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"Ruby's gone. They told me to call you. No one else wanted to do it. I'm sorry if I woke you up. You can go back to sleep," she added.

"Jeanne, when? How?"

"What do you mean, when, how? It wasn't exactly unexpected, was it? But you have a way of avoiding unpleasant things, ignoring them, don't you, Gisselle? Well, the Grim Reaper doesn't tolerate being ignored, even by rich, high-society Creoles from New Orleans."

"How's Paul?" I asked quickly, ignoring her bitter sarcasm.

"He won't leave her side. He's following the body every step of the way, even to the undertaker's parlor. He won't listen to my parents. He's uttered only one sensible sentence, and to me because he knew I was calling you."

"What was that?"

"He told me to tell you not to bring the baby to the funeral. He doesn't want her seeing any of it. That is, if you attend the funeral."

"Of course we'll be at the funeral," I said. "She was my sister."

"Yes, she was your sister," Jeanne said dryly. "I'm sorry. I can't talk anymore. You can call later and ask James for the details about the funeral,"

After I cradled the phone, I sat back on the bed. I felt as if all my blood had drained down to my feet. I chocked back a sob.

Beau knew but asked anyway. "What

happened?"

"She died this morning."

He shook his head and released a deep sigh. I felt his hand on my shoulder. We both sat silently for a moment, digesting the reality of what had happened.

"At least it's over," he said. "Finally."

I turned to him. "Oh, Beau, it's so strange."

"What?"

"Their thinking it's me who died. I couldn't bear the sadness and the anger in Jeanne's voice."

"Yes, but this seals it forever. You and I, just as I told you, as I promised. We've defeated Fate."

I shook my head. These were words that should be making me happy, but all they did was fill my heart with heavy dread. I had felt Fate's surprising and unexpected stings before. I didn't have Beau's confidence and probably never would have.

Despite all the terrible things Gisselle had done to me in the past, and despite her jealousy and her way of looking down at me because I had been brought up in the bayou, a Cajun, I couldn't help but recall the softer moments when I would look at her and see her desire to be loved and to be a real sister. I know Beau would tell me I had a heart so soft it must b

e made of marshmallow, but I couldn't help shedding tears for the Gisselle I saw longing to be wanted.

Later in the afternoon, I called and spoke to James. He was very polite, but cold, too. I couldn't think of anything stranger than attending my own memorial service and burial. When we arrived at Cypress Woods on the day of the funeral, we found the pallor of death and gloom had settled over the grand house and grounds. The leaden sky had grown swollen and turgid, the thick overcast stretching from one horizon to another. The darkness stole the blush from the petals of flowers and put shadows

everywhere I looked. Grounds staff, the bereaving, everyone looked weighted down by the tragedy. People whispered, glided, touched and hugged each other as if to join in a circle to keep the melancholy at bay. I thought the servants looked the saddest, their eyes bloodshot, their shoulders slumped.

It was hard, if not impossible, for me to accept expressions of condolence and sympathy. I felt horrible about deceiving people in grief and turned and walked away as quickly as I could. But once again, people mistook my feelings for Gisselle's indifference and selfishness.

Paul's parents, his sisters, Toby and Jeanne, and Jeanne's husband stationed themselves in the living room, where they greeted people. I felt Gladys Tate's eyes fix on me with a cold glare the moment I entered, and then I thought I saw a sneer in her knife-sliced mouth when I greeted her. She made me feel so uncomfortable, I left the room as quickly as I could.

Paul kept himself secluded most of the time. We understood he was drinking heavily. The only people he would see were his immediate family, mainly his mother. He even shut his door to Beau and me. Toby, who went up to inform him that I was there, returned to tell me he said it was too painful for him to gaze at me since I resembled Ruby so much. Beau and I looked at each other with surprise.

"He's really overdoing it now," Beau admitted in a whisper.

I was very worried and went up to his suite anyway. I knocked on the door and waited, but he didn't respond. I tried the handle, but the door was locked.

"Paul, it's me. Open the door. We have to talk. Please," I begged. Beau stood back to be sure no one overheard my pleas.