a shot at the new show in town. Many were skeptics at the start, but Clara took personal delight in changing that within moments. Sometimes she would even show off a bit, share embarrassing little snippets that were whispered in her ear, or things that she’d pick up from handling a personal item of the person.

One thing she had to say about the rich and powerful, they certainly tipped well. She made more on their tips in one day than she had in a month working long hours at either of her jobs back home.

After awhile Clara began to bring in her own clientele, either people Mike knew, or the lady she would happen to start talking to in line at the grocery store. Those were her favorite clients. They were the Everyman; the ones who couldn’t afford much, but who needed the comfort more than anyone else. So many needed to know that they would be okay, and that their sometimes-stark, difficult lives were worth it in the end. Clara often spent her weekends with these clients, and sometimes during the weekday 9-5. She had to be careful with that, though.

She was never given an actual schedule for the day, per her request. She didn’t want to know names or any information of who was to visit her. Her readings tended to be less on the more she knew, as typically the spirit would give what she called Identifiers. Those were small tidbits for the client to identify who had come to speak to them. The more she knew, the harder she and the spirit had to work for the information.

Before Clara knew it the holidays were once again coming around. She thought about where she’d been the previous Thanksgiving, the day she’d come out to her parents in a big way. She smiled at the memory as she sat in the guest house she was staying in. She relaxed on the couch, looking out over the ocean. The moonlight had turned the crashing waves into blue and white-crested beings that pounded the shore, as though battling an unknown foe.

Her thoughts drifted away from the sea outside back home to her family. She hadn’t seen any of them in four months, though kept weekly phone contact with them. Her father was still angry with her, but she hoped he’d get over it and try and understand. Though she were miles from home, and in a world that was unlike anything she’d ever known, she was happier than she’d ever been.

Clara was brought out of her musings by a knock at her door. She set down the cup of coffee she’d been drinking and padded over, unlocking and pulling the door open. Raymond stood on the other side, still dressed in the slacks and shirt from his suit that day, though the jacket and tie were gone.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hey, Ray. Come on in.” Though it was hers for the time being, Clara always felt like she had to defer to Ray when he showed up at the guest house. He’d never said or done anything to make her feel that way, but there was an air of power and control to him that made her uncomfortable. She didn’t like controlling people, nor to be controlled, but she had to admit Raymond did intimidate her.

On the flip side of that coin, Raymond stepped just inside the door, looking around the room, but going no further, trying to respect Clara’s privacy. “Mind if I come in for a minute?” he asked, indicating the couch.

“Please.” Clara led the way, Raymond’s Gucci shoes clapping softly on the hardwood floor. “Can I get you something?”

“No, that’s okay,” he said, waving off her offer.

“Okay.” Clara sat on the chair while Raymond sat dead center in the couch. He clapped his hands on his knees, smiling brightly. “Is everything okay?” she asked, feeling somewhat nervous.

“Yes. Fine. We hadn’t had much of a chance to speak lately, what with me being in Tokyo for the past month and everything. I just wanted to touch base with you, see how things are going.” He eyed her expectantly, his dark eyes missing nothing.

“It’s going well. Steady clients, and I’ve been seeing a few on my own-“

“I heard about that,” he interrupted, voice still light. “That’s actually one thing I wanted to talk to you about, but, we’ll get to that.” Again he waved off the topic as though it were an annoying housefly. Clara really began to feel nervous. “Tell me about this wedding. Your parents second I hear.”

Clara nodded, surprised to be asked about it. She realized in that moment that she’d best not talk to anyone in Raymond’s office about anything remotely serious. She’d mentioned the wedding to a woman she’d met in the cafeteria the week before. She had no idea where the woman worked or what she did, just that they’d chatted while they ate. “Yes,” she finally said.

“That’s great news. I wish them well. I’m assuming you’ll want to go back for the event?”

“Yes. I was going to talk to you about that when you got back from your trip.”

“Here I am!” Raymond smiled, opening his arms wide. “Let’s talk about it. When do you need to go, and for how long?” He pulled a small tablet of paper from his pocket, clicking the pen to life that he’d grabbed off her coffee table.

“Oh, uh,” Clara stuttered, glancing at his waiting hand. “The actual wedding day is December 20^th. I was hoping that maybe I could just stay the whole week, have Christmas with my family.”

