Family Storms Read online

  “This is Sasha,” Mrs. March said.

  “Hola, Sasha,” Mrs. Duval said. “Hello and welcome.”

  “Sí, welcome,” Alberto said.

  He and Grover lifted me and the chair and carried me up the stone steps to the entrance. Mrs. Duval and Mrs. March followed us. At the grand door, they waited for her instructions.

  “Take her in and to the elevator,” Mrs. March told them. “We’re bringing her right up to her suite.”

  Elevator? Suite? Had I heard right? This did sound more like a hotel than a house.

  They hurried to do so.

  The entryway had a floor of golden marble, and there were small statues of ivory-white angels in niches on both sides of the darker marble walls. Above us was a large chandelier shaped like an opened hand, and ahead of us was a curved stairway with steps that matched the marble in the entrance. The banister was made of marble, too. Every-where I looked, I saw paintings and tapestries on the walls and pedestals with small statues.

  Alberto wheeled me to the right, but before we went too far, a smaller, younger-looking lady with a pillbox chef’s cap came hurrying down the long hallway. She didn’t look much taller than five foot one or two, and her apron’s hem was down to her ankles, making it look as if it was meant for a much taller person.

  “This is Mrs. Caro,” Mrs. March announced before she reached us. “Mrs. Caro, meet Sasha.”

  “Hello, dear,” Mrs. Caro said in an accent I recognized as Irish only because Daddy had an Irish friend he had brought around from time to time. “My, what a pretty little girl,” she told Mrs. March. “I’m fixing a nice lunch for you, dear.”

  “We’ll let you know when she’s settled in, Mrs. Caro. For today and perhaps tomorrow, we’ll let her rest. Then we’ll see about taking her out.”

  “Oh, of course, Mrs. March. I’ll prepare some fresh lemonade,” she said, and then asked, “You like lemonade?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  She smiled as if she rarely heard those words.

  Mrs. March urged Alberto to continue, and he brought me to an elevator.

  “We hardly use this,” Mrs. March said when I was wheeled in. There wasn’t room for Mrs. Duval, who had already gone up the stairway. “Donald thought it would be wise to have one, either to help us when we were too old or in the event of his wanting to sell, to have another attraction, an added advantage. If you ask me, it was just another toy for him, but now it does come in handy.”

  The elevator was slow. I saw that it could go up to the tower, too. When the door opened, Mrs. Duval was waiting for us. “I’ll take her from here,” she told her husband. Without comment, he turned and went to the stairway. Mrs. Duval wheeled me down another long corridor. More paintings and tapestries were spaced along its walls on both sides, with pedestals holding statues and busts here and there as well. We went almost to the end before she turned me into a room on the left. I nearly gasped.

  Even in movies and magazines, I had never seen a bedroom this large. The walls were done in a baby pink, and the bed, which looked even larger than a king-size bed, had a cream frame with pink spirals, four posts, and a canopy. What surprised me, however, was the headboard. Embossed on it were two giraffes.

  Before I could ask, Why giraffes? Mrs. March explained. “Giraffes were Alena’s favorite animals. From the age of two or three, she was fascinated by them.”

  So, this was Alena’s room, then. For someone who just weeks ago was sleeping in a carton on the beach, coming to such a house would have been overwhelming in and of itself. Even simply setting foot in it would have drowned me in amazement. The sight of it as we had approached it, the grounds, the landscaping, had taken my breath away and actually had numbed me. But now, realizing that I was stepping into the shoes and sleeping in the bed of Mrs. March’s dead little girl did more than amaze and numb me. It actually frightened me. It was beautiful, the most beautiful room I had ever seen, but for a moment, it gave me the feeling that I was invading and violating another girl’s sacred shrine. Prominent on one of the dressers was a picture of someone who was surely Alena. I avoided looking at it.

  “Mrs. Duval and I have already gone through all of Alena’s things and sorted out what we think would fit you properly,” Mrs. March said as they brought me to the bed. “You don’t have to put this on right now, but here’s one of my favorite nightgowns.” She lifted it off the bed where it had been neatly placed. She laughed. “As you can see … more giraffes. I’m afraid you’re going to find them everywhere. She even had a toothbrush shaped like the neck of a giraffe with a giraffe’s head. Donald went a little overboard with that stuff.”

