Family Storms

  “Wait until Kiera finds out we had this. She’ll be sorry she wasn’t here,” Mrs. March said, and then clapped her mouth shut and lowered her eyes.

  “It’s wonderful,” I said. It brightened her face.

  “I’m so glad you enjoyed your first dinner here, dear. I hope there will be many, many more, and all happy and delicious.”

  After dinner, she gave me a more detailed tour of the rooms we had passed on our way to dinner. There was so much to see. I simply couldn’t take it all in, and I was very tired by then. This did seem to be one of those days that Mama called longer than twenty-four hours. Mrs. March realized I was getting very tired and brought me quickly to the elevator. In fact, she fell into a kind of frenzy as she rushed to get me up and into bed.

  “I know I shouldn’t get you this tired,” she said as we went up in the elevator. “I just forget. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all right. I’m fine,” I told her, but she had the look on her face that people have when they realize they’ve done something terrible.

  She hurried me down the corridor to my bedroom. “I’ll help you get ready for bed,” she said. “I know you’re exhausted.”

  “It’s all right,” I insisted, but she was at me, getting me out of the sailor outfit. Then, after I had on the nightgown she had laid out earlier, she pushed me to the bathroom.

  “There’s a brand-new electric toothbrush here for you, and different kinds of toothpaste. Alena hated the peppermint-flavored ones. She said they burned her tongue. This one is sort of plain. She liked it the best,” she told me. “You should have had a sponge bath. I’ll send Mrs. Duval in first thing to help you have one in the morning.”

  “I can bathe myself,” I said sharply.

  “It’s no disgrace to have help when you need it.”

  “I don’t need it,” I insisted.

  “Okay. She’ll be available if you do. Remember, if you need anything, you simply pick up the phone, okay?”

  “Yes.”

  She stood watching me brush my teeth for a few moments. “Let me help you get into bed, at least,” she said when I finished.

  I didn’t say no. I thought I might need her to do that. Despite someone’s having come in to turn down the sheets while we were at dinner, the bed was a little high, and I was afraid of putting any pressure on my right leg. Mrs. March put her arms around me and guided me into the bed. Then she fixed the blanket and the pillow.

  “Would you mind very much if I gave you a kiss good night?” she asked.

  “I’d rather you not,” I said, even more sharply than I intended.

  Her face seemed to melt into a look of deep sadness. She forced a smile and wished me a good night’s sleep.

  How mean, I thought I heard my mother say.

  “Mrs. March,” I called. She turned abruptly at the door. “I’m sorry. You can kiss me good night.”

  She smiled and returned to kiss me on the cheek. “You’re a brave little girl,” she said. “Braver than I would be at your age. You must have grown very strong during your desperate time.”

  This is still my desperate time, I thought, but said nothing.

  She turned and walked out slowly, shutting off the light and closing the door softly. There were so many lights on outside that the glow kept the room from being totally dark. I was glad of that, not that I was afraid of darkness. Mama and I had slept in too many dark and dingy places over the past year for me to have that sort of fear. Most of the time, the darkness had been more like a friend, keeping us from being seen by people who might prey upon us and take what little we had. Darkness became our cocoon.

  But it wasn’t like that now. There were probably not many safer places in the world to be than in this house, surrounded by its walls, lit brightly and protected by security cameras. Darkness made little difference. No, what frightened me the most was the utter loneliness I sensed, not only in Mrs. March’s face and voice but also in the faces of her employees. When they looked at her, they, who had far less and were her servants, seemed to be pitying her.

  I had come there to escape from loneliness, to escape from becoming no one in some orphanage or foster home. I wanted to hold on to my name and cherish my memories of Mama, but Alena March still haunted this house, this room. The thing was, she didn’t haunt it because she wanted to haunt it.

  She haunted it because her mother would not let her go.

  Maybe she would never let me go, either.

  Maybe I should be more afraid of that than of anything else.

