Free Family Storms by V.C. Andrews

but don’t worry if I don’t. You can be sure that you’re all that’s on my mind.”
    She moved toward me as if she were going to give me a kiss, but the look on my face slowed her down, and she paused and then smiled quickly, grabbed her purse, and left. For a moment, it was as if all the air had gone out of the room with her. I felt the blood rush to my face. Of course, I knew Mama was gone, but it still felt as if I were deserting her, leaving her to be alone on the street. My father had deserted her and now me. I couldn’t help it. I started to cry softly.
    â€œWhat happened?” Jackie demanded as she stepped into the room. “Did she say she changed her mind, or her husband said no, or what?”
    I shook my head. “No. I’m going,” I said.
    â€œSo why are you crying?”
    â€œI’m not going home,” I said.
    She froze and then nodded and moved to hug me.
    â€œThat’s where my mother said she was taking us when we left the beach that night—home.”
    â€œYou’ll find a place to call home someday, Sasha. You’ll make your own home when you’re old enough. You’ll marry someone wonderful and have your own children. You’ll see.”
    I thanked her. Her words did give me hope. She was there the day I was discharged, and she followed Jordan March and me to the waiting limousine. I didn’t know I’d be leaving in a limousine. I had never ridden in one. At first, I thought she had rented it, but I quickly learned that it belonged to the Marches. The driver was very tall, easily six foot four or five. He was slim but with such perfect military posture Mama would have called him a flagpole. He had a thick, well-trimmed black mustache, a nose that looked as if it had been pinched by the doctor who had delivered him, and coal-black eyes. Mrs. March called him Grover, which I would learn was his first name. His full name was Grover Morrison. He had been the Marches’ limousine driver for nearly four years. I didn’t know it yet, but the Marches owned five other vehicles, and Kiera had an additional one, the one she had been driving the night of the accident.
    â€œYou take care,” Jackie told me after I had beentransferred from the wheelchair into the limousine. She stood in the open doorway.
    â€œI will,” I said. “Thank you, Jackie.”
    She nodded and backed away as Grover closed the door. He opened the door on the other side for Mrs. March.
    â€œWell, now,” Mrs. March said. “Are you comfortable?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œI could put a pillow under your leg.”
    â€œIt’s all right,” I said.
    â€œDon’t worry,” she said, patting my hand. “Everything’s going to be fine.”
    I wasn’t worried as much as I was afraid. Before Daddy had deserted us, I had slept over at a friend’s house. That was really the only time I had ever been overnight at the home of strangers, and now I was going to live with some.
    â€œYou’ll have to wear that cast for months yet, Sasha,” she said, nodding at it, “but Dr. Milan’s arranged for you to be up and about on a crutch soon. In the meantime, we have the wheelchair for you. I’ve already told Mrs. Caro that one of her duties now will be to wheel you out onto the patio in the afternoon. I want you to get some color and fresh air and not be shut up in a room like you were in the hospital.”
    â€œWho’s Mrs. Caro?”
    â€œMrs. Caro is one of my housekeepers and also our cook. We have four housekeepers. The one in charge is Mrs. Duval. She’s been with us the longest and was actually Kiera and Alena’s nanny as well. Her husband, Alberto, is what Donald calls our house manager. He is in charge of the grounds people, house maintenance, that sort of thing.”
    â€œFour housekeepers? How many people work at the house?” I asked as we started away from the