Cloudburst

by V. C. Andrews

  Little did I know that I had just begun.

  8

  A Strange Interest

  Mr. March’s office door was open, but he didn’t hear me coming. He was bent over his oversized dark cherry-wood desk, his hands over his forehead and eyes. I immediately noticed that he had moved my calligraphy of the word Mother that I had made nearly three years ago. I had given it to the Marches, and he was very impressed with it. They had put it in their entertainment center, which annoyed Kiera at the time. Now he had taken it from the entertainment center to his office and hung it in a prominent place on the wall as well. I knocked on the door, and he sat up instantly.

  “Come in, Sasha,” he said, and got up to come around his desk and lean back on the front of it. He nodded at the black leather settee on his left, and I sat. “Your friend gone?”

  “Yes.”

  He nodded slightly and kept his gaze so fixed on me that I felt a little uncomfortable. Usually, Mr. March didn’t stare at me like this. Many times during the past years, I had felt he was looking through me or past me. He didn’t seem to hear the things I said or the things Jordan said about me. Like Jordan, I always assumed he was too absorbed with his business.

  “I don’t know where the time goes,” he said, relaxing his lips. His eyes became softer, gentler. “When you were first brought here, you were hardly any bigger than Alena, and now look at you. You’ve become a really beautiful young lady right under my nose.”

  His unexpected, enthusiastic compliment took me by surprise. I felt myself blush. He looked up at my calligraphy.

  “I should have known that someone so young who could so something so beautiful had a well of beauty within her that would eventually be drawn out for all to see. Not me, however,” he said, still looking at the work of art.

  He turned back to me. “I can be so blind sometimes,” he continued. “I was guilty of the same thing when it came to Kiera. One day, she was my little girl, content with her dolls and computer games, and the next day, it seemed, she was asking to go on dates.”

  “Maybe fathers don’t want to see it.”

  “Pardon?”

  “They don’t want their daughters to grow up,” I suggested softly.

  “Why not?” he asked with a smile.

  “They don’t want them to lose their innocence, to stop being the sole object of their affection. I also imagine when parents see that their children are older, they feel older,” I added.

  “Very astute. You are a very intelligent young lady,” he said. “That’s another thing I haven’t appreciated enough. Jordan is right. We’re lucky to have you here, and I hope you feel lucky to be here as well.”

  I had no answer for that. The only reason I was here was that their daughter had accidentally killed my mother and Jordan had felt responsible. Ryder was very perceptive when he said I felt guilty admitting that I was in any way happy here. It just seemed sinful even to think I was lucky. My silence seemed to make Mr. March nervous.

  “In any case,” he continued, now pacing a little, “I am determined not to be oblivious anymore and to take a more direct and firm interest in your welfare and future. I guess we both know very well that I missed the boat when it came to Kiera. The things that happened as a result are just as much my fault as hers. I won’t let that happen with you.”

  He stopped in front of me.

  “Up to now, I’ve let Jordan take the lead when it comes to you, your needs, and your wishes. I’ll admit I wasn’t completely for getting you your own car. I know too well how that can be a terrible detriment, a dangerous distraction for someone as young as you are. But she thought it would help to make you feel more a part of this family and give you the independence you needed. I wasn’t going to argue about it, and,” he said before I could say a word, “I’m confident now that you have the maturity and responsibility for it. At least, I hope and pray you do.”

  “I didn’t ask for a car,” I said softly. “It was a big surprise.”

  “No, you haven’t asked for much. Another girl in your position would surely have asked for much, much more. I like the fact that you appreciate things when they’re given to you. Again,” he said, pulling in the corners of his mouth, “we both know someone who was never that way, unfortunately.

  “We’re not here to talk about her, however,” he said quickly. I was glad to hear that and relaxed a bit. He wasn’t trying to use me as a family spy. “We’re here only to talk about you.

  “First, I want to promise you that I will devote more time to you, be here more for you. I hope that before long, you will feel comfortable coming to me with any problems you might have, any decisions you have to make.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “I will.”

  “So,” he said, surprising me by sitting beside me on the settee, “I’d like to begin by giving you a little advice about this boy you brought here today. Jordan was a little concerned about him, too. That’s why it was so important for her that I be home early enough to meet him.

  “Too often, when Kiera brought a boy home, I wasn’t around, and Jordan was never as forceful as she should have been when it came to Kiera’s sexual explorations. I realize that girls are doing that at alarmingly younger and younger ages.”

  He kept his smile and then reached out to touch my hair, stroking it ever so gently with the tips of his fingers.

  “Like Kiera, you are a very beautiful young woman, Sasha, perhaps even more beautiful. You’ve inherited some exquisite features from your mother, I’m sure, even though I’ve never seen a picture of her. Your father couldn’t have been too bad-looking to have attracted your mother in the first place, and second because of some of your other stunning qualities. I’m an expert when it comes to judging all this. It’s part of what I do for a living, so there’s no point in your trying to be modest and deny it,” he followed quickly.

  “I’m not,” I said, which took him aback a little. “I know my mother was very beautiful, and my father was a handsome man.”

