Storms 01 - Family Storms

That’s something Donald has yet to decide. Seniors are permitted to drive to school. There’s a parking lot for them.” After a long moment, she added, “Her court hearing has yet to happen. Donald’s lawyer has successfully delayed it, which is a legal tactic, but as I tell him, you can postpone and postpone, but inevitably you have to face the music. But let’s not talk about any of that, Sasha. It only brings back terrible memories and pain for you.”
    I sat back and was quiet. Her saying not to talk about it didn’t do any good. It was like unringing a bell. It couldn’t be done. I had been wondering for months what was going to happen to Kiera. How could what had happened becompletely swept under the table? Were rich people that powerful?
    Perhaps to cheer me up further, Mrs. March delivered on her promise to get me whatever I needed to do calligraphy. She even bought me a beautifully illustrated book about it, and I saw some of the words Mama had copied. I had told her exactly what I needed, and it was all set up in the sitting room. I began to work almost immediately. I wanted to do a copy of Mama’s “heaven.”
    “Don’t make me sorry I got you all this,” Mrs. March told me two days after I began work. I had done little of anything else. “You can’t shut yourself away all day, you know.”
    She was right, of course. Now that I was free of my cast and did not have to depend on a crutch, Dr. Milan wanted me to take daily exercise. Mrs. March had a physical therapist come to the house to work with me every other day. “We’ve got to get your muscles strong again so you won’t have any problem getting around in school,” she said. The therapist, Sheila Toby, was very impressed with the Marches’ indoor pool and, after some initial days of stretching exercises, decided we would do all of our work in the water.
    One afternoon, Mr. March suddenly appeared to watch us. He was there for quite a while but said nothing. Later, when I was going up to my suite, he appeared in the hallway. I realized that this was the first time since I had come to his house that he and I were alone.
    “You seem to be doing very well,” he began. “I’m sure you feel stronger every day.”
    “Yes, I do.”
    I waited, expecting him to say,
Okay, since you’re better and stronger, you don’t have to live here anymore, and this idea of your going to Kiera’s school is not really a good one,
but he didn’t say that.
    “I happened to glance in at the calligraphy you’re doing,” he continued, walking along with me toward my suite. “It’s pretty impressive.”
    “Thank you.”
    “Tell me about it,” he said.
    “What do you want to know?”
    “I’m not that familiar with it. Jordan bought something once, as I said, but I must admit, I didn’t pay much attention to the explanation the salesman gave us at the gallery. I gather you told her exactly what you needed. What is needed?”
    “I work with an ink brush, ink, a special type of paper, and an inkstone. Together, they are known as the Four Treasures of the Study.”
    “Really?” He smiled. “Go on. Tell me more.”
    We reached my doorway.
    “The paper is weighed down with paperweights. Anything can be a paperweight, but my mother used to have wooden blocks that had pictorial designs on them, too. They had been her mother’s.”
    “What happened to them?”
    “I don’t know. One day, they were gone and she used rocks we found on the beach instead. I think she might have sold them.”
    He nodded. “Go on in,” he told me, and then hefollowed me in and went to my desk. “So, what is this ink-stone?” he asked.
    “You have to rub the ink stick on it with water to make the paint.”
    “Your mother did all this while you were homeless?”
    “Yes. For her, it was more like … more like …”
    “Therapy, relaxation?”
    “No, I think something religious,” I said, and his eyes widened and brightened.
    “And for you?”
    “The same,” I said.
    He smiled. He picked up the brush and studied it a moment.
    “It has to be held a special way,” I said.
    “Show me.”
    I did.
    “See, it’s held vertically with the thumb and the middle finger. My mother told me you should be able to put an egg in your palm if you’re holding it correctly.”
    He laughed and then tried it. I adjusted his fingers so that his ring finger and pinkie touched the bottom of the brush handle.
    “This is hard,” he said. “Must take a lot of