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Claire's Great Adventure

Chapter Three: Aunt May's Dilemma

Claire continued looking out at the yard, for Jacks was scampering around with an invisible playmate; Claire couldn't tell if he was simply chasing his tail or if there was some small insect he'd found for a temporary playmate.

Without looking at Camden, she said, "It's a terrible thing to lie, isn't it?"

"We're only doing it because we have to," Camden said, "because it's important to see your Dad."
"Is that really true?" Claire asked in a weak voice. "Of course it is," Camden replied confidently. "What if your father gets killed on a motorcycle next month, and because you told the truth, then you'd never see him at all?"

Surprised, Claire asked, "What makes you think my father rides a motorcycle?"

"I dunno," Camden replied hazily. "He must make some money, and he must spend it on stuff other than you." Claire turned accusingly to her friend and said, "You make him sound like a modern-day pirate."

"Maybe he is," Camden said. "I mean, he doesn't write you for 15 years. Doesn't that sound like what a pirate would do?"

"A pirate would never write at all," Claire said stiffly.

"You don't know that," Camden insisted. "Even pirates have feelings-especially when they get older."

"How did you become such an expert on pirates?" Claire asked caustically.

"Don't you remember that report I did last year?" Camden said with a theatrical wave of her arms. "It had everything: maps, the pirate who was actually a lady, the Pirate's Code of Honor, even a part on modern pirates. I got an A."

"Are there modern pirates?" Claire asked in a skeptical voice.

Camden widened her eyes in disbelief. "Of course there are. There's always been pirates. Only now they steal freighters and hold up oil tankers."

"Even pirates have gotten boring," Claire commented. "They should at least blow up a tanker every once in a while."

"Right," Camden sniffed. "And poison all the birds and fish for a hundred miles. Even pirates wouldn't be that stupid."

The two friends fell silent, and watched Jacks pounce on an invisible prey before dashing across the grass to the wooden fence, which he climbed in a mad scramble of black-and-white fur. Once on the top, he glanced once at them and then disappeared into his own yard.

Camden turned to Claire with solemn eyes and hesitated before speaking. "What kind of person is your Father?"

"I don't know," Claire answered uncertainly. "Even if he's as bad as my Mom says he is, he hasn't hurt anyone-I mean directly. He's just irresponsible."

"That's bad enough," Camden replied curtly. "I sure would hate to be married to someone who lives the plush life in Paris while I'm slaving away here."

"Maybe he's a starving artist or something," Claire said hopefully.

Camden paused and then looked away. "Maybe he's just a bum, like your Mom says."

"I know that," Claire protested.

"Just don't get starry-eyed," Camden admonished her. "I mean, what kind of Dad waits 15 years to write his daughter?"

Starry-eyed, huh, thought Claire angrily. She wanted to say, 'That's clever, coming from somebody who melts like Jello whenever Andy Sanchez walks by,' but she held her tongue because it was an unfair cut. Camden couldn't help being ga-ga over Andy Sanchez, Claire reminded herself; but why can't anyone understand that I hope my father's not a bum?

Sensing her friend's hurt, Camden quickly changed subjects and said briskly, "When does your aunt get off work?"

Claire glanced at the tall, dark-wood grandfather clock in the corner of the living room and said uncertainly, "I think an hour ago. Her job ends early."

Camden turned toward the front door and said, "You better get it over with."

"Wait," Claire said quickly. Camden paused, and Claire asked in a small voice, "Could you stay for just a couple minutes longer?"

Both girls knew what Claire was asking for-moral support for the difficult phone call, and Camden reluctantly nodded in agreement.

Feeling like she was about to be sentenced to some sort of unpleasant doom, Claire picked up the phone and hit the button to dial Aunt May's number. Gripping the phone tensely to her ear, Claire half-hoped her aunt wouldn't be home. After four rings, each seeming to last longer then the last one, her Aunt suddenly answered.

"Why Claire, how nice to hear from you," she said warmly. "I saw your number on caller I.D. and wondered if you'd received my card."