  9

  Mrs. Kepler

  Mrs. Duval was there first thing in the morning to wake me and ask me if I wanted her to help with my bathing. I was prepared to refuse any help, but I saw something different in her face. Yesterday she seemed not only quite indifferent to me but even a bit resentful. Perhaps she had been thinking, Who is this poor nobody who has stolen her way into Alena’s world? Perhaps she thought I wanted to take Alena’s place and was taking advantage of Mrs. March. Maybe, like that maid Rosie, she didn’t know the whole story. Maybe now she had learned about it all. There was warmth in her eyes, a welcome in her smile.

  “Yes,” I said. “Thank you.”

  Dr. Milan had made sure that I left the hospital with plastic bags to put over the cast. Mrs. Duval took one out of the case and fastened it so that the cast would not get wet. She then helped me into the bathroom, and together we managed to get the rest of me washed and dried. She brought me one of my new outfits to wear and then called down and had Rosie bring up my breakfast, which she set out on the table in the sitting area. Even with Jackie in the hospital, I hadn’t gotten that sort of treatment.

  While I was having breakfast, Mrs. March came in to tell me that my tutor, Mrs. Kepler, would be arriving in about an hour.

  “After I introduce her to you, I’ll leave and let you two work, unless you want me to stay.”

  “I’ll be all right, I think,” I told her.

  I couldn’t imagine why she would want to stay, unless she wanted to see how smart or how stupid I was. If I didn’t do well, perhaps she would change her mind and send me away. I hadn’t been much of a student during the last year when I was in school. Mama took some interest in my work, but she was always overwhelmed with something herself, even when Daddy was still with us, or maybe because he was. The fighting took its toll on her, and I recalled many mornings when she was too tired or depressed to get out of bed before I left for school. Often, I made my own lunch to take. I never blamed her. I always blamed Daddy.

  Despite my attempt to be indifferent about my tutoring, I couldn’t help but be nervous. Even when we were living in the streets, I didn’t like being thought of as stupid. No matter what the circumstances, most people who looked at the homeless thought their failures were their own fault. How could anyone not manage a roof over her head for herself and her child? How could she not find enough food and clothing?

  Mrs. March expressed her pity and her sympathy for Mama and me, but what did she really think about Mama? Certainly, if her daughter had not been involved, she wouldn’t have been there at the hospital to help me and wouldn’t have seen to Mama’s funeral arrangements. Perhaps she sent checks to charities or attended affairs as she told me, but did she really see the people the money was meant to help? More important for me right then was the question Does she really see me?

  When Mrs. Kepler first appeared, I thought she was going to be as stern and as unsympathetic as the people who had walked past Mama and me on the street and either shook their heads in disgust or looked away quickly. Mrs. March had told her I had been out of school for some time, but she didn’t say that her daughter had caused the accident. I could tell when we spoke afterward and I heard the way Mrs. Kepler made Mrs. March sound charitable.

  “This is Sasha,” Mrs. March said. “We want to get her up to speed so she can enter school on par with the other students who will be in her class. Sasha, Mrs. Kepler.”

  “Hello,” I said.

 
Mrs. Kepler nodded, fixing her hazel eyes on me as intently as a doctor. She was a full-figured woman with dark-brown hair that showed gray roots. Nevertheless, she looked as if she had just come from a beauty salon. Her hair was nicely styled about her ears, with trimmed bangs. She stood about two inches shorter than Mrs. March but held herself stiffly erect. The weakness in her face was her far too thin lips, which looked in danger of disappearing entirely if she stretched them.

  “What do you think of our little sitting area, Mrs. Kepler? It’s quiet up here.”

  She studied the room for a moment as if it really mattered. It occurred to me that in her mind, she was being tested as much as I was and knew it. She was trying too hard to be a perfect schoolteacher.

  “Yes, this will be fine,” she said.

  “I could have a blackboard brought up.”

  “No, that’s not going to be necessary. There’s just the two of us.”

  “I did try to make sure there were enough pens and pencils, paper, and such. Of course, the computer is there if you need it.”

