Cloudburst

  “Oh, you’re home,” she said, and looked at her watch. “I had no idea how late it was.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, yes,” she said. “Once in a while, I like to stop to smell the roses, something Donald hasn’t learned to do, apparently. Come, sit beside me,” she said, starting to move over on the bench, and then she stopped. “No, better yet, drop your schoolbag here, and let’s walk to the lake. We had some geese on it last night, you know. They’re flying south.”

  I put my bag on the bench and walked beside her over the stone-tiled path.

  “Did you hear the geese this morning?”

  “No.” I didn’t want to tell her I had gotten up late again. “I wasn’t outside very long before I got into my car. They must have gone by then.”

  “Oh, I bet you’re the cat’s meow with that car. My father loved that expression, the cat’s meow. Ever hear anyone say it?”

  I shook my head.

  “My father said it a lot, especially if I was feeling a bit down. He’d boom, ‘What’s the matter now?’ and then, lowering the tone of his voice, he’d add, ‘You have nothing to worry about, Jordan. You’re the cat’s meow.’ My brother, Gerald, always made fun of me when my father said that. He’d start meowing or hissing. Sometimes he does it even now. Can you imagine a man that age meowing on the phone? Imagine if his secretary overheard him doing that.”

  She laughed.

  “My brother, the big, important Washington lawyer.”

  “Why doesn’t he come here more often?” I asked. Since I had been at the Marches’ home, Jordan’s brother, Gerald Wilson, had been here only twice, and one time was to help with Kiera’s legal troubles. He brought his wife, Danielle, only once. From what I could see, she rarely called Jordan. Their three boys had little contact with Jordan and Donald March.

  “He’s like Donald, too busy to breathe,” she muttered, not disguising her bitterness.

  “Maybe you two should go on a holiday.”

  She paused and looked out at the lake. “Yes, to recharge our love batteries,” she said. “It’s what the doctor is ordering.”

  “A real doctor?”

  “No,” she said, smiling. “A therapist we see who specializes in marriage counseling.”

  “Oh.” I hadn’t realized she and her husband were seeing a marriage counselor, but it didn’t completely surprise me. I heard her suck in air the way someone who was in pain would. She wiped her eyes before any tear could emerge.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “Oh, just silly stuff, I’m sure.”

  There was a bench at the lake so people could sit and look out at the water. She sat, and I sat beside her. It was very quiet, the only sound being the gentle lapping of the water against the rowboats as the breeze combed the top of the lake and sent ripples across its surface. The sky was spotted here and there with small puffs of clouds. They looked dabbed on a blue velvet canvas.

  “Donald might be having an affair or affairs,” she revealed, still staring at the water. “I was with someone last night who is convinced of it and couldn’t wait to let me know. People can be like that, you know, especially your so-called good friends, so be aware of it.”

  “Be like what?” I asked. Her words had nearly stolen away my breath.

  “Eager to give you bad news and watch you wallow in it.”

  “Why would friends be like that if they’re your friends?”

  She smiled. “You’ll find out soon enough, if you haven’t already, that there are friends and there are friends. What you have most of the time are acquaintances. A real friend is so rare that if you have three during your entire lifetime, you’re a very fortunate person, and that applies to relatives as well. Most will be envious or think themselves superior. A real friend would have avoided giving me any bad news for as long as possible and not jumped at the opportunity to tell me there was a possibility of it.”

  “Don’t have anything to do with her anymore,” I said.

  She smiled again. “I won’t go out of my way to spend private time with her, but if I peeled off all the, quote, friends I have who are like her, I’d be a pretty lonely person, especially with a husband who is off so much.”

  “Don’t you have any real friends?”

  “Not lately,” she said. “I did when I was at school.” Her face warmed at the memories. “Our destinies took us in different directions, but I would bet anything that if we were together again, we’d be like two people who never left each other. I’m sure you’ll have friends like that, too, when you go to college.” She sighed deeply and then looked at me as if she had just realized she had been saying these things to me.