Claire had completely forgotten about her aunt's birthday card, and she rushed to the table to hastily rip it open. "Thank you so much," Claire gushed as the $20 bill fluttered from the half-open card. "Mom will make me put the $20 in my college fund, of course...." her voice trailed off and her Aunt clucked her tongue in disapproval.

"That's for you to spend on a birthday present for yourself," she said reprovingly.

Camden moved in front of Claire and waved her arms in a "get moving" gesture of impatience.

Claire closed her eyes to steel herself, and then tried to launch the story about a scholarship for a summer study program in Paris.

"You know, Aunt May, speaking of college...." she started, and then froze. Opening her eyes, she found Camden facing her with an intense expression of expectation. Turning away from her friend, Claire formed the story in her mind and began to speak.

But it wasn't the story that came out of her mouth; it was the truth. She told her aunt about the letter from her Father's friend and the $5,000, and the instructions to come to Paris to see her father. Aunt May was silent after Claire's rushed explanation, and then Claire pushed ahead to the hard part.

"I was hoping you'd come with me and my friend Camden," she said hesitantly. "Then maybe Mom would let me go."

"I see," said Aunt May carefully. "Hmm, this will take a little thought."

Relieved that she hadn't said "no", Claire turned to Camden, who was gesticulating wildly in protest at Claire's rejection of their concocted story, and motioned her to calm down.

"You know the problem is Mom," Claire said.

"No," responded May ascerbically, "the problem is your Father. Why couldn't he offer you $5,000 for your college fund, and come back to visit you like a normal person?"

"Maybe he can't," Claire said forcefully. "Maybe this is the only way I'll ever get to see him."

In a voice which sounded like she would never change her mind, Aunt May said, "Then you'll have to wait until you're 22 and out of college."

She might as well say 82, thought Claire bitterly; six years was so long away, it couldn't even be imagined.

"What if he's killed in a motorcycle accident next month?" Claire protested. At this, Camden covered her mouth and stifled a laugh, and Claire tried to kick her.

Aunt May's voice softened and she asked, "How do you know he rides a motorcycle?"

"Just a guess," replied Claire. "He has to spend his money on something."

"If he has any," said May sarcastically.

"Well, there's this $5,000 bond," Claire said defensively.

"Yes, and that, I'm afraid, will go directly into your college fund. You can spend the $20 I sent you on anything you want."

With great bitterness Claire said, "It's because of Mom, isn't it?"

Aunt May paused for a moment before saying, "You know he left her with a baby to raise and a big debt to pay off. Your father was a scoundrel, I am sorry to say, but there is no other way to say it."

Claire was silent, for she'd never heard about the big debt. Aunt May waited for her response, and when Claire said nothing, May added softly, "But people do change, and perhaps your father has finally grown up, just as you're turning a grown-up sixteen."

"Then you'll go with me?" Claire asked hopefully.

"I can't in good conscience help you waste $5,000, which would pay for at least one year of college if you live at home," May said in a very adult tone of voice. "It wasn't so expensive in our day...."

Claire imagined May with long jet-black hair and wearing torn blue jeans and a tie-die haltertop, holding a protest sign and chanting at neatly dressed college administrators in navy-blue suits and thick-rimmed glasses.

"It sounded like it was more fun in your day, too," Claire said, and then instantly regretted saying it. Oh no, Claire thought with suppressed horror; now she's going to repeat one of those boring stories about dedicated activists and demonstrations.

The only story she liked was the one about building a replica of a tiger-cage torture cell in front of the Federal Building to protest some evil foreign government, and everyone in May's group taking turns living inside it for a day; at least that sounded interesting.

The problem, Claire had decided, was Aunt May's work. All day long she wore headphones and sat at a computer, typing in the stories that people had recorded when they were old. It wasn't bad to keep the stories, of course, because many were one-of-a-kind and most interesting, but Claire reckoned that listening to the past all day had made her aunt live in the past, too.

Buy May surprised her by sighing and then saying, "Maybe so, but we need to focus on your problem. I'm afraid we'll just have to write your Father and insist he visit you here. You simply can't sacrifice a year at university just to see your Father. If he's grown up even the tiniest bit, he'll understand that."

Claire wished, with a great bitter disappointment, that she'd tried the overseas study lie instead of the truth; maybe Aunt May would have fallen for it, and she could have gone. Now there was no hope.

