Storms 01 - Family Storms

eyebrows as if he’d just realized that himself. The table could easily seat a dozen people. Why was Kiera sitting at the end? Shouldn’t Mrs. March be sitting across from her husband?
    “You could sit closer, Kiera.”
    “I’m fine where I am,” she said. Then she smiled. “I can look at Daddy better.”
    I glanced at him. He obviously liked that and smiled back at her.
    Mrs. Duval began to bring in our salads. Mr. March sat forward again and lifted his salad fork. Was that all he was going to say to me? I wondered as he began to eat.
    “Sasha is off to a wonderful start with Mrs. Kepler, who says she has no doubt she’ll have her up to speed before the end of the summer,” Mrs. March said.
    “Who’s Mrs. Kepler again?” Mr. March asked.
    “Her tutor, Donald, remember?”
    “Oh, yes.” He looked at me and nodded.
    “I hate talking about the end of summer. I can’t stand the idea of it ending,” Kiera muttered. She pushed some ofher salad off to the side. “Look at this! I keep telling her I don’t like beets and artichokes. Why can’t they remember?”
    “Why can’t you remember to hang up your clothes, especially those that we have dry-cleaned and pressed for you?” Mrs. March countered.
    “I thought that was what servants are for,” Kiera said.
    “If you don’t cherish the things we buy you, we shouldn’t buy you so much.”
    “Whatever,” Kiera said, shrugging. Then she smiled. “I’ll buy my own things.”
    Mr. March seemed not to hear the exchange. He was too involved in his wine, bread, and salad. I began to eat my salad and thought it was wonderful. It had so many flavors and was crunchy, just the way I liked it. The hospital salad and the salads I had eaten at the March house before were not as good, I thought. Maybe special things were saved for dinners with Mr. March.
    “We’re going to have to do something with your fingernails,” Mrs. March told me, smiling. “I’ll take you to my manicurist.”
    I looked at my fingers. My nails were uneven, but the idea of trimming them and putting on nail polish was something I hadn’t thought about for quite a while. Ages, it seemed. It was almost a foreign concept. Mama used to do them for me, but that was so long ago that it was like something I had seen in an old movie on television.
    When Mr. March finished his salad, he sat back and turned to me again. “How long were you and your mother homeless?” he asked.
    “Nearly a year.”
    “She lived in a carton, you know. Didn’t you? You told me you did,” Kiera added before I could admit to it or deny it.
    “Yes, we did,” I said.
    “How did you bathe?” Kiera asked. “Or didn’t you?”
    “We bathed in the public restrooms. Mama always tried to keep us both clean.”
    “Yeah, right,” Kiera muttered. “You need to take a bath as soon as you walk out of those places. I’d rather go in my pants.”
    “Kiera,” Mrs. March snapped.
    “Well, Kiera’s not all wrong. It is quite difficult for people like that to take good care of their hygiene,” Mr. March said. “It’s lucky she didn’t suffer from some disease.”
    “Who knows what she’s brought into this house—or what Mother has brought into it, I should really say,” Kiera said.
    “I think, of all people, you should know what I brought into this house, Kiera, when I brought Sasha here,” Mrs. March responded, her face reddening.
    “No, Mother, I don’t know. Do tell me.”
    “Please. Let’s enjoy the dinner,” Mr. March said sharply.
    Rosie came in and began to clear away the salad dishes. Mrs. Duval followed with a tray holding the main dish, which she had called a Dublin Lawyer. She served it to Mr. March first and then to us.
    “You’re in for a special treat,” Mrs. March told me.
    “Just eating indoors is a special treat for her,” Kiera said.
    Mr. March poured himself some more white wine and then looked at Mrs. March.
    “I’m fine,” she said.
    “Daddy, can I have some, please?” Kiera asked in a sweet, syrupy voice.
    “I don’t think …” Mrs. March began.
    “White wine goes perfectly with this,” he said. “It’s harmless,” he added, and looked to Mrs. Duval. She took the bottle and went around to pour a glass for Kiera.
    “Thank you, Daddy.”
    He nodded. “This is as fantastic, as usual,” he said after eating some Dublin Lawyer. “Give my compliments to Mrs. Caro, please, Mrs. Duval.”
    “I will, sir,” she said. “Anyone need anything else?”
    “My