Chapter Eight
I don’t see Peach in the morning, not right off.
I charge my way to the breakfast table thinking it will be Tasia and me alone, but there are two genteel lesbians sitting with her, the three chatting conventionally about the flowering plants outside the window.
“Where’s Peach?” I ask.
“Samantha Clarisse is indisposed this morning, my dear.”
I hate the stickiness in her voice. Those eyes of hers that moved me on our arrival are trying their best to woo and calm me now. But I’m beside myself with a thousand worries for Peach, and for me.
“I need to see her now,” I say, demanding.
“She’s sleeping; I wouldn’t want to disturb her.” Tasia returns to her other guests while I turn away.
“No breakfast?” she says calling to me. Her niceness makes me shrivel.
“No,” I say polit
