Storms 01 - Family Storms

children we read about in class, the oneslocked 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