  “Do you want her in bed right away?” Mrs. Duval asked Mrs. March. I looked up at her.

  “I don’t know. Are you tired, Sasha? You can explore the suite, if you like, or get into bed and rest. I imagine it’s all been exhausting for you, considering you’ve been laid up so long and gone through so much. What would you like to do?”

  Mrs. Duval pulled back the blanket in anticipation.

  “I’ll stay in the wheelchair a while longer,” I said.

  “Good. That way, you can have your lunch right over here,” Mrs. March said, moving to her right to show me a separate sitting area. “This will become your private classroom, too, as soon as I have your tutor arranged. I was thinking we’d get that started as soon as we can, as long as you’re up to it. You can work in here, don’t you think?”

  I wheeled myself toward it. There was a small table, a desk with a computer, another television besides the one built into the wall directly across from the bed, and a very large dollhouse, large enough for a little girl to go into if she liked. Everywhere I looked, there were pictures of giraffes in different locales or just one or two close up. There was a beautiful painting of one as well.

  The windows were low enough for me to look out, even sitting in the wheelchair. I wheeled to the one on the left and gazed down at the swimming pool, which looked huge, and the two tennis courts. Someone was cleaning the pool.

  “That’s an Olympic-size pool,” Mrs. March said, standing over my shoulder. “Before she became very sick, Alena could do ten laps without stopping. I’m sure once you’re fully recuperated, it will be great for your physical therapy. In no time at all, you’ll be able to work up to ten laps, too, I’m sure. It’s always heated, by the way.”

  There was a cabana with tables under a roof, a barbecue area, and what looked like a large hot tub, too. Around the pool were light yellow wood tables with yellow umbrellas. It looked more like the pool area in a hotel, not a home, but now that I was in it, I realized this house was bigger than many hotels. It would need everything to be larger and in bigger amounts than any normal house would. The hotel room Mama and I had slept in was probably no bigger than the wardrobe closet in this suite.

  “Well, what do you think so far, Sasha?” Mrs. March asked. “Do you think you could be happy here?”

  I looked up at her. Of course, there was a part of me that wanted to say, Absolutely, this is like a dream, but there was a part of me that still harbored anger and sadness. I was also reminded of the things Jackie had said to me. They could never do enough to compensate for what they had taken from me. Even all of this didn’t come anywhere close.

  “I don’t know,” I said, which obviously shocked Mrs. Duval and disappointed Mrs. March.

  “It’s understandable,” she said, mostly for Mrs. Duval’s sake, I thought. “You’ve been through so much so quickly. You need to catch your breath and get used to new things. I’d feel the same way,” she added. “Well, don’t hesitate to ask Mrs. Duval or Mrs. Caro or anyone, for that matter, for anything you want or need.”

  From the look on Mrs. Duval’s face, I could see that she was thinking, Need? What could she possibly want or need that she doesn’t have already?

  I didn’t know if I could blame her just yet for being insensitive. I had no idea how much she knew about me, about exactly what had happened or why I was ther
e.

  Another thought that was tying a knot in my brain was, where was Kiera? Where was her room? When would she and I meet? What would she say? What would I say? Did any of the people who worked there know what she had done?

  “Okay, then, you look about, Sasha. Mrs. Duval will be bringing up your lunch soon. I have a few errands to run. All you have to do is pick up any of the phones in the suite if you need anything. Just picking one up rings Mrs. Duval’s pager. That’s another one of Donald’s technical toys. I know sometimes Alena drove Mrs. Duval bonkers,” she added.

  “Only when she was sick,” Mrs. Duval said sharply.

  “Yes. She was a very thoughtful little girl, wasn’t she?”

  “The best. I can’t imagine any little girl better,” Mrs. Duval said, her eyes fixed on me.

