Storms 01 - Family Storms

them look so young. I can’t help but look at them and wonder how in the world they ended up the way they are, especially in this great country. Are there many children out there like you all over?”
    “I don’t know. We’ve been only here. We never left after we were turned out on the street. Mama said it would be the same for us no matter where we went, and at least it wasn’t cold here so much.”
    She blew through her lips and shook her head as she looked at me. “You should be in school, going to parties, not worrying about where your next meal is coming from or where you will sleep. What did you two do, just beg?”
    “No, my mother wouldn’t beg. She sold her calligraphy, and I sold lanyard key chains on the beach. I made them myself.”
    “Calligraphy?”
    “It’s Chinese writing.”
    “Oh, yes.” She smiled.
    We heard a knock on the door. A tall man in a black suit and blue tie stood there. He had thick gray hair and ebony eyes, a gray and black well-trimmed goatee, and a Hollywood tan. I thought he might be her husband. He looked just as wealthy.
    “I received your message while I was still at the orthopedic convention at Shutters, Jordan. I came as soon as I could get away.”
    “Thank you, Michael. This,” she said, turning back to me, “is the young girl I want you to treat, Sasha Porter.”
    He nodded and showed Mrs. March a clipboard in his right hand. “I picked up her file on the way.”
    “This is Dr. Milan, Sasha. Please, let him examine you.”
    He stepped into my room and, without saying hello or even smiling at me, took the blanket off my right leg and looked at the cast. He shook his head.
    “What?” Mrs. March asked.
    “It’s not set high enough. I see this sort of sloppy work all the time. I’ll have to redo this. I’m sorry,” he told me.
    “Did you see the X-rays, Michael?”
    “Yes.”
    “How bad is the break?”
    “It’s pretty serious, in a bad place, Jordan. I’ll do the best I can, but nine times out of ten, for someone her age, there is a residual effect when it’s that high up.”
    “Do what you can, Michael. I mean it,” she said firmly. “Think of her as you would my daughter,” she told him.
    I was surprised that she could speak to a doctor so sternly, but he didn’t seem upset. He nodded.
    “I have a private-duty nurse coming.” She looked at her watch. “She should be here any minute. I’m sure she can assist you.”
    “I’ll change my clothes and come back,” he said. He hurried out.
    I was quite impressed with how easily Mrs. March could order people to do things. I imagined she could get anything she wanted done.
    “Do you know where my mother is?” I asked her.
    “I’m sure she’s in the hospital morgue, dear. I’m sorry.”
    “Will I see her again?”
    “It’s not pleasant to see someone who has passed away, especially a young person.” She took a deep breath and nodded. “But a daughter should say good-bye to her mother. I’ll look into it for you.”
    “She used to be very, very pretty,” I said.
    “Well, you’re a very pretty young girl, so I know that’s true. Now, don’t you worry. Dr. Milan will get you up and about faster than any other doctor around here can.”
    I turned away to look out the window. It was another sunny California day. How could the world be so beautiful after my mother had died? I didn’t mean to, but I started to cry.
    “Oh, God,” Mrs. March said. She stood and looked at me.
    Just then, the nurse she had hired came into the room. Mrs. March didn’t wait for her to introduce herself or anything. She practically lunged at her.
    “Dr. Milan is going to reset that leg right now,” she told her. “The cast wasn’t done correctly. You make our little patient as comfortable as possible. She’s been through the most horrible experience, especially for someone her age.”
    The nurse nodded. She was younger than any I had seen so far, younger but heavier, too. Mama would have said she had a body like a turnip. When she smiled at me, though, I saw she was warmer and friendlier than any other nurses I had met. Somewhere under those heavy cheeks slept a pretty face. That was something else Mama might have said.
    “This is Jackie,” Mrs. March said.
    “Hi, Sasha,” she said, coming over to me to take my hand.
    She knew my name without looking at the clipboard. That was good, I thought. Whether she was doing it for Mrs. March’s benefit or mine, I didn’t know, but she started to