“Is there anything else you need?” Elise, Julianna’s new maid, asked.

“No, that’ll be fine,” Julianna replied.

Elise smiled and nodded. “By the way,” she added, “I saw that the bakery down the block has tiramisu for sale…”

“Pick some up when you have a chance, then,” Julianna responded. “Be sure to get some for yourself too.”

“Yes, I will, and thank you,” Elise replied. She exited the room, beaming.

“Marianne’s replacement, I take it?” Mr. Gaines asked.

“Yeah. Her name’s Elise. She came with very good recommendations, and her last employers said she’s a delight to work with,” Julianna replied, sipping at her tea.

“Well, I wish you the best of luck, then. My wife and I are going on holiday in a few days to spend time with our son and grandchildren.”

“Yeah, I remember that. You told me the other day.” Julianna smiled and opened a drawer, removing a small envelope. She handed it to Mr. Gaines and added, “Buy some nice gifts for your family.”

“Ms. Delorice, I can’t accept this!”

“You can, and you will. Consider it a ‘tip,’ if you will, for all you’ve helped me with in the last few weeks.”

Mr. Gaines grinned and said slowly, “You are too kind. I’ll have the little ones write thank-you letters, and I’ll get you some souvenirs.”

“Just enjoy yourself, and that’ll make me happy,” Julianna responded. “Besides, I’m planning to also make a trip soon. I’m going back to America for a while, to spend time with my daughters.”


“That’s nice,” Dr. Long remarked, peering over Cassandra’s shoulder. “Looks like you’ve been working with Dr. Ross a lot.”

Cassandra turned and grinned at the older woman. “It’s nice to see you out of the art room,” she remarked. “Yeah, Dr. Ross has been a good teacher. He said I should paint out here, for inspiration. He even got special permission for me to bring the art stuff out here!”

“Well, it’s because you’ve proven yourself trustworthy. We know you’ll take good care of everything,” Dr. Long explained. She grinned. “You’ll be a successful artist, my dear.” She patted Cassandra’s shoulder. “Make me proud.”

Dr. Long walked away, humming cheerily. Cassandra smiled to herself, her eyes bright.

It would be nice if I became an artist, Cassandra thought. I don’t know if I’ll ever be as good an artist as Dr. Long thinks I will, but it’s nice to dream.

A bee buzzed and flew into her face. Cassandra, her mind focused on her daydream, absentmindedly swatted at the insect.


The telephone rang, interrupting the conversation at the Verona household. Catherine rose and walked to the phone.

“That’s probably Grant calling,” she remarked. She answered the phone. “Verona residence.” She froze and turned to look at S and Charise. “What? No, I… I don’t know. I mean, she was never tested for… Yes. Hold on, please.” She covered the receiver of the phone. “Charise,” she said shakily, “was your mother or Mr. Harris allergic to any insect stings?”

Charise thought for a moment, then replied slowly, “I don’t know about Mr. Harris, but I think Mom is allergic to bee stings. Why?”

“Oh God!” Catherine cried out. She said into the phone, “Yes. Yes, her mother was…” Silence for several seconds. “I… she what?” Catherine gasped, tears running slowly down her face. “No, that’s fine. Yes. Yes, I will. Thank you.” She hung up the telephone.

“Ma, what’s wrong?” S asked, concerned.

“Cassandra,” Catherine said slowly. “She was stung by a bee. She… her throat closed up. Allergic reaction, apparently.”

“Which hospital is she at?” Charise asked. “She’s going to want to see you and S.” Catherine shook her head, tears streaming down her face. “Which hospital?” Charise repeated.

“Honey,” Catherine said slowly, “they didn’t find her soon enough. She… she died.”

“No, you’re lying,” S gasped. “It’s rare for people to be that allergic to an insect sting.”

“Uncommon, but not unheard of,” Charise corrected him. She closed her eyes and slumped against S. “I never thought I’d ever say something like this to you, but our sister is… dead.”


The funeral was a modest affair, attended only by Charise’s family and S’s family. Throughout the whole mass, Catherine prayed and cried, most of the attendants merely cried, and Charise neither prayed nor cried. Her mind, however, was active.

Everyone in my family is dying, Charise thought, embracing S comfortingly. All of my relatives. Cassandra’s dead. Mom’s dying. Gramma Cici is sickly. Who’s next? Me? Dad? She leaned against S for support. What do I do now?


“I don’t like you spending so much time with that Verona guy,” Dunstan said sharply. “I don’t like how he looks at you.”

Charise bowed her head. “W-we’re just friends,” she stammered. “Besides, we’re family, sort of. My half-sister was his adopted sister.”

“I don’t care if he’s Jesus Christ himself,” Dunstan snapped. “I don’t want him anywhere near you.”

“You can’t do anything to force me to stop being friends with him,” Charise replied.

“Yes, I can,” Dunstan said. “I want you to move in with me. I’ll see to it that you only interact with people you should.”

“Who are you to decide my choices in life?” Charise asked, glaring.

“Your boyfriend, that’s who!” Dunstan yelled, slapping her face.

They stared silently at each other, stunned at what had just happened.

“Charise… I…” Dunstan began. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. You… you just made me mad… and you really should learn your place!”

“It sure as hell isn’t with you,” Charise snapped. “I’m leaving you.”

Dunstan, enraged, grabbed Charise and slammed her against the wall. “You’re not leaving me!” he growled, hands around her throat. “You’re my woman, Charise. If I ever catch you talking to that Verona guy again, he’s dead!”


“Hey, Charise,” S said, leaping up as Charise entered. He gasped. “What happened to you?”

Charise stared blankly at him. Her clothes were ripped and stretched out of shape in several places, her hair was hanging untidily around her face, and her makeup was smudged.

“Did someone mug you?” S asked. “Who did this to you?”

Charise shook her head, not meeting S’s gaze.

“Who the hell did this to you?” he cried out, reaching out to hug Charise.

Charise flinched and backed away, then began walking up the stairs. S followed, concerned. “I should call the cops,” he said. “Whoever did this is still out there. Did you get a good look at him?”

Charise finally looked at S, her eyes appearing too big and sorrowful for her face. “Go away,” she said hoarsely. “Leave me alone.”

“No, damn it,” S said firmly. “Someone hurt you, and I want to know who. We’re friends. It’s our job to look out for each other.”

“We’re not friends,” Charise replied, tears filling her eyes. “I hate you. I’ve always hated you. Your family is trash. What makes you think someone with my money and status could ever be friends with someone like you?” She backed into her room and shut the door behind her.

“Charise!” S cried out. “That’s not you talking!” He fought with the doorknob, trying to enter the room. “What happened? Why are you saying these things?”

Charise bowed her head and sobbed softly. I’m sorry, she thought, but if you’re going to stay alive, you have to learn to hate me.