Family Storms (41 page)

“I'm not looking for new friends yet, but when I do, I'll be more careful about choosing them,” I replied.

“You don't have to be careful about it or worry about it. I doubt you'll be here that much longer, anyway.”

“Wherever I go can't be worse,” I said, and she laughed.

“Ricky's having a party tonight at his house. His parents are beginning a short Mexican Riviera vacation. We'd invite you just for entertainment, but everyone's afraid you might steal away another boyfriend.”

I was silent. I felt my insides trembling, but I wasn't going to cry or even look sad and frightened. Instead, I said, “I feel sorry for you.”

“You feel sorry for me? That's a laugh. When you end up in some foster home, sleeping in a two-by-four bedroom and going to some inferior public school, think of me. I'm going to think of you tonight. You can call it a celebration of sorts.”

“You're good at what you do, Kiera, I won't deny it, but with all your money and your things, your cars and trips, you really don't have much more than I do. You're lonelier than I am, in fact.”

“You're crazy,” she said, but my firmness threw her. I could see her losing some of her confidence and arrogance.

“You had me believing that you really did have a good relationship with your sister, but I know now you couldn't possibly have had that. I imagine there were times when you wished bad things would happen to her, and when they did, you hated yourself. You know what?” I added, scooping up some fruit with my fork. “I think you still do.”

For the first time, I saw blood rush into her cheeks and her eyes blaze. She was also speechless. There was so much anger in her eyes. I looked away, and she walked off, but I caught her looking at me every once in a while. There was no question in my mind that she was wishing she could do more harm to me. I had cut deeply past her hard steel
surface and touched that place where all of her fears and regrets slept, waiting for something or someone to nudge them awake. Maybe now she would have bad dreams and fear the darkness, too, I thought.

Ironically, it didn't make me feel better to be able to hurt her, even after all she had done. I knew that for most people, that would be a weakness. How could I survive in a world where people were so cruel to one another if I didn't enjoy revenge?

I think the trouble was that I had grown too close to Alena. Dead and gone, she still had a presence in that suite, not only for Mrs. March but, after a while, also for me, wearing her clothes, using her things, and seeing her pictures, her face constantly in mine. I couldn't help but lie awake nights and think of her there, wondering what her thoughts were like when she realized how sick she was. Did she cry? Was she angry? Was she simply afraid all the time? From the way Mr. and Mrs. March had described her, none of that seemed to be true. I knew that all parents saw their children as angels when they were so young and innocent, but maybe Alena really was angelic. Maybe she had been helping me find my way. Maybe, even now, she felt sorry for her sister and wished that somehow, some way, I could have changed her the way she had pretended to change.

Forgive me, Alena, both for failing and for wishing harm to Kiera,
I thought, and I continued to the end of my school day.

Neither Mr. nor Mrs. March was home when I returned. I went directly up to my room. The hallway looked darker than ever, and the room was cold and lonely. I felt like one of those children we read about in class, the ones
locked in the Tower of London. Like them, I was left to wither and die. For the first time since I had been brought to the March mansion, even in the beginning, when Kiera was so mean to me, I considered running away. I had survived in the streets before, so why not now? It was more than a passing thought. I considered what I would take with me and what I had that I could pawn to raise money. I still had the two watches Kiera had given me so nonchalantly. If she wasn't lying about those being real diamonds in them, I might have enough to get along for a while.

But then the reality of a girl my age trying to get by sank in. What hotel would rent me a room, even some of the fleabag ones I knew were out there? What would I do when the money ran out? Who would hire me to work, and what could I sell on the boardwalks now? The chances that the police would leave me alone without an adult were far lower, too. Running away was no answer.

Depressed, I lay down and soon fell asleep. I woke when I heard knocking on my door and saw Mrs. March standing there.

“Are you ill?” she asked.

“No, just a little tired.”

“Mr. March called to tell me he's arranged a meeting for you with Social Services next week. I believe it's on Monday. They'll find a suitable new home for you,” she said, and then pressed her lips together as if to hold back sobs. “I'm sorry, Sasha. I wish it would have worked out for you here. I truly do.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“Mrs. Duval has your dinner ready,” she added, and left.
I heard her footsteps dying away in the corridor, disappearing like my advantageous and hopeful future.

I rose, washed, and went down to dinner. Since the new arrangements had begun, I felt as if everyone around me was mute or deaf. The long silence hung in the air. Faces were averted from mine. Everything was done mechanically and as quickly as possible. It occurred to me, of course, that they had all been told Kiera's story and believed everything bad about me, too. The only friend I had left in the house was the imaginary friend I had in Alena. It seemed appropriate that I would be close only to the dead now.

I didn't linger downstairs after dinner. I went up the grand stairway slowly, walking like someone going to her execution, and went to my room. Doing my homework seemed pointless, as was practicing the clarinet. I wouldn't be finishing school there after all, it seemed. Nevertheless, out of either sadness or a need to keep up my connection with Alena, I did play the clarinet.

