Storms 01 - Family Storms

me into a room on the left. I nearly gasped.
    Even in movies and magazines, I had never seen a bedroom this large. The walls were done in a baby pink, and the bed, which looked even larger than a king-size bed, had a cream frame with pink spirals, four posts, and a canopy. What surprised me, however, was the headboard. Embossed on it were two giraffes.
    Before I could ask,
Why giraffes?
Mrs. March explained. “Giraffes were Alena’s favorite animals. From the age of two or three, she was fascinated by them.”
    So, this was Alena’s room, then. For someone who just weeks ago was sleeping in a carton on the beach, coming to such a house would have been overwhelming in and of itself. Even simply setting foot in it would have drowned me in amazement. The sight of it as we had approached it, the grounds, the landscaping, had taken my breath away and actually had numbed me. But now, realizing that I was stepping into the shoes and sleeping in the bed of Mrs. March’s dead little girl did more than amaze and numb me. It actually frightened me. It was beautiful, the most beautifulroom I had ever seen, but for a moment, it gave me the feeling that I was invading and violating another girl’s sacred shrine. Prominent on one of the dressers was a picture of someone who was surely Alena. I avoided looking at it.
    “Mrs. Duval and I have already gone through all of Alena’s things and sorted out what we think would fit you properly,” Mrs. March said as they brought me to the bed. “You don’t have to put this on right now, but here’s one of my favorite nightgowns.” She lifted it off the bed where it had been neatly placed. She laughed. “As you can see … more giraffes. I’m afraid you’re going to find them everywhere. She even had a toothbrush shaped like the neck of a giraffe with a giraffe’s head. Donald went a little overboard with that stuff.”
    “Do you want her in bed right away?” Mrs. Duval asked Mrs. March. I looked up at her.
    “I don’t know. Are you tired, Sasha? You can explore the suite, if you like, or get into bed and rest. I imagine it’s all been exhausting for you, considering you’ve been laid up so long and gone through so much. What would you like to do?”
    Mrs. Duval pulled back the blanket in anticipation.
    “I’ll stay in the wheelchair a while longer,” I said.
    “Good. That way, you can have your lunch right over here,” Mrs. March said, moving to her right to show me a separate sitting area. “This will become your private classroom, too, as soon as I have your tutor arranged. I was thinking we’d get that started as soon as we can, as long as you’re up to it. You can work in here, don’t you think?”
    I wheeled myself toward it. There was a small table, adesk with a computer, another television besides the one built into the wall directly across from the bed, and a very large dollhouse, large enough for a little girl to go into if she liked. Everywhere I looked, there were pictures of giraffes in different locales or just one or two close up. There was a beautiful painting of one as well.
    The windows were low enough for me to look out, even sitting in the wheelchair. I wheeled to the one on the left and gazed down at the swimming pool, which looked huge, and the two tennis courts. Someone was cleaning the pool.
    “That’s an Olympic-size pool,” Mrs. March said, standing over my shoulder. “Before she became very sick, Alena could do ten laps without stopping. I’m sure once you’re fully recuperated, it will be great for your physical therapy. In no time at all, you’ll be able to work up to ten laps, too, I’m sure. It’s always heated, by the way.”
    There was a cabana with tables under a roof, a barbecue area, and what looked like a large hot tub, too. Around the pool were light yellow wood tables with yellow umbrellas. It looked more like the pool area in a hotel, not a home, but now that I was in it, I realized this house was bigger than many hotels. It would need everything to be larger and in bigger amounts than any normal house would. The hotel room Mama and I had slept in was probably no bigger than the wardrobe closet in this suite.
    “Well, what do you think so far, Sasha?” Mrs. March asked. “Do you think you could be happy here?”
    I looked up at her. Of course, there was a part of me that wanted to say,
Absolutely, this is like a dream,
but there was a part of me that still harbored anger and sadness. I was alsoreminded of the