Storms 01 - Family Storms

things Jackie had said to me. They could never do enough to compensate for what they had taken from me. Even all of this didn’t come anywhere close.
    “I don’t know,” I said, which obviously shocked Mrs. Duval and disappointed Mrs. March.
    “It’s understandable,” she said, mostly for Mrs. Duval’s sake, I thought. “You’ve been through so much so quickly. You need to catch your breath and get used to new things. I’d feel the same way,” she added. “Well, don’t hesitate to ask Mrs. Duval or Mrs. Caro or anyone, for that matter, for anything you want or need.”
    From the look on Mrs. Duval’s face, I could see that she was thinking,
Need? What could she possibly want or need that she doesn’t have already?
    I didn’t know if I could blame her just yet for being insensitive. I had no idea how much she knew about me, about exactly what had happened or why I was there.
    Another thought that was tying a knot in my brain was, where was Kiera? Where was her room? When would she and I meet? What would she say? What would I say? Did any of the people who worked there know what she had done?
    “Okay, then, you look about, Sasha. Mrs. Duval will be bringing up your lunch soon. I have a few errands to run. All you have to do is pick up any of the phones in the suite if you need anything. Just picking one up rings Mrs. Duval’s pager. That’s another one of Donald’s technical toys. I know sometimes Alena drove Mrs. Duval bonkers,” she added.
    “Only when she was sick,” Mrs. Duval said sharply.
    “Yes. She was a very thoughtful little girl, wasn’t she?”
    “The best. I can’t imagine any little girl better,” Mrs. Duval said, her eyes fixed on me.
    “Well, let’s not dilly-dally, as Mrs. Caro says. See you soon, Sasha.” Mrs. March touched my shoulder and then turned and headed out.
    Mrs. Duval hesitated. “Do you need to use the toilet?”
    “No, not yet,” I said.
    “I’ll go see about your lunch, then,” she told me, and followed Mrs. March out. She closed the door behind her and left me in a silence so deep it made me feel as if I were asleep and dreaming.
    It was truly like a medieval castle, with its walled-in grounds and security, its employees, some of whom I could see now cutting grass and trimming bushes. I was certain there was everything and anything that anyone like me could possibly want, if anyone like me could forget about love, especially a mother’s love.
    But to answer Mrs. March’s question fully, no, I couldn’t imagine ever calling this home. I was sure anyone else would think it strange, but as I sat there in my wheelchair and looked at all that was now at my disposal, I couldn’t help wondering how and when I could escape.

7
Alena’s Room
    M rs. Duval brought up my lunch on the same sort of cart I had seen at the hospital. I was stunned by how much food was on the tray. I thought maybe Mrs. March was going to eat with me, but she didn’t follow Mrs. Duval into the suite, and I didn’t hear her coming.
    “Is this all for me?” I asked.
    “Mrs. Caro made you one of her delicious chicken quesadillas, but in case you might not like it, she made a ham and cheese sandwich, and under here,” she said, lifting a silver cover, “is a cheeseburger. There’s a small salad for you and this piece of her homemade chocolate cake. This is the homemade lemonade she does. Do you think you want some ice cream, too?”
    I sat with my mouth open. I would eat any one of the choices, but what would I do with the others? Maybe she’d take them back.
    “I’ll eat the chicken quesadilla,” I said. I couldn’t remember when I had eaten one last. “I don’t need ice cream.”
    “Maybe you don’t need it, but you can have it,” Mrs. Duval said. “I’ll bring some up later.”
    She turned to leave.
    “But what about the rest? I can’t eat everything.”
    “Just eat what you want and leave the rest,” she said, shrugging. “That’s what everyone does here.”
    After she left, I sat staring at the tray of food. There had been times when we were on the street when this much food would feed both Mama and me for a whole day. The thought of it being wasted and thrown out actually turned my stomach. Despite what I had said, I tried to eat more than I should have. I ate until I thought I would throw it all up and then stopped. Not long after, Mrs. Duval returned with a bowl of chocolate and vanilla ice cream.
    “No,” I said. “Please take it back. I can’t