Raymond had begun to write before Clara was even finished, her gaze following the marks. “Clara will be gone December,” he glanced up at her, brows raised in approval, “fifteenth, perhaps? Give you a chance to be fitted, as I’m sure you’ll be part of the wedding party.” At Clara’s nod he returned to his notes. “Back on December twenty-sixth.” Again he glanced up at her, as though her really needed to ask her permission. “Doable?”

Clara nodded, thrilled that he was being so understandable about it. “That’s great, Raymond, thank you.”

Her gave her an encouraging smile as he clicked the pen and handed it to her, tucking the pad back into his pocket. “I’m a business man, Clara. Not a monster.” He reclined back onto the couch, one arm running the length of the back and an ankle brought over one knee. “Now, that said, let’s talk about your extra clients.”

“Is it a problem?” she asked, her palms suddenly beginning to sweat.

“I think problem is entirely too strong of a word, but concern, perhaps might be a bit more accurate.”

Clara swallowed, waiting for whatever Raymond would send her way. She felt like she’d been called to the principal’s office, caught ditching class or something.

“You see, Clara, as I said, I am a business man, which means I provide various types of business to clients. Your gifts happen to be one of those types of services that I deal in. When I hear that one of those clients has to wait outside your office for fifteen minutes while you finish up with one of your personal per projects, that concerns me.” He paused, making sure he had her full attention. Though he’d never once raised his voice above a conversational tone, Clara felt like she was being fully and truly chastised. “Now, you look like you’re about to tremble out of your socks, but let me reassure you; that’s not necessary.” His smile returned. “This is the first time it’s happened, and I’m confident the last.”

Clara nodded, swallowing again. “I’m sorry, Raymond.”

He held up a large hand. “No need to apologize. I know you’re a very generous person who only wants to help people. After all, that’s how you ended up here with us, isn’t it?”

Again Clara nodded.

“Alright, then. It’s been discussed, all’s well, no harm. So,” he said, tone bright and filled with question. “I understand you’ve been spending a great deal of time with Michael James. I have to say, since you bought your own car, I’ve missed driving into work together. I don’t get to hear the – what do kids call it today – skinny on what’s going on in your life.”

Other than what you hear from your spies, Clara couldn’t help but think, her thoughts tinges with the bitterness of betrayal. She shoved it down, knowing Raymond wasn’t the man to complain to. “Yeah, Mike and I spend a lot of time together. Is that okay?”

“Os course! Michael is a great guy. I’ve done lots of business with him over the years. I wouldn’t get your hopes up, though,” he said, voice dropping conspiratorially. “He’s gay.” He winked at Clara, and something inside her told her he knew damn well that she was, too.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said instead.

“Wise. I’ve gone to dinner with him several times, and even to a few sporting events. The man loves boxing. I do dislike when he gets into one of his depressed modes, however,” he said, brows drawn in thoughtful contemplation. “But, I’m sure you have more patience for that kind of thing than I do.” He slapped his hands on his knees again, marking his intent to leave. “So, anything else?”

Clara shook her head. “Nope. I think that just about covers everything.”

“Excellent.” Raymond got to his feet and headed for the door, followed by Clara. He turned to her before stepping out. “You’re doing a wonderful job for me, Clara. I’ve heard many, many wonderful things about you and your marvelous gifts.” He smiled, kind and genuine. “I’m glad I managed to snag you before anyone else found you.”

Clara smiled back, feeling warm and fuzzy at such a wonderful compliment. “Thank you, Raymond. I am, too.”

“Good night, Clara.”

Chapter 33

For the fifth time in as many minutes Clara adjusted the pearl choker she wore with her dress. Not only wasn’t she used to wearing dresses, but she wasn’t used to wearing necklaces, either. Especially ones that threatened to cut off her air supply.

“Stop fidgeting,” Kerri admonished through a clenched teeth smile.

Clara forced herself to stop messing with the necklace. She had this horrible vision of her inadvertently breaking the strand, sending hundreds of tiny pearls sweeping across the sanctuary. She cleared her throat, instead focusing on the couple walking towards them now.

Stephanie was breathtaking in her ivory satin gown, simple yet elegant. After all, she said, they’d been there before, so didn’t need anything over the top. She was on the arm of her brother, who looked proud and handsome in his black tux with ivory tie and vest. The man of the hour, however, was Clara’s father. Max stood proud and strong, awaiting his bride. Again. He was clean cut, hair trimmed and looking more handsome than ever.

