Family Storms (18 page)

I could see myself very easily being forgotten here.

She turned us through the smaller living room, which was surely bigger than the living rooms in almost all of the other houses in America, and then to the French doors that opened onto the other patio. She was right about the lighting. The grounds were illuminated like some major league ball field. There were more beautiful gardens, pruned bushes, and an area that seemed to be under construction. I asked about it.

“Donald's building a hedge maze,” she said. “Like the one in Hampton Court in England.” When I didn't say anything, she added, “Oh, but you probably don't know anything about that yet. You'll learn about such things in history when you return to school. There,” she said, pushing me to the far left corner. “See downtown Los Angeles? Isn't it beautiful to be able to see it from here?”

“Were you always rich?” I asked.

“Rich?” She laughed. “Oh, well, yes, I suppose I was—or my family was, I should say. My father always says Donald interrupted my education. I was just graduating from Marlborough and on my way to attend Smith when I met Donald at a charity gala in Los Angeles. I had never met anyone like him. He was basically just starting out, but he was so sure of himself. You know how people often say there are no guarantees in life? Well, Donald behaved as if he had been given a guarantee of major success.

“But it wasn't only that. He was and is a very attractive man who believes your presentation is of paramount
importance. My father believes the same thing. People usually, whether rightly or wrongly, judge you on first impressions, so it's essential to make the best first impression always. You'll never notice Donald looking sloppy or unkempt. He's never off duty, so to speak, whereas I'll let my hair down occasionally. Needless to say, my father loves Donald. In fact, he fell in love with him before I did.”

She gave a trickle of a laugh. “I don't mean anything like gay love. He loved who Donald was and wanted to be. Can you imagine a father telling a girl just out of high school that this was the man for her? Oh, I know some people thought that was because my father believed I could never succeed at anything but being a wealthy man's wife.” She laughed again. “Maybe that's true. So what?”

I don't know if she realized how much she had said so quickly or not, but she stopped talking and just stood there beside me looking out at the lights in the distance.

“What about your mother?” I asked, since she never had mentioned her.

“My mother was a rich man's wife,” she replied, as though that answered everything. “Whatever my father said was gospel. She doted on my younger brother far more than me, anyway. He's a lawyer working for the Justice Department in Washington, a great success. They think he might become attorney general someday. I think every other sentence out of her mouth begins with his name, Gerald. Gerald Savoir Faire, his friends call him. You know what that means in French?”

“No.”

“To know how to do … everything. Sophisticated,” she
said, but she didn't say it with pleasure and pride. “I'm just kidding,” she quickly added. “He's terrific. His real name is Gerald Wilson. We're supposedly descendants of President Woodrow Wilson, you know. That's almost royalty in America.”

“What about Mr. March's parents?”

“That's a different story. Donald's father was married to someone before he married Donald's mother, and he has children with his first wife. He and Donald's mother had only Donald, and his mother died two years ago while on holiday with Donald's father and two of his three other children and their families.”

She sighed deeply. “Aren't families complicated sometimes?” she asked, but she didn't look at me. She looked out, as if she were asking someone else.

We were both quiet, and then, after a few moments, she turned sharply and said, “Don't let Kiera's behavior at dinner and Donald's tolerance of her discourage you. You belong here now. I'm determined about that. Give it time. Everything takes time. Otherwise,” she continued with a smile, “babies wouldn't need nine months.”

What was she thinking and saying? That I was going to be reborn in nine months?

“I'm so happy we had this little chat. We have to do it more and more so we get to know each other better. Soon Donald will open up more, as well, and before you know it, we'll be like a family, a family for you. Okay? Don't be discouraged, okay?”

I saw that she wasn't going to stop until she got me to agree. I nodded, and she smiled.

“Good. What was it Scarlett O'Hara said? ‘Tomorrow is another day'? Well, tomorrow is another day, and every tomorrow thereafter. Would you like to watch television in the entertainment center? We have a screen as big as some small movie-theater screens. When was the last time you went to a movie?”

I thought about it and realized that it had been soon after Daddy had left us. Mama had taken me to a movie to cheer up both of us. That was years ago, because we never spent money on a movie after that, and my school friends had stopped asking me to go to movies with them.

“Years ago,” I replied.

“Years?” She got behind my wheelchair. “Years, and you live in the movie capital of the world? We'll do something about that, although once you see a movie here, you might not care about going to a theater.”

As she wheeled me along, she described some of their theater parties. She said that her husband knew an important movie executive at one of the studios, and he brought them first-run films to watch. The elaborate parties she described and the things they had done were as foreign to me as rituals in Africa or the Far East.

When we turned into the entertainment center, she stopped my wheelchair abruptly. Kiera was there with one of the girls I had seen at the pool, but what they were watching on the screen was more surprising. A naked man and woman were embracing as they lay on a beach. Mrs. March adjusted the lights so the room was blazing.

“What the hell!” Kiera cried, and turned around. She and her girlfriend were snacking on popcorn. They sat on
two large red leather seats with a wide arm between them on which they had the bowl of delicious-smelling popcorn.

“What are you watching? Why didn't you tell me Deidre was coming here tonight?”

