Family Storms Read Free

here?” he asked.
    â€œNo,” I said.
    â€œWhere is she?” the other deputy asked.
    â€œI don’t know,” I said, and coughed so hard and long that they both stepped back, fearing infection.
    â€œJesus,” the first deputy muttered.
    â€œDo you know when she’ll be back, at least?” the second deputy asked me.
    I shook my head.
    â€œWe’ll wait in the car.”
    They turned and went to their vehicle parked right outside our first-floor apartment. At the time, I didn’t know why they were there. I thought maybe they had found my father and needed to tell my mother.
    After I closed the door, I went to the front window and waited, watching the street. Finally, I could see her coming. She didn’t look drunk. She was walking fast, swinging her arms, with her purse wrapped around the front of her body like some shield. She had told me she did that to avoid having it grabbed. “Not that I ever have much in it,” she’d added.
    The deputies saw her heading our way and got out of their vehicle to approach her. She stood listening to them and then just nodded without comment and continued to the front door. When she entered, she saw me standing there and shook her head.
    â€œYou can thank your father someday for this,” she said. “Pack only what you really need. We can’t carry too much. I’m not spending money on a taxi.”
    â€œWhy are we leaving?”
    â€œWe can’t live here anymore. The landlord got the police on us.”
    â€œWhere are we going?”
    â€œTo a hotel nearby,” she said.
    It sounded good, but when we arrived, I saw how small it was. The lobby was barely bigger than our living room had been, and we had one room with two double beds and a bathroom.
    â€œWhat about a kitchen?” I asked.
    â€œWe’ll eat out when we want hot food. This will have to do for now,” she told me.
    Her best hope was that “for now” was forever, only I didn’t know that. I didn’t know how serious the dying going on in her head was. Because we slept in the same room, I woke up often to hear her nighttime chats with her invisible second self. Most of the time, it was done in whispers, but I often caught a word or two. None of it ever made much sense to me.
Maybe she’s just dreaming aloud,
I thought, and went back to sleep.
    She was doing it now as we trekked up the beach. The raindrops had become more like pellets. I kept my head down and lifted my eyes just enough to see her soaked old sneakers pasted with sand and mud plodding forward awkwardly.
    â€œWhere are we going?” I cried. I was tired and would have gladly just slept in the rain.
    She didn’t answer, but from the way she was moving her arms and hands, I knew she was talking to her imaginary self. I could see the top of a bottle of gin in her shabby coat pocket. There was no one else on the beach but us, so there was no one to appeal to for any help. I was feeling worse than ever. The only way I realized I was crying was by the shudder in my shoulders. My tears were mixed in with the rain.
    Mama suddenly turned and started toward the sidewalk. I hurried to catch up. She carried her suitcase limply. It looked as if it was dragging. Even though I was exhausted myself, I wanted to help her, to take it from her, but she wouldn’t let go of the handle.
    â€œI’ll carry it!” I cried.
    â€œNo, no. This is all I have. Let go,” she said.
    The way she looked at me sent a sharp pain through my heart.
She doesn’t recognize me,
I thought.
My own mother doesn’t know who I am. She thinks I’m some stranger trying to steal her things.
    â€œMama, it’s me, Sasha. Let go, and I’ll help you.”
    â€œNo!” she screamed, and tore it out of my grip.
    We stared at each other for a moment in the rain. Maybe she realized her momentary amnesia and it frightened her as much as it had frightened me.