  “Well, let’s not dilly-dally, as Mrs. Caro says. See you soon, Sasha.” Mrs. March touched my shoulder and then turned and headed out.

  Mrs. Duval hesitated. “Do you need to use the toilet?”

  “No, not yet,” I said.

  “I’ll go see about your lunch, then,” she told me, and followed Mrs. March out. She closed the door behind her and left me in a silence so deep it made me feel as if I were asleep and dreaming.

  It was truly like a medieval castle, with its walled-in grounds and security, its employees, some of whom I could see now cutting grass and trimming bushes. I was certain there was everything and anything that anyone like me could possibly want, if anyone like me could forget about love, especially a mother’s love.

  But to answer Mrs. March’s question fully, no, I couldn’t imagine ever calling this home. I was sure anyone else would think it strange, but as I sat there in my wheelchair and looked at all that was now at my disposal, I couldn’t help wondering how and when I could escape.

  7

  Alena’s Room

  Mrs. Duval brought up my lunch on the same sort of cart I had seen at the hospital. I was stunned by how much food was on the tray. I thought maybe Mrs. March was going to eat with me, but she didn’t follow Mrs. Duval into the suite, and I didn’t hear her coming.

  “Is this all for me?” I asked.

  “Mrs. Caro made you one of her delicious chicken quesadillas, but in case you might not like it, she made a ham and cheese sandwich, and under here,” she said, lifting a silver cover, “is a cheeseburger. There’s a small salad for you and this piece of her homemade chocolate cake. This is the homemade lemonade she does. Do you think you want some ice cream, too?”

  I sat with my mouth open. I would eat any one of the choices, but what would I do with the others? Maybe she’d take them back.

  “I’ll eat the chicken quesadilla,” I said. I couldn’t remember when I had eaten one last. “I don’t need ice cream.”

  “Maybe you don’t need it, but you can have it,” Mrs. Duval said. “I’ll bring some up later.”

  She turned to leave.

  “But what about the rest? I can’t eat everything.”

  “Just eat what you want and leave the rest,” she said, shrugging. “That’s what everyone does here.”

  After she left, I sat staring at the tray of food. There had been times when we were on the street when this much food would feed both Mama and me for a whole day. The thought of it being wasted and thrown out actually turned my stomach. Despite what I had said, I tried to eat more than I should have. I ate until I thought I would throw it all up and then stopped. Not long after, Mrs. Duval returned with a bowl of chocolate and vanilla ice cream.

  “No,” I said. “Please take it back. I can’t eat any more.”

  She looked at me with indifference, put it on the tray, and rolled the food wagon out of the room. I closed my eyes and sat there trying to digest the food. Eating all of that food was stupid of me, I thought, but I couldn’t change into a wasteful rich person overnight, could I? I dozed off in my chair and didn’t wake until I heard voices outside. Fortunately, I no longer felt bloated and nauseous.

  The voices grew louder, so I wheeled myself back to the window in the sitting room and looked out to see three teenage boys and four teenage girls getting ready to go into the pool. I had no idea what she looked like, but I knew one of them had to be Kiera March.

  I concentrated on the four girls. One seemed too dark-haired and short to be Jordan March’s daughter, but of course, I didn’t know what Donald March looked like yet. I thought all four of the girls were pretty, but one did stand out more, because she looked slim and tall like a model and had Jordan March’s light brown hair, which she had similarly styled. All of the girls wore two-piece bathing suits. One of the three boys was at least as tall as the tallest girl, but the other two were short and stocky. They all jumped in ahead of the girls and started to race across the pool. The girls cheered, but the shorter boys were far outclassed by the taller, more graceful boy and fell behind quickly.

  Moments later, all four girls were in the pool, too. Only one actually did any swimming. The other three bobbed and talked. I saw Mrs. Duval and Alberto arrive at the pool. Alberto carried what looked like a case of Cokes and began putting the bottles into a refrigerator in the roof-covered patio area. Mrs. Duval placed a tray of something on one of the poolside tables. No one seemed to pay any attention to them, but as soon as they left, the boys were out and at whatever was on the food tray.