  “I hope so.”

  She smiled for a few seconds and then shut it off as she would a flashlight. “Please promise you will never mention any of this to Kiera. I don’t want to add to her personal difficulties,” she said.

  “I wouldn’t.”

  “You know better than anyone how clever she can be with her questions.”

  “I won’t say anything. I promise, but are you sure your husband is doing these things?”

  “No. Nowadays, especially here, people just assume everyone will. It’s as if infidelity is part of the air we breathe or something. Of course, many couples who experience the loss Donald and I have experienced often do drift apart. That was one of the reasons we began with a therapist. Ironically, Kiera’s problems have kept Donald and me closer, although we do get into arguments about her. He was always making excuses for her, and you know firsthand what that led to. I think, however, that after it all came to a head with her nearly killing herself, his eyes lost that rose-colored haze, and he finally began to see the truth. Maybe that is what drives him to work harder and stay away longer,” she added, almost as a hope.

  I was listening to her and for the most part thought she might be right, but what I was thinking about under it all was how easily she could reveal these things to me and not worry about how it would affect me. Why wasn’t she afraid of disturbing me as much as she was afraid of disturbing Kiera? Why did we have to be sure Kiera didn’t know there were any storms brewing in her family and home?

  The answer was that no matter how much she did for me, how much she wanted me to feel like her daughter, she couldn’t make that leap to a place reserved for only a naturally born child, one who carried the blood of her own family. We shared no ancestry unless we went back to Adam and Eve.

  “Oh!” She suddenly gasped. “I’m so sorry to be burdening you with any of this. Look at me, feeling sorry for myself with you, of all people, after all you have suffered. You must think me as selfish as Kiera.”

  “No,” I said. “I’m happy you feel comfortable enough with me to talk about it,” I added, not wanting to give her any other reason for sorrow.

  “Are you? How grown up of you to say it. I must confess, you are much more mature than I was at your age, but I grew up in a home where being mature wasn’t as necessary. Someone was always there to mop up, if you know what I mean.”

  “Like Kiera,” I said. Maybe I said it too quickly. I saw her wince.

  “Yes, like Kiera. You would think I would have known better, but Donald . . .”

  “I understand,” I said.

  She nodded and patted me on my hand. “You do, don’t you? I’m so grateful to have you here. You’re becoming my true friend, and I hope I’m becoming yours.”

  “You are,” I said.

  She gave me a big hug. “Okay, now, let’s stop talking about me. Tell me about school today. I’m sure it was another exciting day, and I’m sure Ryder Garfield noticed you.”

  I shook my head.

  “Don’t be shy, Sasha. No one is very shy in this house or in your school, I bet.”

  “I’m not shy, Jordan. Ryder Garfield is a very unhappy person.”

  “Really? You can tell that already?”

  “You have to be deaf and blind not to see it, but I’m afraid most of my . . . acquaintance
s are just that. They think he’s super-conceited. In Pacifica, being conceited is normal, so the only way for them to interpret his indifference to them is to describe him as super-conceited.”

  She laughed and then turned serious. “You’ve been through so much darkness and despair, Sasha. Don’t go looking for it in other people. Everything I’ve done for you is designed to bring light and happiness into your life. Don’t waste it on someone who won’t appreciate it or care. You just avoid him, then.”

  “I’ll see,” I said. I was just as surprised as she was to hear me say it.

  She leaned to the left and looked at me with a smile on her lips. “You’re not smitten that quickly, are you?”

  I felt myself blush, the heat coming into my neck first and then spilling into my cheeks. “No,” I said, even too emphatically for my own satisfaction. “I just don’t like to judge people too quickly or unfairly. It happened to me.”

  She nodded. “Well, you’re right. That’s a good quality to possess. Just be careful with your relationships, and don’t hesitate to come to me for anything.”