“Daddy said we could,” Kiera said. “And for your information, this picture is going to be nominated for an Academy Award. You're ruining it for us. Please turn off the lights.”

“Hi, Mrs. March,” Deidre said. She had auburn hair, smartly shaped, and was one of the prettiest girls I had seen.

“You can leave her here to watch if you want, Mother. I'm sure she's seen worse on the street.”

Mrs. March seemed at a loss for words. She didn't move me or herself. The couple on the screen got up laughing and charged into the ocean, splashing each other.

“Deidre's mother would not like her watching this, I'm sure,” she finally said.

“Are you kidding? She was jealous that she was getting to see it. Right, Deidre?”

“She was, Mrs. March.”

Without further comment, Mrs. March turned me away and started out.

“Turn down the lights again, Mother!” Kiera screamed.

Mrs. March didn't. She continued to push me out and down the hallway.

“Thanks, Mother!” Kiera shouted after us.

“I'll take you up to your room. You can watch television in your own suite,” Mrs. March said. I didn't look back at her, but from the way her voice trembled, I knew she was shaken.

As we went into the elevator, I realized that Kiera finally had told at least one of her friends about me, and surely once one found out, others would, as well. I wondered how she explained my presence in their home. Surely by now, her friends knew about the accident she had caused. One or two of them might have been with her in the car and probably high on drugs as well. They and their parents would have good reason not to let other people know what had happened.

After she had settled me in my suite, Mrs. March said that before going to bed herself, she would stop by again to be sure I was fine. She looked anxious to leave and hurried out, to speak with her husband I was sure. When she returned hours later, she didn't look much calmer. In fact, she looked as flushed as someone who had been in a nasty argument. I let her help me undress and get ready for bed, more out of sympathy for her than because of any need of my own. It seemed to help settle her down. After I was in bed, she tucked the blanket in around me, but she didn't leave. She pulled up a chair beside the bed and smiled.

“Did I tell you that when Alena was younger, she would often describe dreams she had? She loved telling stories, and to her, the dreams she had were often her best. Even Donald, as busy as he seemed, enjoyed having her go on and on. Only Kiera would complain that Alena didn't leave much time to talk or hear about anything else. Did I tell you about all that?”

“No,” I said. What made her think she had told me? We didn't speak that much about Alena.

“Anyway, to help her get to sleep the next night, I would sit here just as I am sitting now, and we would think of ways the dream story could continue or how it might lead to another dream. Sometimes Donald would stop in and participate. Who'd ever think that something so terrible would happen to such a lovely little girl?”

She continued after a little pause of sadness, “It seems I keep apologizing to you for what goes on here. It will get better. I promise.” She patted my hand and started to get up, but then stopped and looked at me. “You didn't have any storylike dreams last night, did you?”

“No,” I said.

“Well, if you ever feel like talking about a dream you've had, don't hesitate to tell me, okay? Good. Sweet dreams, then.” She leaned over to kiss me on the forehead. She put the chair back, smiled at me, and put out the lights on her way out, closing the door softly behind her. The house was quiet, but when I adjusted myself to get a little more comfortable, I heard the music start in Kiera's room. It was so loud that I was sure Mr. and Mrs. March had to hear it, as well, but it continued.

She's doing that deliberately,
I thought. Why couldn't she use earphones? Perhaps her friend Deidre was still there and in the room with her. Maybe she was showing off, showing her how she could annoy me. I imagined her bragging about how she would drive me out of there soon. Finally, the music was turned down or turned off, and the silence returned.

It was still difficult for me to fall asleep. I anticipated Kiera bursting in on me again to make more threats, but
she didn't. I also thought about what Mrs. March had said about Alena's dreams. I wondered if her dreams would somehow become mine if I remained there. Maybe dreams lingered like cobwebs. They were floating about looking to settle in another young girl's mind.

I half wished they would. My interest in knowing more about Alena seemed to grow stronger with every minute I was in the suite. Whether it was wishful thinking or not, I half expected that someday, she would reach out to me to tell me that she would help me.

“Don't worry,” she would whisper, “I'm here.”

I so needed a friend.

Even one who had died.

14
Unchained

S
oon my days became more ordinary, or at least as ordinary as days living in such an enormous estate with servants could be. For the time being, Kiera seemed to lose interest in me and didn't come bursting into my room again. Often, she wasn't at dinner, and if she was, she acted as if I weren't even there. Perhaps she was convinced that my being sent away was only a matter of time and didn't require her interference or involvement. Mr. March was often gone on business or very involved in some project he was developing. I had seen little of him since our first dinner together. There was much to keep me busy, however.

Mrs. Kepler came to tutor me five days a week and always stayed the same amount of time. Dr. Milan came once more, and then I was taken to get the X-rays he wanted. He told Mrs. March and me that it was too soon to see if my right leg would continue to grow as normally as my left. I was instructed in how to use the crutch he promised, so the wheelchair was put away. The doctor
wanted me to get more exercise and move about as much as possible, and I did feel myself getting stronger every day. As Mrs. Duval was fond of saying, there was light at the end of the tunnel.