Beautiful young women in various stages of dress (and undress, if truth be told), filled the room. They giggled, talked, sipped drinks, watched television, smoked cigarettes, and generally socialized. But there was one person the room who was not having a good time. Mark sat on the sofa, his face set into a frown as he turned over his thoughts in his mind.

That woman, he thought. She still hasn’t let me see my daughter. It’s my right. I’m her father! I should be able to see my kid. But Tacita… she just won’t let me. It’s just not right. Isn’t there some law in my favor?

“What’s up?” a pleasant female voice greeted him. A slim woman with short curly black hair flopped onto the couch next to him and grinned broadly. “Mark, you’re looking pretty depressed. Heard bad news from a doctor or got a paternity suit or something?”

“Not funny, Taste of Honey,” Mark grumbled.

“Didn’t know you were a poet,” Taste of Honey teased. She leaned in close and nudged him with her elbow. “Come on, what’s wrong? Did Wild Honey Pie steal your stash again?”

“Nah, not lately.”

Taste of Honey eyed him, then glanced around and whispered, “It’s about your kid, isn’t it?”

“How did you know about that?” Mark asked, surprised that she knew.


Taste of Honey smiled mysteriously and nudged him with what looked like a rolled up newspaper or magazine. “My cousin sent me this rag from her organization,” she said, unrolling it and revealed a cheaply mimeographed booklet. “It seems that their most recent addition to their blacklist is a former classmate of ours.” She flipped through the pages and pointed to a picture that, while black and white and slightly smudgy, was still clear enough to see the subjects of the photograph. “It seems that a certain person from the fashion industry and her somewhat controversial partner have been caring for the daughter of a certain lead singer from a certain band.” She nudged Mark again and said, “In other words, you and Tacita’s kid. These people have been raising your kid.”

Mark squinted at the image in the booklet. Yes, he recognized one of the women. Ophelia, that’s her name, he thought. She sometimes works with Tacita’s band. So, she’s been raising my kid. He peered at the caption. Lisa. My daughter. They live in Oakdale. So close… why didn’t I think of this before?

“So, feeling better?” Taste of Honey asked.

Mark turned to her and smiled. “Yeah,” he replied.


Charise smiled warmly at the teenager sitting across from her. “So, how have you been, Mona?” she asked.

“Good, I guess,” Mona replied. “Then again, how well would you expect me to be, given the circumstances? My parents were fighting for years, probably stayed together for my sake. My mom was apparently seeing my dad’s old friend on the side. My dad killed them and then killed himself. Yeah, I’d say that all things considered, I’m doing pretty fabulous.”

“That’s sarcasm, Mona,” Charise said disapprovingly. “I’m really concerned about you.”

“It’s your job to be, Mrs. Verona,” Mona shot back. “You’re paid to care about us.”

“Mona, trust me, I really am concerned about you. You’ve experienced a great deal of trauma in your life. I’m trying to make sure you’re okay. Just saying, honey, you’re at risk for depression and all sorts of other problems that could affect your performance in school, your health, and so forth. I’m here to help you. Believe me, when I was your age, I could have used some help with some of the stuff I went through.”

“I know, Mrs. Verona. Believe me, if anything’s wrong, I’m going to come to you for help. I did when those girls were bothering me that time, remember?”

“Yes, I do remember. I’m just looking out for your well-being,” Charise replied. She peered at the girl. “You know, you look like someone I knew years ago. Did your mom go here?”

Mona shrugged. “Mom didn’t talk much about when she was younger,” she replied.

Charise’s eyes widened a little, realizing who Mona looked like. “Was your mom named Angela?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Mona replied slowly. “Her maiden name was Paxton.”


“You don’t say,” Charise murmured. “I didn’t know her too well, but I knew your dad. Were you close to him?”

“Not really,” Mona replied. “Then again, I didn’t really feel close to either of my parents. It felt like Mom just wanted to dress in nice clothes and have nice things, and Dad… well, Dad spent as much time as he could out of the house. I get along a lot better with my grandparents, though. Grandma Edna is always happy to help me with homework or projects, and Grandma Jill is so fun to go shopping with.”

“Well, it’s good that you’re getting along with your grandparents and enjoying their company,” Charise said, nodding.

“Well, I need to be getting to class. I’ll stop in later in the week,” Mona announced, rising. “I’ll see you later.”

“Okay, Mona, I’ll see you later,” Charise replied. She watched the girl exit the office, then turned on her computer and loaded up the student files. “Mona Diggory. Figures,” she muttered. “I should have guessed sooner. She looks almost exactly like Angela.” She smiled, then began to chuckle to herself. The chuckle gradually turned into an almost hysterical laugh. “Dead,” she gasped out, laughing. “Dunstan… he’s dead. He’s not going to ever come after me again. Ever again. He’s dead. I’m free. Really free. Free.”