She glared at me and I looked back, unblinking. I imagined her business rivals crumbling under that gaze. She was nothing but a bully.

“I need a cigarette,” I said.

I stood and carried my wine towards the door. I closed it behind me and stood under the enormous lantern to smoke. In a minute Sally came out, carrying the bottle.

“Charlotte, forgive me,” she said. “That wasn’t fair. I can’t believe she’s gone.”

She looked broken now, confused. I wished I hadn’t raised my voice.

“I can’t believe it either,” I said.

“Let’s go around the side,” she said. “There’s the outdoor living room. It’s new, I don’t think you’ve seen it.”

We walked through an iron gate to a courtyard she’d had built, a copper fire pit surrounded by cushioned wicker couches. I lit another cigarette.

“Would you mind?” she said, gesturing towards the pack.

“You smoke?” I said.

“Not normally.”

She lit the cigarette and took a few inexpert puffs. She held it carefully. Her feet were still in stockings and I kept thinking the tiles would snag them and make a run. Holding a cigarette, her hands reminded me of Danielle’s. I thought, Danielle is gone and Sally is the ghost.

“I needed you here because I have a favor to ask,” she said. She sounded so vulnerable, struggling for composure. I felt guilty now.

“What can I do?”

“Are you aware that this matter is getting a lot of media attention?”

“I saw the paper today,” I said, thinking, This matter? Is that what we were calling it?

“There are elements that Danielle would have preferred to be kept private. It’s important that we respect her memory. You more than anyone can understand that.”

“Elements? What do you mean?”

“Oh, come on, Charlotte. What she did for a living. Lord knows what else she was involved in. Imagine that splashing all over CNN.”

“Oh,” I said.

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t talk to any reporters.”

“I see.”

“I’m glad you understand.”

“Did the cops tell you?” I said.

“Tell me what?” she said.

“That Danielle made porn.”

“I’d rather not talk about that,” she said. “I don’t think Danielle would want us to.”

“She never was good enough for you,” I said, angry. “You never cared how she felt or what she wanted, only how things looked.”

Sally paled. Amazed, I watched the color sink from her face. I’d scared her. How often did anyone scare her? It made me feel reckless and powerful.

“Charlotte, please. You have to understand. She’s dead. My daughter. I’m asking you this favor.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I know she’s dead. You don’t have to keep saying it.”

“Think of all I’ve done for you,” she said. “I took care of you, all those years.”

“And now you’re cashing in,” I said.

“Charlotte, I don’t mean it like that. Please. I’m sorry, I’m not myself.”

She was bad at begging, bad at needing help from other people. I could tell she hadn’t had to do it much in her life. She struggled to keep the frustration out of her words. Her phone rang from inside the house, and she tossed her cigarette in the fire pit.