  “I don’t teach on a computer. Everything I need for now is right here,” she said, patting her black leather briefcase. She walked into the sitting area to place it on the table. Then she looked around again and nodded. “Would it be all right if I opened these drapes to get more light?”

  “Oh, of course. Let me help you,” Mrs. March said, rushing to open the drapes.

  “Why don’t you come to the table, Sasha?” Mrs. Kepler said. She turned to Mrs. March. “I’ll test her to see what levels she’s at in math, science, reading, and history, and from there we’ll know just how much we have to do to bring her up to speed.”

  “Yes, good idea. Would you like tea, coffee, a soft drink?”

  “Not right now, thank you.”

  “Okay. Well, then, I’ll have Mrs. Duval check back in an hour or so?”

  “That would be fine,” Mrs. Kepler said.

  I noticed that after she said something, she pressed her lower lip tightly against her upper one, crinkling her chin. It was a small gesture, but one I thought she had used on her students in her classroom, because it made whatever she said sound like words chipped in cement. Arguing or challenging her was out of the question.

  “All right. Good luck, Sasha,”

  Mrs. March said, and left. Mrs. Kepler opened her briefcase and began to take out some papers. “Come closer,” she told me, and I wheeled myself right up to the table. “Are you comfortable?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right. You were in what grade before you left school?”

  “Seventh.”

  “So you’ve basically missed the entire eighth-grade year?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Either you did or you didn’t. Did you attend any school after you left the seventh grade?”

  “No.”

  “Then you missed a whole year, which would have been your eighth-grade year. I like to start with reading skills,” she said. “Everything we do requires a good foundation in reading.”

  “I still read a lot even though I wasn’t in school.”

  She looked at me long enough for me to feel she was finally seeing me. “What did you read?”

  “Books other people on the street gave me from time to time. Sometimes we went into the library to get out of the rain, and I read there.”

  “What people gave you books?”

  “Street people,” I said, and she widened her eyes.

  “I can just imagine what sort of things to read that was,” she said.

  “No, you can’t,” I replied sharply. She raised her eyebrows. “Unless you’ve been there,” I added. “Not everyone was a bum. There were college graduates and people who had good jobs once. Someone gave me a copy of Huckleberry Finn, and someone else gave me a copy of A Tale of Two Cities.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really. I have no reason to lie about it. Not all street people are thieves and liars. Many try to keep themselves clean and have clean clothes, too.”

  I felt the heat in my face. I had never spoken to any of my teachers like that, but in my mind, any criticism of the street people was criticism of Mama, and I wouldn’t permit it.

  For a moment, I thought she was going to shove her paperwork back into her briefcase, shut it, and walk out, but she surprised me by finally smiling. “Well, you’re not easily intimidated. Do you know what intimidated means?”

  “Yes. Pushed around, made to give up or give in to someone or something,” I recited.

  “Okay, then. Maybe I’ll be happily surprised. Let’s get started.”

  She began explaining the tests she wanted me to take. We worked for hours. When Mrs. Duval stopped by to see if she wanted anything to drink, she had barely opened her mouth before Mrs. Kepler snapped, “Nothing, not now.” She wouldn’t tolerate the slightest interruption. I thought she would even make me work through lunch, but she agreed to stop so we could eat.

  Mrs. Duval came up with the cart. Mrs. Caro had prepared chicken salad for us. I was afraid there would be a duplication of yesterday’s mammoth lunch, but apparently the order had been put in earlier. We cleared the table, and Mrs. Duval served from the cart. It was when we began to eat our lunch that Mrs. Kepler stopped being the school-teacher and spoke with warmth and concern. She wanted to know where I had lived and gone to school. I didn’t know how much Mrs. March had told her about me and why I was there, but from the questions she asked and the way she spoke about Mrs. March, I was convinced that nothing had been said about Kiera.

  “I’m sure this is all overwhelming for you,” she said. Then she smiled and added, “It certainly is for me. I heard about this house, but until now, I had never set foot in it. I bet you feel a bit like Cinderella.”