  He laughed. “It doesn’t always follow that the children of good-looking people will be as good-looking. I’m sure, for example, that Ryder Garfield, as good-looking as you might think he is, doesn’t have the special qualities that have made his father a cinematic idol or his mother a world-famous model.”

  “I’m not the only one at Pacifica who thinks he does,” I said.

  The gentleness in his eyes seemed to go poof and disappear, like a coin in a magician’s hand.

  “Yes, well, as your guardian with a parent’s responsibility, I want to tell you that we should not permit ourselves to be attracted to someone solely on the basis of his or her looks. I’d like to think that anyone you admire and who admires you has more significant qualities. Most important, perhaps, is the fact that Jordan is right when she says you are still somewhat fragile. We’re proud of your accomplishments, but we know how easily you could be . . . damaged. Now, Ryder certainly comes from a respectable family, famous parents, money and all that goes with it, but anyone would have to be blind or stupid not to see that there are turbulent waters running under the surface of his handsome face. I don’t want you to be drawn down into them, not now, not ever,” he said.

  “That won’t happen,” I said as confidently as I could manage, even though in my heart of hearts, I wasn’t absolutely sure of that.

  He smiled again. “Ah, but that’s where I come in,” he said. “All young people, me included when I was young, feel they’re immortal, infallible, or if they do suffer setbacks, that they have so much time ahead of them that the setbacks are insignificant. Take Kiera, for example. I didn’t realize what was happening, but by the time I did, she was too wild to be reined in. You have to consider the advice of older, wiser people, especially older, wiser people who care about you very much.”

  “I’m not Kiera,” I said, perhaps a bit too sharply.

  He winced. “Well, as much as it pains me to say it, I hope you’re right, but I have, even in my obliviousness, seen some similar
ities between you and her. Some of the similarities I like, of course. Kiera, for all her faults, does have some good qualities. I’m not completely wasted here,” he said, as if Jordan could not have given her any of those qualities. “In any case, not being careful about with whom you form these early relationships can move you closer to her shoes, or the shoes she wore too long, if you get my drift.”

  “That won’t occur, Mr. March,” I said. “I’m not going to say that you and Mrs. March are wrong about Ryder Garfield. He is a troubled person. I realized that almost immediately, but I think I can be a good friend to him and help him, as he said, navigate the rapids.”

  That sharp, angry look invaded Mr. March’s face again. “Don’t develop the sin of arrogance, Sasha. Don’t take on more than you can handle. That will make you more like the Kiera we both knew too well.”

  “I won’t,” I said.

  He calmed a bit. “I hope not. In any case, I wanted you to know that I do have a strong interest in your welfare and will be here more for you than I have been. I know Jordan would love for you to think of her as you would a mother, but I’ll be satisfied if you simply think of me as a good friend, okay?”

  “Yes, Mr. March,” I said.

  His eyes narrowed, and lines in his temples deepened. “You know what I would like very much, Sasha? I’d like you to call me Donald instead of Mr. March. You’ve been here long enough to stop being so formal. I meant to tell you that. Will that be all right?”

  “Yes, if it’s all right with you,” I said.

  “More than all right. It’s what I would prefer. Makes you sound more grown up, too, don’t you think?”

  I nodded.

  He smiled and touched my hair again, holding some strands between his fingers. “You do have extraordinarily beautiful hair, Sasha. I imagine it’s because you take care of yourself.”

  “It was one thing my mother wouldn’t forget to tell me to look after, no matter where we were,” I said.

  He smiled. “You’ve been through so much. I’m sure you’re far more mature than most girls in your class, if not all of them. I want you to know that I don’t think of you as being a little girl anymore, Sasha. You’re a young woman in my mind.”

  “Thank you,” I said. He was still fingering my hair.

  “I should take you with me sometimes. I go to some very interesting places, and if I must say so myself, I do some very exciting things. There are so many important and beautiful things for a girl like you to see, but maybe it’s more important for a girl like you to be seen. Would you like that?”

  “I guess,” I said, not really knowing what he meant by being seen. Seen by whom? And for what?

  He nodded as if he was making up his mind right then and there. “We’ll do more things together, things I should have been doing with Kiera. That’s a promise. You really would be helping me, too,” he said. “I’d like to feel I can make up for the mistakes I’ve made. What do you say?”

  “Sure,” I said. What else could I say?

  He widened his smile. “We’ll get to know each other a lot better. I promise.”

  He just stared at me, and then he leaned over and kissed me on my cheek, very close to my lips.

  I was stunned. Donald March had never kissed me like that. He had never fondled my hair, either. I had been without a mother for years now, but I had been without a father for years longer. Maybe I had never really had one. He wasn’t a good husband, so how could he have been a good father?

  When I was younger and I went somewhere with Jordan on weekends, I would see young girls my age walking with their parents, sometimes holding their father’s hand and not their mother’s, and I would wonder what that felt like, what they felt like. Surely having their fathers beside them, holding them, guiding them, gave them a wonderful sense of security. How great it must be to be loved and protected and have such a special place in their fathers’ hearts.