Max Greenwold was a bitter/sweet thing for Clara at the moment. She’d gotten into town five days before, and though Kerri and her mother had been overwhelmed in their excitement to see her and welcome her home, Max had been quiet and somewhat distant. Clara had hoped that the time apart would help him to overcome his issues, but it didn’t seem to be. Clara knew they needed some serious one-on-one time, and she intended to do just that after the wedding. Her parents weren’t leaving on their week-long honeymoon for another two weeks, so she had time before she headed back to California.

In the meantime, she cleared her mind of anything negative, as she wanted the day to be special for her parents, and wanted them to have as good a shot – as it would probably be their last – at making it this time.

Stephanie reached her husband-to-be (although the ceremony was more about renewing their vows since divorce proceedings had never taken place), looking like a young and fresh woman, looking forward to the rest of her life. At nearly forty-four years old, Stephanie was still beautiful and vibrant.

Clara saw out of the corner of her eye as Kerri wiped at a tear, which of course made Clara nearly lose it herself. She turned her focus back to her parents, who now were instructed to join hands. As she watched the beautiful ceremony unfold, Clara couldn’t help but feel almost wistful. She wondered if she’d ever get a chance for such love. She’d struck out twice already, though she did realize she was still very young. All the same, she wished she knew exactly where her future lay.

No sooner did the thought cross her mind before she felt compelled to look to her right, out into the crowd of gathered well-wishers. A small gasp escaped Clara’s lips when she saw Abby Jensen sitting in the third row, a peaceful smile on her face. Her eyes were riveted on the happy couple, as were everyone’s – including the dark-haired man who sat very close to her.

Clara was jolted from her shock when Kerri gave her a small nudge. Clara looked at her only to feel embarrassment as quiet laughter filled the sanctuary. She turned to see her mother and the minister looking at her expectantly.

“The ring?” the minister asked, a smile in his voice.

“Oh.” Feeling oh-so-stupid, Clara took a step forward, holding out her father’s heavy gold band to her mother. Stephanie smiled and kissed her lightly on the cheek, laughing nervously at the lipstick smear she’d left. She wiped it off with her fingertips, leaving a small, loving caress on her youngest’s cheek. She mouthed ‘thank you’, then turned to Max.

Clara didn’t dare take her eyes off the proceedings again, though she could still feel the shock of seeing Abby after so many years.

Clara reveled in the snow that was falling down steadily, though not dangerously. She was also grateful to be out of that awful dress her mother made her war. She was honored to be co-Maid of Honor with Kerri, but still… She shoved her hands a little deeper into the pockets of her jacket as she hurried inside the hall where the wedding reception was being held.

She had been asked to drive a few of the guests home from the church, so after that little chore, she’d hurried to her parents’ house and changed before arriving at the reception hall. Loud music could already be heard pulsing in the cold night, the parking lot filled with cars that were already covered with a light dusting of powdered sugar-like snow.

As she gazed over the cars, she wondered which one –if any – belonged to Abby. Was she just inside? Who was the man she’d left the church with? Kerri hadn’t mentioned Abby in a long time, so she hadn’t been aware the two ex-high school buddies were still friends. What other reason would Abby have for coming to the wedding?

The night wore on, everyone having a good time during the reception. Even Clara managed to laugh and dance, even if it was with Zane and a few cousins. All the while, though, she continued to look for Abby, but had yet to see her. She was pretty sure the blonde wasn’t there, which for some reason filled her with deep disappointment and relief.

“May I have this dance?”

Clara turned, surprised to hear the request asked in her left ear. A wide smile immediately split her face at the sight of her father. “You may,” she said with a vigorous nod.

Max took her hand and led her onto the dance floor, the crowd almost seeming to part for father and daughter. Clara felt her heart begin to melt when the DJ played Unforgettable with Natalie Cole and her father, Nat King Cole. Max smiled down at her as he gracefully led her around the dance floor.

“Why did you change your clothes?” he asked, twirling her.

“I hate dresses.”

Max laughed, nodding. “Yes, I remember. You were almost as beautiful as the bride today, Clara. Almost,” he said with a wink.

“And you were the most handsome guy in the entire place.”

“Why, thank you.”

They danced on in silence for a long moment before Max brought her in close again. “I’ve missed you, sweetpea.”