  “Except there’s no prince,” I told her, and she laughed.

  “No, I imagine not. There’s not even a pumpkin.”

  Now we both laughed, and I finally relaxed. I hadn’t thought I would, but I liked her. Even after lunch, she was different, warmer and more complimentary.

  Mrs. March tiptoed into the room at about three o’clock. We were just finishing, and Mrs. Kepler was putting papers back into her briefcase.

  “How is it going?” Mrs. March asked. Mrs. Kepler sat back and was silent for a long moment. I could see that Mrs. March was expecting bad news.

  “I’m afraid I’m not going to earn very much money here, Mrs. March.”

  “Oh. Why not?”

  “She’s not as far behind as one would expect. Her reading skills are better than those of most of the students going into the ninth grade, I’m sure. She certainly has a very good vocabulary, and she picked up very quickly on the math, too. There are some weak areas with history and science, but most of that she’s going to strengthen with her own reading.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Mrs. March said.

  Mrs. Kepler rose. “I’ll prepare the work assignments to help her catch up quickly. I’ll start her off tomorrow and then stop by every other day for a few hours at most. I hope she’ll get out a bit, get some fresh air and sun.”

  “Oh, yes. For sure. Mrs. Caro will be taking her out after lunch in the afternoons. You certainly can work on one of our patios, if you like.”

  “We’d like,” Mrs. Kepler said, winking at me. “I’ll be by tomorrow, then, same time. I’ll bring the books.”

  “Wonderful,” Mrs. March said. “Are you happy, Sasha?”

  “Yes,” I said, even though I thought she meant about everything and not only Mrs. Kepler’s tutoring.

  “I’ll see you out,” she told Mrs. Kepler.

  “’Bye, then,” Mrs. Kepler told me, and followed Mrs. March out of the suite. I heard Mrs. March’s melodic laughter echo down the hallway.

  Part of me didn’t want her to feel better. Part of me wished she’d be suffering as much as I was, even though it wasn’t literally she who had hit Mama and me. Just as Mama had once been responsible for everything I did, Mrs. March and her husba
nd were responsible for everything Kiera did. Maybe her husband was more responsible, if I believed what she had told me, but still, it felt strange making anyone happy in that house. In that house, the cause of Mama’s death resided.

  From that house, Kiera March had emerged carefree and reckless, arrogant and self-centered. She had taken her drugs and, like some asteroid, come flying out of space to smash two people who had never done her any harm. Also like that asteroid, she was indifferent and unrepentant. Look at how she was at the pool, I thought. She laughed and frolicked right beneath me.

  No, I hated the sound of laughter in that house. I even hated the sound of my own laughter. Eating well, trying to improve my education, wearing beautiful clothes, enjoying everything in that magnificent suite, suddenly felt more like a terrible betrayal. I almost wished I would never get better. I had to suffer in order to honor Mama’s memory.

  Try as hard as she will, I thought, Mrs. March will not take the pain away from me. When and if she did, it would be like me burying Mama again and again. These thoughts overwhelmed me. I sat there sobbing and made no effort to stop the tears from dripping off my cheeks. It reminded me of that night when the rain came pouring down over us, pelting us so hard that it was as if the heavens were expressing their anger.

  Or maybe it was meant to be a warning, to make us stay on that beach and not dare try to cross that highway, not dare try to go home.

  10

  Family of the Blind

  Probably because Mrs. Kepler had made an issue of it, Mrs. March sent Mrs. Caro up immediately to wheel me down and onto the patio. She found me crying and rushed to me.

  “What’s wrong, dearie? Are you in pain?”

  “No,” I said, wiping my face quickly. Not the kind of pain you mean, I thought.

  “Oh, I know,” she said. “Being brought like this to a strange house ain’t easy, I’m sure.”

  I didn’t say anything, but strange seemed to be the perfect adjective.

  “Well, let’s get you out in the sunshine and fresh air. It’s no good being indoors so much, anyway. People heal better and faster when they get into fresh air.”