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and when they hear about this . . ."
"But we didn't do anything," he insisted. "You're lucky I didn't wait a few more
moments. She might have had you with your clothes
off, pretending to be drawing you again," she said.
Beau flushed so crimson I thought he would have a
nosebleed.
"Just go, Beau. Please," I begged him. He
looked at me and then started for the door. Daphne
stepped aside to let him pass. He turned to look back
once more and then shook his head and hurried away
and down the stairs. Then Daphne turned back to me. "And you almost broke my heart down there
before, pleading to have me let you attend the wake . .
. like you really cared," she added, and closed the
door between us, the click sounding like a gunshot
and making my heart stop. Then it started to pound
and was still pounding when Gisselle opened the door
a few moments later.
"Sorry," she said. "I just turned my back for a
moment to get something, and the next thing I knew,
she was charging up the stairs and past me." I stared at her. It was on the tip of my tongue to
ask if the truth wasn't that she really had made herself
quite visible so Daphne would know she and Beau
had come up, but it didn't matter. The damage was
done, and if Gisselle was responsible or not, the result
was the same. The distance between Beau and me had
been stretched a little farther by my stepmother, who
seemed to exist for one thing: to make my life
miserable.
Daddy's funeral was as big as any funeral I had
ever seen, and the day seemed divinely designed for
