Family Storms (Storms 1)

“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 water glass is empty,” Kiera said.

The bottled water was right in front of her. Mrs. Duval picked it up and put some in her glass. I waited to hear her say thank you, but she simply drank her water. Mrs. Duval looked at me and then went back to the kitchen. I started on my meal. It was delicious. I remembered the lobster Mama and I had had, but it was nothing like this.

“What did your mother do before things fell apart for you?” Mr. March asked me as he ate.

I looked at him. Fell apart? Did he mean before the accident or after Daddy left or before she met Daddy? I didn’t know what to say.

“Before you were out on the street,” he added, seeing my confusion.

“She was a waitress and she did her calligraphy.”

“Really? Calligraphy?” He turned to Mrs. March. “You have something from our trip to China five years ago, don’t you, Jordan?”

“It’s in our bathroom,” she replied.

“Right. So your mother did that sort of thing?”

“Yes. There’s one hanging on the wall in the Grave-diggers bar,” I said proudly.