Family Storms (10 page)

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

M
rs. 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.

“Oh, 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.

“What do you think?” she asked when she was finished unwrapping and showing it all.

“It's all beautiful,” I said. I wanted to sound grateful, but she was flooding me with so much I didn't have a chance to appreciate any of it.

“I thought so, too. Now, more news. I had the guidance
counselor at the school Kiera attends contact the tutor he had recommended for us. Her name is Mrs. Kepler. She retired two years ago but is bored to death. Her husband does nothing but play golf. She'll be perfect, I'm sure. I've arranged for her to stop in tomorrow to meet you. Is that all right? We want you to be up to speed when the new school year begins.”

“Where do I go to school?”

“You'll go to the private school Kiera attends, of course. It's just outside Pacific Palisades. Grover will take you and pick you up every day when that starts. I'm going to speak with Dr. Milan in a little while,” she continued, barely taking a breath. “Do you have any complaints, pain, headaches, anything I need to report to him?”

“No.”

“That's wonderful. It's so important not to linger in the hospital around all those other sick and injured people. It keeps it on your mind. There's plenty to distract you from that here.”

She stood smiling down at me so long it made me feel a little uncomfortable. I deliberately turned away to look at the new iPod.

“Well,” she said, “let's get your new clothes put away.”

She gathered it all in her arms. I wheeled behind her to the walk-in closet. I had not yet looked into it, but now, when I did, I laughed to myself. I had imagined the hotel room that Mama and I had lived in not being much larger than a walk-in closet in this house. I was greatly underestimating. The closet was at least twice as large as that hotel room. It had a mirror and a vanity table in it and rows of
clothing that probably rivaled the stock in most stores. How could any girl have been able to wear so much?

She paused as she hung up my new skirts and blouses and suddenly grew teary-eyed. She lifted one skirt, and I saw that it was hanging there with its label still attached. For a moment, it was as if she had forgotten I was there. Then she turned to me, still holding the skirt. After a deep breath, she nodded and said, “I'm being stupid again, I know.”

“What do you mean?”

“When Alena was very sick, I went on a buying spree as I just did for you. Most of this,” she said, pointing down the row of clothes, “she never had the chance to wear. I guess buying her new clothes, new shoes, anything, was my way of trying to deny what was happening to her. Here I am doing the same thing to you. I'm sorry. There is so much here that's still brand-new that will fit you. But I can't help it when I see something darling. When Alena was gone and I'd go into stores and see things she could wear and that would make her happy, I'd be tempted to buy them. In fact, I did buy some of this after she was gone. I know that sounds crazy to you, but … it helped me get by.”

“I understand,” I said. I really thought I did.