Storms 01 - Family Storms

war going on in that great house, and now I was the prize, the spoils.
    “Don’t you love your mother?” I asked her.
    She shrugged. “I love her the way a daughter is supposed to, I guess, but I’ve always gotten along better with my father, and after Alena was born, my mother didn’t seem to care much about it, anyway. She doted on Alena. I could do nothing right, and Alena could do nothing wrong. It’s back to that since you came,” she said, but then she smiled again. “I don’t mind. I’m fine. And so will you be, because I won’t let her turn you into someone you’re not. You’ve become … my cause célèbre. How’s that? I learned something in French class,” she added with a flair as if she were on a stage. “Oh, I heard Ricky’s planning on getting his father’s boat and taking you and the rest of us to Catalina one of these weekends.”
    “Yes, he said one of these weekends.”
    “His father makes him work every other weekend in one of their pharmacies.”
    “One? How many do they own?”
    “About ten, I think. He expects Ricky will become a pharmacist, too, and take over someday. They have a beautiful boat. He hasn’t invited many girls. I told you he likes you. I hope he can get it. His father lets him take it because he trusts him. My mother won’t let my father give me use of the boat, even if I have someone like Ricky do the driving. Someday, though.” She took a deep breath and smiled. “For the first time after a session of therapy, I’ve got an appetite. See you downstairs,” she said, and left.
    I rose and looked at the picture of Alena she had been looking at so intently. I didn’t think they had the same eyes and nose, not at all. Alena’s features were more dolllike, and her eyes looked warmer, friendlier. According toKiera, Alena was only in fifth grade when the picture was taken, but she had an innocence that did remind me of myself, vulnerable, eager to trust and believe in someone and in the future. It wouldn’t be all that difficult for Mrs. March to turn me into this girl. I was closer to her than I was to Kiera.
    I returned to my homework and even got in twenty minutes of clarinet before I went down to dinner. Everyone was there. Kiera gave me a knowing smile, winking slightly as if we were conspirators now, both working her parents, manipulating them.
    During dinner, Kiera reminded Mrs. March that we were staying after school to audition for the school play. Before her mother could say or question anything, her father went on and on about his own dramatic experiences when he was in high school.
    “I was in a play called
Harvey,
the one about the invisible big rabbit.”
    I wasn’t familiar with it, and apparently, neither was Kiera. He went on to tell us practically the whole story.
    “Oh, Daddy!” Kiera cried when he described the ending. “That sounds like so much fun.”
    “It was. It is. In fact, your school should do it. At least, you guys should read it or maybe get the movie.”
    Mrs. March moved her dish to the side and said, “We have had that movie in our theater, Donald, and Kiera was bored and left.”
    He looked stunned for a moment, thought, and then nodded. “Yeah, I do remember that. Right.”
    “I was younger then,” Kiera said quickly. “Besides,you never told me you were in the play when you were in high school, Daddy. I would have paid more attention and watched it to the end.”
    “He did tell you that, Kiera,” Mrs. March said softly, “right before we began watching it.”
    “Well, I don’t remember.” She looked at me before firing back at her, “You’re always finding something wrong with me.”
    “I’m just …”
    “Just jumping on every opportunity you can to make me look bad in front of Sasha,” Kiera added, and leaped to her feet. “I don’t know why I’m still in therapy. I go there, make some progress, and then come home to have you ruin it,” she moaned, and left the dining room.
    The silence that followed was as deafening as that right after a bomb.
    “Donald,” Mrs. March finally said, “she can’t …”
    He put up his hand for silence. “Let’s just finish our meal in peace,” he said, and that was how we ate it, the three of us performing a show of simple gestures, passing dishes, salt and pepper and butter, as if we all were deaf.
    When I went upstairs, I heard Kiera sobbing in her suite and knocked softly on her door.
    “If that’s you, Mother, go away.”
    “It’s Sasha,” I