out of it. I was ashamed, frightened, and angry at how my
father continued to cling to this notion that the estate operated as it did in the past, when Grandfather was still alive, when the workers still received the treatment they deserved, when people
still treated each other like family.
“What’s wrong?” Celeste said through Jessica’s mouth. She was wearing a black dress and carrying a wicker basket filled with tin cans and a bag of chocolate chips.
“One of the maids let me in but she disappeared back into the laundry room.”
“Sandra,” I said. “She’s new.” Most of the helpers had left or had been let go at that point. Dust had settled all over the mansion and there were weeds in the back
garden.
Celeste herself looked like she had not been taking care of her own house. Jessica’s skin and hair looked dull, and there were dark circles under her eyes. “I have not slept for nine
days,” Celeste said.
Up to this day, I still don’t know whether she had been joking then or not.
“What’s with the basket?”
She smiled, and for a split-second I saw my sister’s eyes in Jessica’s face. “I thought I might bake a cake with the twins,” she said. Her smile dissolved and she looked
suddenly tired, suddenly old. She wouldn’t meet my gaze. “I miss them, you know.”
I left her to set up in the kitchen, empty now of the family cook and her assistants, and fetched the twins. “Cake! Cake! Cake!” Paulo and Samuel chanted through the corridors. We
found Celeste sitting by the kitchen table, her hands on her knees, looking pale and sick in the yellow glow. She was humming a song. The ingredients were arranged on the table, perfectly, as
though they were going to be photographed: flour, milk, eggs, butter, sugar.
“Help me?” she asked when the twins approached her, and of course they wanted to help. Celeste took a handful of flour and blew a white cloud at their faces. The twins laughed. They
pushed me out, playfully, tickling me as I walked backwards, and closed the door.
“We’ll call you when it’s done,
Kuya!”
they said.
I WENT TO my room, planning to read a chapter or two from a book, but I ended up falling asleep. It was already dark when I woke up.
CYANIDE KILLS BY preventing the cells of the body from using oxygen. Because of this, its effect is greater on organs which use the most oxygen: the heart, the brain, and the
lungs. Exposure to a large amount of cyanide, by any route, can lead to respiratory failure and cardiac arrest within minutes. Victims scream in excruciating pain before dying.
The twins’ bedroom was empty so I headed straight to the dining room, imagining them eating their slice of chocolate cake and drinking their milk, imagining their reaction when I say,
faux-heartbroken,
Why didn’t you wake me up?
I imagined this as I walked down the stairs, despite the silence, despite the overwhelming silence that should have told me that something
was wrong.
The dining room was empty. They must still be in the kitchen, I thought, they must have decided to eat at the kitchen table right after the cake popped out of the oven. And that was where I
found them, Paulo and Samuel, curled on the floor, their chairs overturned.
I have visited this scene so many times in my head—the chocolate cake sitting like a bomb on its glass plate, the half-eaten slices on the table, the flour dusting the counters like ash
fall—and I kept going back to those overturned chairs. They felt it immediately. The twins, my little brothers. They felt it all at once. They screamed in pain, they suffocated. They placed
their hands on their chests and their necks and tried to stand, but they fell to the floor, overturning their chairs. They felt it and they were gone before they could even understand what was
happening. That was how they died: scared, confused, and in immense pain.
I should never have left them with her. I still have these terrible dreams, where
father continued to cling to this notion that the estate operated as it did in the past, when Grandfather was still alive, when the workers still received the treatment they deserved, when people
still treated each other like family.
“What’s wrong?” Celeste said through Jessica’s mouth. She was wearing a black dress and carrying a wicker basket filled with tin cans and a bag of chocolate chips.
“One of the maids let me in but she disappeared back into the laundry room.”
“Sandra,” I said. “She’s new.” Most of the helpers had left or had been let go at that point. Dust had settled all over the mansion and there were weeds in the back
garden.
Celeste herself looked like she had not been taking care of her own house. Jessica’s skin and hair looked dull, and there were dark circles under her eyes. “I have not slept for nine
days,” Celeste said.
Up to this day, I still don’t know whether she had been joking then or not.
“What’s with the basket?”
She smiled, and for a split-second I saw my sister’s eyes in Jessica’s face. “I thought I might bake a cake with the twins,” she said. Her smile dissolved and she looked
suddenly tired, suddenly old. She wouldn’t meet my gaze. “I miss them, you know.”
I left her to set up in the kitchen, empty now of the family cook and her assistants, and fetched the twins. “Cake! Cake! Cake!” Paulo and Samuel chanted through the corridors. We
found Celeste sitting by the kitchen table, her hands on her knees, looking pale and sick in the yellow glow. She was humming a song. The ingredients were arranged on the table, perfectly, as
though they were going to be photographed: flour, milk, eggs, butter, sugar.
“Help me?” she asked when the twins approached her, and of course they wanted to help. Celeste took a handful of flour and blew a white cloud at their faces. The twins laughed. They
pushed me out, playfully, tickling me as I walked backwards, and closed the door.
“We’ll call you when it’s done,
Kuya!”
they said.
I WENT TO my room, planning to read a chapter or two from a book, but I ended up falling asleep. It was already dark when I woke up.
CYANIDE KILLS BY preventing the cells of the body from using oxygen. Because of this, its effect is greater on organs which use the most oxygen: the heart, the brain, and the
lungs. Exposure to a large amount of cyanide, by any route, can lead to respiratory failure and cardiac arrest within minutes. Victims scream in excruciating pain before dying.
The twins’ bedroom was empty so I headed straight to the dining room, imagining them eating their slice of chocolate cake and drinking their milk, imagining their reaction when I say,
faux-heartbroken,
Why didn’t you wake me up?
I imagined this as I walked down the stairs, despite the silence, despite the overwhelming silence that should have told me that something
was wrong.
The dining room was empty. They must still be in the kitchen, I thought, they must have decided to eat at the kitchen table right after the cake popped out of the oven. And that was where I
found them, Paulo and Samuel, curled on the floor, their chairs overturned.
I have visited this scene so many times in my head—the chocolate cake sitting like a bomb on its glass plate, the half-eaten slices on the table, the flour dusting the counters like ash
fall—and I kept going back to those overturned chairs. They felt it immediately. The twins, my little brothers. They felt it all at once. They screamed in pain, they suffocated. They placed
their hands on their chests and their necks and tried to stand, but they fell to the floor, overturning their chairs. They felt it and they were gone before they could even understand what was
happening. That was how they died: scared, confused, and in immense pain.
I should never have left them with her. I still have these terrible dreams, where
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