  They were the girls I envied, the girls who enjoyed all of that, whereas I felt more like someone floating, unattached, drifting through my life without the sunshine of a mother’s or father’s smile to light the day. My parents were darkness and silence. Who, then, could possibly blame me for being so pleased, even a little intoxicated, with Donald March’s offer to become closer and be more of a father to me?

  “I’m getting hungry,” he said, sitting back. “I didn’t have a single meal close to the quality of the meals Mrs. Caro makes for us.” He clapped his hands together, rubbing his palms, and stood. “I’ll just finish a few things here and join you in the dining room soon.” He reached for my hand, and I stood up. “Thanks for listening.”

  “Thanks for caring,” I replied.

  “That’s very sweet of you to say.”

  He smiled and hugged me, holding me a little tighter and a little longer than I would have expected. Then he kissed my forehead and went to his desk. I looked at him. He lifted his hand, and I walked out.

  Thoughts were bouncing back and forth in my brain like ping-pong balls. I had so much to think about and to understand. Although I didn’t like what he had said about Ryder, it seemed obvious that my bringing Ryder here had triggered Donald March to take a more serious interest in my welfare. How could I complain about that? I could have argued with him more about Ryder, explained how intelligent he was and how sensitive and sweet, but for now, I thought it was better to leave it as it was. What a day this had been, I thought, and hurried up to my room to shower and change for dinner.

  Lately, we hadn’t been having as many dinners together as we used to, and when we did, the Marches, mainly because of Jordan’s unhappiness, were often arguing about something. Whenever that occurred, I felt even more out of place, more like an intruder. Once, after a particularly bitter conversation between them, Jordan took me aside afterward to tell me that it wasn’t always like that.

  “It started after Alena’s death and gradually grew worse when we began to have these problems with Kiera. You’ve seen some of that. I’m sorry you’re seeing it now.”

  I was sure that was part of the reason they had been seeing a therapist together.

  Now, especially after she had told me about her suspicions concerning Donald, I began to wonder if this marriage would even last much longer. My memories of my parents’ marital problems were still quite fresh and vivid in my mind, despite how young I was, or maybe because of how young I was. More than once, I had heard it said that we’re most impressionable at younger ages, and those impressions are so indelibly written inside us that we never lose them or their influences. That was certainly true for me. There was much I had not forgotten.

  To date, Donald and Jordan’s conflicts were confined to sharp discussions, pouting, and temper tantrums that resulted in neither speaking much to the other. My parents were nearly physical about their fights, my mother tossing things at my father or flailing out and breaking something in the house. Doors were slammed, hands slapped on tables and even against walls. Sometimes it felt as if the walls were rocking like in an earthquake. Here, however, there was just a new and deeper silence that made the smallest movements—the clink of a teacup, the shifting of silverware, the closing of a drawer, or just footsteps—echo through what had become deeper and darker shadows.

  From what Donald March had said to me about Ryder when we were in his office, I expected that he would bring it up again at dinner and, as at other times, attach some blame to Jordan. I was waiting for him to tell her that she should not have approved of my bringing Ryder here or should have at least talked more about him with me first. I made up my mind that I would come to her defense, but he didn’t do any of that.

  In fact, Donald was more cheerful than ever at dinner. He was eager to talk about his business and his experiences with some of what he called the “colorful people” with whom he dealt, whether it was in making commercials, creating print advertisements, or product development. Maybe this was his way of warning me again about Ryder, this time quite subtly.

  “Creative p
eople have to be a little off-center to do what they do,” he said. He was eating almost ravenously, which brought a smile to Jordan’s face. “I mean, it affects their temperaments. It’s no wonder so many of them are unstable when it comes to their family lives. I’m beginning to think there should be a way of licensing people for marriage.”

  “But don’t you have to get a marriage license in every state?” Jordan asked.

  “Yes, but I don’t mean that, exactly.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I waited to hear, too. “A test, maybe. We make people take tests to get a driving license, don’t we?”

  Jordan laughed.

  “It’s not funny,” he said. “I think it’s a good idea. There would be far fewer divorces and children living with single parents or being in the middle of bad marital spats.”

  “What would be the test, Donald?”

  “I don’t know. We should have psychologists and other experts come up with it. Maybe they should start with this state or this city,” he added, now looking at me. “The problem is more prevalent in the entertainment industry. It’s practically impossible, it seems, for these men and women to have decent families and still pursue their film and music careers.”

  “I don’t think they’re any more distracted or busy than you are,” Jordan said, and I thought that would be the beginning of another one of their mean arguments, but Donald just smiled and sipped his wine.

  “I agree,” he finally said, still looking more at me. “I’ve given all of that more thought and have decided to spend more time with you two. For starters, I’m going to do my best to avoid any weekend work.”

  “Really? That’s wonderful, Donald,” Jordan said. She looked to me. I just smiled softly. I don’t know what she read in my face, but she turned back to him and warned, “Now, don’t just say these things to make us happy and do the exact opposite. That would make things far worse.”