After that, I watched some television. I wanted to keep myself awake as long as possible so I would fall asleep faster and not toss and turn, worrying, reliving the pain and misery. It was close to midnight when I finally turned the television off. I was about to get ready for bed when I heard what sounded like quite a commotion, so I went out to the hallway to listen closer. It was coming from the wing of the house where Kiera's and the Marches' bedrooms were. Mrs. March was screaming something. I walked toward the noise slowly and then walked faster, almost running. She was heading toward the stairway when I saw her. She was buttoning her jacket. She stopped when she saw me.

“What's happening?” I asked.

“It's Kiera,” she said. “She's being rushed to the hospital from her party. Something about … a drug overdose. She's in a coma,” she muttered. “My husband …”

“What?”

“He's not been notified yet. He can't be reached. He's flying back from a meeting in San Francisco. I have to get to the hospital.” She turned again to descend the stairway. She looked so small and frightened.

“Can I come with you?” I asked, rushing to the stairs. “I won't be in your way. I'll be there just to be with you.” I wanted to add,
If Alena were here, you'd surely take her.
Perhaps she heard my thoughts, or perhaps Alena spoke to her.

“Yes,” she said. “Thank you. Come.”

I hurried down to join her, and without another word spoken between us, we got into her car.

“I knew this day would come,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper. “I felt it inside me, the way people can feel the rain. The dark clouds were always on Kiera's horizon just waiting to be invited in. I try to blame it all on Donald, on his permissiveness, his blindness, his indifference, but I'm just as guilty.”

I didn't tell her, but as we drove on through the night, I felt guilty, too.

I had wished hard for something like this. I had wanted it so much that I had almost tasted it. Was I going along with her now to gloat or to give her comfort?

Was I Alena, or was I Sasha Porter?

It wouldn't be long before I knew.

32
Hospital

T
hey were all there in the emergency room. Every one of them looked frightened, but when they saw me with Mrs. March, their looks of fear changed to surprise. Ricky looked up last. He was sitting, holding his head in his hands. Mrs. March didn't ask any of them anything, nor did she say anything to any of them. She went directly to the nurses' station and introduced herself. At almost the same moment, a doctor was at her side. He said something to her and then led her down a corridor.

Deidre was the first to speak to me. She approached me slowly. The shock of seeing me was replaced by confusion. “Why are you here?” she asked, loudly enough for the others to hear.

“Mrs. March needed someone with her,” I said. After I said it, I realized I should have said “my aunt.” “My uncle is on his way back from San Francisco and is on an airplane.”

She lost her look of confusion, but then, in the tone of a confession, she said, “He's not your uncle. Everyone here
knows the truth now. Kiera lost control of her tongue before anything else.”

I looked at the others, all sitting there, their gazes now fixed on me.

To my surprise, Deidre added, “It was still very nice of you to come along with her. You can sit and wait with us,” she said, indicating a chair next to her.

“Thanks. I'll sit here,” I said, and sat.

She didn't look upset. She nodded, understanding, and returned to her seat. I looked at them all. I really hated them for what they had done to me, but they looked pathetic, more like terrified little children now, especially Ricky. In fact, he looked as if he had been crying. He turned away to avoid my gaze.

Two uniformed policemen arrived and went to the nurses' desk. She spoke to them for a while, and while she did, Kiera's friends were all like stone. The policemen turned and looked at them, and then the nurse nodded in the direction of the corridor and they walked down it.

Deidre stared at me thoughtfully. Finally, she got up again and walked over to Ricky. She spoke to him, and they both looked at me. He nodded and got up. I felt my body tighten as he walked toward me.

“Can I talk to you?” he asked.

“What do you want?”

“Let's just go outside for a minute. Please,” he added when I didn't move. The others all stared at us.

I got up and walked out to the parking area. He followed, and then I stopped and turned abruptly to him.

“What?” I said.

“I don't expect you to accept any apologies. I just wanted to tell you something about the pills Kiera gave you. She asked me to get them.”

“So?”

“She wanted fertility pills. You know, pills for women who have trouble getting pregnant.”

“I know what fertility pills are, Ricky.”

“I got her pills and told her they were fertility pills, but they were only what we call placebos. There was nothing in them to make it easier for you to get pregnant.”

“But thanks to you, I can still get pregnant, right?”

“I hope not. I don't expect it,” he said.

“Why not?”

“Right afterward, without Kiera knowing, I had you drink some water and take another pill. It's called the morning-after pill. I wasn't going to be the father of anyone's baby at my age. Anyway,” he said, looking back again and then at me, “whatever happens here, it's a wake-up call, at least for me. I'm probably going to be in a great deal of trouble.”

“What happened to her?”

“She took something called G. I got it through someone I know. It's like the flavor of the week these days, you know? Everyone's always looking for a new kick. Kiera keeps up with this stuff more than anyone else. I didn't know what dosage people should take. This guy told me you take a shot like whiskey, but she took three. I warned her to go slowly, but it was pretty clear she had gone too far when she collapsed. She fell into a coma. We couldn't revive her, so we had to call for an ambulance. I had to tell them what it was. The police will be out here soon looking for me.”