  Soon I heard some music start, and then the girls were out of the pool and dancing. One of the shorter boys went over to his bag and produced what looked like a bottle of some kind of whiskey. The tallest boy went to the refrigerator and filled glasses with Coke. He brought them to a table, and the shorter boy began adding from his bottle, and soon all seven of them were drinking, dancing, and occasionally embracing and kissing. No one seemed to be especially with anyone else. All of the girls kissed all of the boys.

  I sat there mesmerized by the activity below me and wondered if anyone else in the house was watching from a window. None of the teenagers below seemed to worry or care. They began pushing one another into the pool, and then, to my shock, the boys, while they were in the pool, took off their bathing suits, swung them over their heads, and began swimming toward the girls, who screamed and rushed to the side of the pool. This went on until all of the girls were out and laughing.

  The boys actually got out naked and put their bathing suits on in front of the girls, who, instead of being embarrassed, laughed. They all drank more, nibbled on the food, danced, and continued to tease and flirt. Finally, something drew their attention off to their right, and they quieted down. The boys went into the cabanas to change, and the girls followed. No one attempted to clean up anything. Tables were left with empty glasses and traces of what looked like half-eaten burgers, potato chips, and hot dogs. I leaned forward and struggled to see them walking off, but they were all soon out of sight.

  I hadn’t been in junior high school long enough and, of course, had never been in high school, but I had read about and seen enough of teenage romance to be curious about a group of girls and boys who didn’t seem to favor anyone. None of them seemed to be boyfriend-and-girlfriend. Was this what was meant by an orgy? Nothing graphically sexual had occurred aside from the boys’ nudity, but there was something different and strange about them. I couldn’t help but be curious. Had the teenage world changed in ways I hadn’t realized while Mama and I were living in the streets?

  I heard a knock on the door and turned to see another maid, an African American woman quite a bit younger than Mrs. Caro or Mrs. Duval.

  “You’re Sasha, right?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Rosie. Mrs. Duval sent me up to see if you needed any help going to the bathroom. I’m leaving for the day, so I gotta help you now.”

  “I don’t need any help,” I said. “I can do everything for myself.”

  “Okay.” She started to turn and stopped. “Mind if I ask what happened to you? You got a disease or something?”

  “I was hit by a car,” I said.

  “O
h, too bad,” she said, and hurried off before I could add anything.

  I was surprised she didn’t know about me. If anyone else but the Marches knew what was going on, I thought, he or she certainly didn’t gossip. Now that Rosie had mentioned the bathroom, I realized I did have to go. Because of the cast, it was hard to shift from my wheelchair to the toilet. I nearly fell twice but somehow managed to get it done and get back into the chair. At least I wouldn’t have to depend on anyone for that, I thought happily, and went to watch television.

  I tried to distract myself with a movie, but I kept my eyes and ears tuned to the door, anticipating Mrs. March and either her husband or Kiera. Hours later, Mrs. March did return, but she was alone. She burst in with an armful of packages.

  “How are you doing, Sasha?” she asked, but before I could answer, she added, “I just had to buy these things for you.”

  She put everything on the table.

  “Come, look. I was told that this is the newest iPod. Of course, I didn’t know what songs you’d like on it, but I had them download everything that’s popular now.”

  “But you already bought me one of these when I was in the hospital.”

  “Yes, but the salesman told me this one is the latest version, and you can do so many more things with it. I’ll leave it up to you to read about it. You teenagers are so much more adept at figuring out all this technology. Donald says we were brought up with pages to read, and you guys are being brought up with megabytes or some such thing. Anyway, that’s that.”

  She handed it to me. One of those would have probably paid for food for Mama and me for a month or so, I thought.

  Mrs. March held up the first wrapped box. “I stopped at what used to be my favorite clothing store for Alena’s things, and they just got in these darling outfits for the fall and winter.”

  She began to unwrap the box, and before I could really see what was in it, she had unwrapped the next and the next, pulling everything out quickly. There were skirt-and-blouse outfits with matching caps, jeans with sequins, and two leather jackets, one light pink and the other light green. They felt butter-soft.