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Jackie sat, a look of amazement flowing over her face. “I have never seen her house, but when I was working for the plastic surgeon, there was always a lot of gossiping about some of the patients. Some were famous movie stars, but I remember hearing that the Marches’ house was bigger than any Hollywood movie star’s or producer’s and quite beautiful. In fact,” she said, getting more excited, “I remember someone said it cost about one hundred million dollars. It’s up in Pacific Palisades. Do you know where that is?”
“I think so.”
“Wow. Well, what are you going to do? Did you say yes?”
“I didn’t say anything,” I said. “She wants me to think about it.”
“Don’t you give it a second thought,” Jackie advised angrily. “Don’t you be bashful now. You take everything that woman is willing to give you. No matter what. You deserve more than they’re willing to give you, in fact. Take it gladly.”
I didn’t say that I would, but somehow, because Jackie had heard that I might live in the Marches’ house and even be adopted by them, she looked at me differently. I could feel the gap between us suddenly widen, and I didn’t like it.
Then, as if Jordan March had been listening in on our conversation, she sent more gifts. This time, it was clothes and shoes. Jackie unwrapped everything for me.
“This is all very expensive stuff. She wants to be sure you’re dressed properly when you leave here and enter her world,” she commented. Her voice didn’t have the same tone of joy and wonder. I sensed the bitterness and wondered if I should be feeling it as well. “I bet this all costs more than I make in a week,” Jackie added. “If this is any indication of what it’s going to be like, you’ll be fine.”
“None of that replaces my mother,” I said.
Instead of being upset, she smiled. “That’s right. You keep that in mind. Take whatever you can get, but as I said, never let her and her husband forget that they can never give you enough. Sasha, don’t ever feel like some charity case. Promise me that.”
“I won’t,” I said, but I wasn’t sure that I could keep such a promise. I wasn’t even sure that I was going to say yes. I tried to imagine what Mama would have said before the struggle. Back then, she had so much self-pride. She wouldn’t accept a nickel if she thought someone was giving it to her because he or she felt sorry for her. That’s why she had worked so hard on her calligraphy.
“One of the worst things in the world,” Mama had told me, “is being obligated to someone, especially someone who won’t let you forget why. So the best thing you can do for yourself is always earn what you get or deserve it, Sasha. That’s what it really means to be free.”
Mrs. March, however, had made it sound as if I was doing her more of a favor than she was doing for me. She was the one who was obligated. I wondered if her husband felt the same way. Would I be treated like some kind of princess? Should I ever be satisfied and happy when I was with them?
I knew Jackie gossiped a little with the other nurses about me and Mrs. March, because when they stopped by, they, too, looked at me differently. I imagined I was no longer just someone’s charity case. Was this how it would always be from now on? People would no longer look at me with disgust, disapproval, or disinterest? Should I be feeling good about it? Mama was dead and buried. Everything, all of the gifts, the clothes, the promise of a new life, was designed to make me forget what had happened. I won’t, I vowed. I never will.
With the cast on my leg, I always had a hard time falling and staying asleep, but this particular night was the worst. I dreamed that Mama was in the room with me, sitting beside my bed and looking at me. She wasn’t my mother before the struggle, either. She was just the way she was on the day of the accident.
She was staring at me and twisting her hands around each other. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry I did this to you.”
“You didn’t do it, Mama.”
“I did. I did. I can’t sleep in my grave, Sasha. You’re alone in the street.”
“No, I’m not. I won’t be, Mama.”
“You are. I did this. You are,” she insisted, and then she began to shrink in the chair. I reached out to stop it, but I couldn’t get to her. She kept dwindling.
“Mama!” I screamed, and woke up.
I apparently woke up my night nurse, too. She came quickly to the bed. “What’s wrong? Are you in pain? What?”
I looked up at her. Her face seemed as white as her uniform in the dim light, and she didn’t look sympathetic. She looked upset.
“No,” I said. “Nothing.” I lay back, closing my eyes.
“You’d think the ceiling had caved in,” I heard her say.
“It has,” I muttered. “For me.”
The next morning, I saw how nervous Jackie was. She didn’t say any more about Mrs. March’s offer to take me into her home, but it was clearly on her mind. The more she flitted about, trying to make me more comfortable, keeping the sun out of my eyes and the room cool enough, making sure I ate well, the more nervous I became, too.
Finally, just before lunch, Jordan March arrived. She was dressed in a bright blue pantsuit and had her hair pulled back so that her opal teardrop earrings in a gold setting were quite prominent. As usual, it looked as if a professional had done her makeup and she was ready to step onto the cover of some fashion magazine.
“How’s our patient doing today?” she asked Jackie.
“Fine, Mrs. March.”
