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DAHLIA SAT BY Camille’s bed in the hospital room, holding her grandmother’s parchment thin-skinned hand in hers while Camille dozed. When had her skin become so delicate?
Everything about Camille had once been strong. Her determination in the beauty industry was legendary. Once, after Marshall Field in Chicago had declined her product line without even seeing it or speaking to her, Camille had gone to his office every day for two weeks waiting for the chance to personally demonstrate the line. He had finally relented, and a year later, Marshall Field’s emporium was one of her most important accounts. From then on, other retailers clamored for it.
Dahlia ran her thumb over the faint blue veins on Camille’s hand. Just last month, her grandmother had reigned imperiously at a fundraising
