Storms 01 - Family Storms

said.
    She opened the door and then turned away quickly and returned to throw herself on her bed.
    “You see? You see why my therapist is right? You were there!” she cried, and pounded the mattress. “No matter what I do or say, she’s ready to destroy me.” She turned toface me. “How can anyone be a better person in this house? Tell me that, will you? You were there. You saw it. You heard her.”
    She waited for my response. I didn’t want to take sides, but I nodded.
    “Well, we just have to stick together more,” she said, sitting up. “Next time she’s critical of me, something I do or say, you might come to my defense, say something.”
    “What could I say?”
    “Say … ‘Kiera’s trying.’ Just say that. My father will pick up on it. I can see he likes you. Maybe then my mother will get off both our backs.”
    I didn’t think she was really on my back, but I didn’t disagree.
    Kiera smiled and reached for my hands. “Thanks for stopping by to see how I am, Sasha. That’s very sweet of you. I don’t deserve it, of course. I don’t deserve even your being civil to me, but I plan on deserving it someday. Now, go practice the clarinet. I know it’s important to you and you want to do well. Besides, I like hearing it through the wall.”
    I started toward the door.
    “You can leave my door open a little,” she said. “And yours, too. That way, I’ll hear you better.”
    “Okay, but I’m not that good yet.”
    “You’re better than me, not that that says much.”
    “Didn’t you ever play an instrument?”
    “The heart,” she said.
    “You mean the harp?”
    “No. The heart,” she said, and laughed.
    For a moment, I thought she did look like Alena, innocent, young, and vulnerable.
    Downstairs, you became deaf,
a voice of warning inside me said.
Up here, you became blind.
    I practiced for more than an hour before getting ready for bed and reading ahead in my English textbook. I had forgotten that I had left my door open. Before she said anything, Mrs. March must have been standing in my doorway a while just looking in at me. I finally sensed someone and lowered my textbook.
    She smiled. “Seeing you lying there like that, reading, reminded me so much of Alena. She was a voracious reader, unlike Kiera. She read all of those books you see on the shelves here, every single one. I know, because she would spend hours telling me the stories or talking about the characters. She always got so involved. She’d talk about her books with anyone who would listen.”
    She stepped in.
    “It used to break my heart when she tried describing a story to Kiera, and Kiera would brush her off, tell her it was silly or a waste of time. I know Kiera can be a very exciting young woman, Sasha. She is beautiful, and boys trail after her like ants following honey, but she hasn’t quite reached the level of maturity and responsibility she should, and I worry about her. Now I have to worry about you, as well. Please be careful,” she said. “I know how easy it is to fall into traps when you’re the age you are. Is there anything you want to tell me?”
    “No. I’m fine, Mrs. March.”
    “I hope someday you’ll be able to call me Mother. Notthat I want to replace your mother,” she quickly added. “I just want us to be closer.”
    “That’s still difficult for me to do right now, Mrs. March,” I said.
    I saw how hard she took my answer. For a moment, she looked like she might burst into tears, but then she managed a smile. “Of course. Everything has its proper time and place.”
    She gazed around, smiled again, and said good night, closing the door softly behind her. Less than a minute later, the door opened again. I thought she had forgotten something, but it was Kiera.
    “You left my door open a bit, remember?”
    “Yes.”
    “I heard everything she said. I don’t read. I wouldn’t listen to Alena. I’m not mature and responsible. See what I was saying? That was a lie. I always listened to Alena. She would sit on the floor next to me and tell me her stories while I sat there filing my nails or doing my hair. Why, she’d even come in while I was soaking in the tub and sit on the bathroom floor and recite them.”
    Now she was the one who looked as if she might burst into tears.
    “I hope you never call her Mother,” she said. Then she turned and rushed out, closing the door sharply behind her.
    It sounded so ridiculous, even outright funny to say it, but I muttered to myself,