  She looked out at the lake again. The afternoon sun at this time of the fall was low enough to have its rays filtered by the treetops. It turned half of the lake into a kaleidoscope of shapes and colors. One lone tern wandering inland swooped down with curiosity and seemed to glide over the water before rising over the trees.

  “I’d better let you get to your homework and tend to some of my phone calls. I’m on the board of directors of the MS Foundation, and we’re setting up another gala to raise funds.”

  She rose and reached for my hand as we walked back to where I had left my schoolbag.

  “Mrs. Caro is preparing one of your favorite dishes tonight, her vegetarian lasagna.”

  “She’s a wonderful cook. Where did you get her? I never asked her or you, and Kiera never told me.”

  “Donald stole her away from another family. They were getting into a bad divorce, anyway, and she was unhappy there. She’s been unhappy here, too, but not since you arrived. You’ve brought sunshine into this house.”

  She kissed me on the cheek and went off to her office to continue her charity work. Although I saw that she enjoyed helping people—after all, look what she had done for me—I knew as well that she did the work to distract herself and keep her sanity. She had lost a daughter, had a daughter who was almost as good as lost, and now possibly had a husband who was drifting away.

  Why couldn’t Kiera see all of this and care more for her own mother? As soon as I was in my room, I checked my computer, and sure enough, there was another e-mail from her:

  Well, it happened.

  Richard went and did it.

  He bought me an engagement ring with an enormous diamond, but I didn’t take it yet. His face almost slipped off his skull. Gruesome thought, but that’s how disappointed he looked.

  Oh, I didn’t turn him down. I just told him to keep it in his pocket, and I would think about it. I like him enough. Maybe I even love him.

  Can you tell me exactly what falling in love is supposed to mean and what exactly is supposed to happen inside you? Don’t give me some romantic drivel, either, or quote some romance novel. I know you’re not sure, either, because you’ve never been in love, but I’d like to know how you’re going to know that you are and it’s not just another crush. I read where someday people will try each other on like clothes. I suppose I’ve been doing that all my life. I can see you smiling and nodding.

  Well, what’s wrong with that, anyway? I can tell you this. I don’t want to end up like my mother, and don’t start firing back all the good things about her and my father or become like my therapist and try to get me to express why I feel that way. I just do, and that’s that.

  Anyway, back to Richard. I enjoy making love to him more than I’ve enjoyed it with any other boy. Sometimes it does feel like it’s for the first time. I’m not always the wild daughter of the Kama Sutra. Often, I’m as tender as he is. Once recently when we made love, I actually began to cry. He thought I might be upset, but I was happy, contented. Is that love?

  He still amuses me with his English expressions and his surprise at practically everything I say or do. I suppose that’s fresh, and maybe that’s part of being in love.

  He’s one of the most handsome men I’ve ever been with. None of the other men at this school is as well put together. He told me he had a valet taking care of him from the age of four. If there is something about me out of place, he gets right to fixing it. I’ll never be unpresentable with him. Having someone look after you so attentively is important to love, I guess.

  He’ll never do anything to upset me, and if he somehow should, he immediately apologizes and practically throws himself at my feet, begging for forgiveness. My unhappiness, even for a moment, makes him unhappy. Is that love? I don’t exactly feel that way toward him. If he looks unhappy, I don’t work hard at getting him to be happy again, but I do feel bad about it. Is that enough for me to say I’m in love with him?

  I hate the thought of having children. Actually, what I really hate is the thought of getting pregnant. Maybe I could hire a surrogate, but if I were going to have a child, I could see myself having it with Richard. There is no doubt that he would be a devoted father and would do everything he could to make a child less of a burden for me. That must be part of being in love.

  I keep thinking about my father’s reaction if I should accept the ring. Lately, I’ve been thinking he would be relieved to know someone else would have to take care of me, but I’d like to think he would be saddened by it, too, by feeling like he’s losing his little girl. Do you think he would? I know my mother would probably have a big celebration and invite her garden party friends. She’d get drunk on champagne toasting Richard and saying, “I feel sorry for you.”