Clara nearly burst into tears at the sound of the endearment Max had used for her entire life. Until she left school and went to California. “I’ve missed you, too,” she said, her voice nearly breaking. “Don’t be mad at me, Dad,” she pleaded, looking up into his face, his own eyes a bit more moist than they should be.

Max shook his head. “I’m not. I can’t be. I love you too much.” The song stopped, and so did they. He cupped her face in large hands. “You’re too unforgettable.”

The dam burst and the tears flowed. Clara was taken into a strong embrace, her daddy back in her life.

“I love you, little one,” Max whispered, kissing the top of her head.

“I love you, too, Dad.” They shared one more tight hug, then walked hand in hand off the dance floor.

Clara glanced over at her father several times, often met with a return glance or smile from him. They had decided to take a walk around the neighborhood, neither saying much. She was due to head out of Stapleton International Airport in two days. Though the dance during the wedding reception had been special to both, they hadn’t talked much since.

“Want to go to the pond?” Max asked, words coming out in white puffs. At his daughter’s nod of consent, they turned left at the corner and headed to the small park where they used to feed the ducks when Clara was a small child. After a long moment, Max spoke again. “Are you happy?”

Clara chewed on her ChapStick-slathered bottom lip before answering. “I needed to do this, Dad.”

Max stopped them with a hand to her arm. “That’s not what I asked.”

“I know. Like anything, there’s good and bad. I do love what I’m doing, and I’ve made a really good friend. Is this where I want to be for the rest of my life, probably not. But for right now, it’s what I need to do, and where I need to be.”

“Why?” he asked, genuine curiosity replacing what was once bitter accusation.

“Because I needed some distance from what was safe: you guys, Shelby, doing things I never wanted to do.”

“Like school,” he finished, defeated.

“Yes, Dad. Like school. Listen,” she said, putting a hand on his arm. “I know you want the best for me and Kerri, and don’t want to see us struggling like you and mom have. But you have to understand something. College isn’t always the answer to every question or problem.”

“But without an education-“

“What about people who have natural gifts and talents?” Clara interrupted. “What if I was a writer? A painter or an actor? Would we be standing here having the same conversation?”

Max chuckled. “Probably.”

Clara smiled. “Probably,” she agreed. “But the fact of the matter is, I do have a gift or talent, and my path in this life is to use is, Dad. To help people.”

“I know that, Clara, and I’ve always supported and respected you for it. You know that. But you’re not some teenager anymore. You’re growing up, and have to make it on your own. Eventually I’m sure you’ll have a mortgage, a family hopefully. Is this stuff really going to pay for all that?”

Clara shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t know, but right now I’m not worried about that. I need to do this, Dad.” She looked him in the eye, wanting him to fully understand what she was saying. “It’s a part of me. A very big part of me.”

“And I know that. But, why can’t you get something - the normal 9-5 – that’s stable and you can count on? You can do this stuff on weekends, or after work, or whatever,” Max said, his voice hopeful.

Clara shook her head. “It doesn’t work that way. When you’re programmed to do something, regardless of what that something is, you have to do it. Like I said, if I were a writer or an artist, it would be the same thing. I just really need you to understand that, and to have enough faith me that I’ll be okay. And, if it doesn’t work out, have the faith in me to know that I’ll walk away. I’m not a stupid person, Dad, nor do I consider myself terribly foolish. I really need you to trust me. Okay?”

Max met her gaze for a long moment before finally giving in. He didn’t like it, but he nodded and began walking again.

The visit home and Christmas had gone entirely too quickly, and now Clara sat on an airplane headed west to her new home. The time with her family and all that was familiar had been harder to leave than she ever dreamed it would.

Her life in California was about as opposite from back home as night was from day. In Malibu she was surrounded by some of the richest people in the world, certainly the United States, and many were filled with purpose and pomp. Back home, people worked hard for what they had, and the smallest of luxury was hard won.

Then there was her family. There was a small ache in her heart from seeing her mother’s tears as she and Kerri waited with her at the gate until her flight boarded. Stephanie had tried to stay strong, but hadn’t been entirely successful, and it broke Clara’s heart. She was, however, glad that she and her father had come to some peace. She felt they were pretty much back on as solid ground as they were before she made the big announcement. At least he understood, anyway. She knew, though that if he had his way, she would be heading back to pack up and drive back home. They both knew that wasn’t going to happen. She was happy where she was. Clara knew she’d know when it was time to go.

Continued

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