Not yet knowing what had happened to Dorothy, I went to bed the night of August 14, 1980, wearing my sister’s maroon robe. It smelled like her Yves Saint Laurent perfume, and it made me feel better.
I was whisked away by a member of Peter’s staff the next day. I haphazardly packed before being taken to the airport, where a chaperone flew with me to Vancouver. I had never flown first class before. The flight crew attempted to give us complimentary newspapers, which were promptly blocked from my view. I was so confused.