  Anyway, how many girls accept an engagement ring from a man their parents have yet to meet? That would surely ruffle their feathers. Do you think that’s what’s making me hesitate? There you go, smiling, maybe even laughing at the idea that I’d even consider that or care.

  Would someone in love care?

  I suppose it’s sad that the only one I can talk to about any of this is you. I haven’t a friend here I would trust with anything more than my mascara.

  I’m tired of talking about myself. Let’s talk about you. What do you think of me?

  Just kidding.

  Tell me the latest about Ryder Garfield. I’m sure he knows your name by now.

  Kiera

  P.S.: I just decided to tell Richard I’d wear the ring for a while to see if it fits not only my finger but my heart as well. Doesn’t that sound romantic? Or does it sound idiotic? Sometimes I can’t tell the difference.

  I sat thinking about what she had written. She was certainly right to say that I would not be any sort of expert on love. However, what she was describing made it sound as if Richard was surely in love with her. I didn’t want to come right out and say it, but I couldn’t imagine her being in love with anyone. She was just too selfish ever to be in love.

  That was the answer, but I couldn’t write it that way. Instead, I wrote back that you know you’re in love when you care about someone more than you care about yourself. I was afraid that I would be ending their romance. She might agree and then tell him she wasn’t in love with him. She should add that she would never be because she wouldn’t ever care more about someone else than she did about herself, but she wouldn’t.

  Reading her e-mail and thinking about a way to respond got me to think more about Ryder Garfield. If I truly believed he was a very unhappy person, suffering inside himself, and that was why he was so unpleasant, and I really wanted to care, I shouldn’t be thinking of how upset he made me. Did I want to care? Why should I care about someone I had barely spoken to? Kiera would call me a bleeding heart and say something like, “You need a transfusion of selfishness.”

  My telephone rang and shook me out of these deep thoughts. It was Jessica. Like her mother
, she just didn’t give up when it came to gossipy drivel.

  “It gets worse,” she said as soon as I said hello.

  “What does?”

  “The story about Summer Garfield. She wasn’t just caught making love in school. She got pregnant and had an abortion.”

  “Claire told you all this? How would she know this? C’mon, Jessica.”

  “Reliable sources. That’s all they ever say in her father’s business, but they’re right more than they’re wrong.”

  “I don’t believe it,” I said.

  “It explains why Ryder’s so serious and angry-looking all the time, don’t you think? It must be like a house of horrors in that home.”

  “I don’t know. I know one thing, though. If you spread this around—”

  “I’m not! You’re the only one I’ve told, but these things have a way of getting out eventually.”

  “So do rats.”

  “If he wasn’t very nice to you, why do you care so much?” Jessica asked, obviously growing annoyed.

  “Maybe because I remember a time when I wished people cared about me,” I said.

  “Oh,” was all she could respond, but it did take her down a peg or two.

  Although they knew of my previous life on the streets as a homeless person, most of the girls at the school avoided mentioning it or asking me about it. It was all too ugly and unpleasant for their delicate ears. I could tell them about rats, about the rats that came around my mother and me when we slept on the beach, and waking up feeling one run over my feet. I could tell them about having to bathe in a public toilet and having to hold my breath to avoid inhaling too much of the stench. I could tell them about the tar I would pick off my toes at the end of the day or the days I was so hungry I thought I would eat insects.

  Whenever I was with any of my school friends in a mall or just walking in the streets and I saw someone homeless pleading for small change, I felt the skin cringe at the back of my neck. My girlfriends could look right at these people as if they weren’t there, but I had to find something to give them. Only once or twice did someone else offer any change or dollars, and then only because I had done so. If anyone spoke about them, the others quickly shut her up with a look or a nudge and nod at me. Jessica said that when the girls spoke about me, most refused to believe I had really been that badly off. They were comforted by saying that it all had to be exaggerated.