"Thanks for the card, anyway," Claire said listlessly, and then hung up the phone.

"What a dope!" shouted Camden. "What did you think she was going to say? Duuuuuh!"

"And what was I going to say when she asked to speak to the program director, or asked where we were staying, or how long we'd be in class everyday? Huh?"

Camden fell silent, and then asked in a small voice, "Will you get to spend any of the five grand?"
"No," muttered Claire. "Every cent has to go into my stupid college fund."

Claire sat down in the kitchen table chair, utterly defeated in spirit, and Camden sat down across from her.

"If only one person could understand how I feel," Claire said miserably. "But only someone who's never had a dad like me could possibly understand."

"I can," Camden said, but Claire knew her friend couldn't really understand. Still, it was nice of her to say so.

"Your line about my Dad maybe getting killed on a motorcycle is the only thing which almost convinced her," Claire said with a sly smile. "That was the best idea yet."

"Sorry it didn't work," Camden said sheepishly. "Well, I better go home. I have to finish this dumb report on Neanderthals."

"You can start with my Aunt May," Claire said sardonically, and Camden laughed. It was so unfair, but neither could stop laughing.

Camden left and Claire returned to her room in a state of deep gloom. I might as well get it over with, she told herself miserably. Turning on her hand-me-down computer--the printer always balked just when she needed to print a book report--Claire retrieved the letter from James Prufrock Giddings and typed in his email address:

Dear Mr. Giddings:
Thank you very much for the letter and for giving me the ring from my Father. Unfortunately, I cannot use the money you sent to visit my Father in Paris. It has to go into my college fund, which currently has-

Claire rummaged through her desk for the savings passbook and looked at the bottom line, and then wrote-

-$123.67. I feel pretty bad that I won't be able to visit Paris, but there's nothing I can do about it. My Mom and aunt feel very strongly that I need the money for college. Please explain this to my Father.

Yours truly,
Claire

Claire pushed the "send" button and then flopped onto her bed. What a day, she told herself; why does something good always have to end in something disappointing? So much for a wonderful sixteenth birthday. Even worse, she thought gloomily, I'll have to act all cheerful for Mom; otherwise, she'll wonder what's wrong with me.

I can't do it, she thought; I can't act cheerful, but then I can't tell her why I'm so depressed, either. There's never anyone to share the disappointments with, is there?

Her unremitting misery was interrupted by the beep of an incoming email, and Claire eased off her bed to look at the message. Probably a happy birthday card from a friend at school, she told herself; nothing could cheer me up now.

To her surprise, it was an email reply from J. Prufrock Giddings.

Dear Claire:
I understand your dilemma, and your Mother and Aunt are perfectly correct. I apologize for being so blind. Of course you must go to university, and $123.67 will buy little more than a book or two and a pad of notepaper.

Here is my solution to the problem. If you go to Paris to visit your Father, I will send you $10,000 for your college fund. Your Mother and Aunt will surely see the wisdom of letting you go. If you don't go, I cannot give you the money, because you didn't do anything for me.

Please explain this to them, and notify me of the results. Time is of the essence, and we cannot afford to dally over a mere $5,000.

Sincerely yours,
J. Prufrock Giddings

P.S. please find attached a brokerage statement, which I offer as proof that I can indeed send you the $10,000 immediately upon your return home from Paris.

Claire opened the attachment and caught her breath at the value listed at the bottom: $473,933. Could she trust this Giddings man to really give her the money for college if she went to Paris? Why did he want her to go so badly? Maybe, she thought cautiously, he owed Father a great debt-one that had to be repaid with honor, not just money. With no more than a moment's thought, she forwarded Gidding's email to her Aunt May, with a single line added:

Now what do you think? Claire.

The reply from Aunt May came through a few moments later:

Let me re-think this. Where there's a will, there's a way. May.

Claire's heart leaped and a renewed hope sprang to life in her.


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Coming soon: Chapter 4: Aunt May's Plan

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copyright © 2005 Charles Hugh Smith. All rights reserved in all media.

I would be honored if you linked this story to your website, or printed a copy for your own use.

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