3
Presley sat next to her mother’s bed, chain-smoking while watching her sleep. Part of her felt guilty about spewing carcinogens into the air Anita was breathing. She knew Chey would have sent her to the porch if she were home. But it was cold outside, and Presley didn’t see how a little secondhand smoke could make any difference now.
The small TV on the dresser droned on in the background. They were supposed to be watching The Bold and the Beautiful. It was their favorite soap; they’d followed it for years. But her mother was so drugged she could hardly keep her eyes open. She drifted in and out of consciousness, scarcely aware that Presley was in the room.
Once again, the morphine on the nightstand drew Presley’s attention. She’d already taken a swallow of it, but she was tempted to drink more—or head over to the blue shack down the hill where she could buy crystal meth. She had to be careful not to take too much of her mother’s supply. The state would provide only a limited amount. The hospice nurse, who came in every Monday, kept a close eye on it, and so did Cheyenne.
Anita moaned, shifting as if she couldn’t get comfortable, and opened her eyes. Then she saw Presley and made an attempt to rally. “What’s happening…on our show?”
She recognized the voices of the actors, knew what she was supposed to be doing even though she’d been asleep for twenty minutes or more.
“Nothing new,” Presley replied to cover for the fact that she hadn’t really been watching, either.
“Have they shown Thomas?”
He was Anita’s favorite. She’d loved that bit about the ecstasy-induced weekend with Brooke and whether or not he’d slept with his stepmother. “Not today.” That she’d noticed, anyway.
“What’s happening with Ridge?”
“He was kissing his ex-wife before the last commercial.” Presley had seen that much, but even if she hadn’t, Ridge cheating with his ex was a safe bet. The writers had kept that love triangle going for several seasons.
“If he doesn’t choose between Brooke and Taylor soon, I’ll miss it.” Her eyes drifted shut. Presley assumed she’d fallen back asleep, but she spoke a few seconds later. “You’d better quit smoking, or you’ll wind up like me.”
Presley wanted to quit. She remembered how yellow her mother’s teeth had been before she lost them to poor hygiene. But now was not the time to fight that battle. She needed all the help she could get just to survive each day. “I will. Later.”
“Right.” Her mother coughed as she tried to laugh.
“Mom?”
Anita took a deep breath. It was getting harder and harder for her to speak. Sometimes she didn’t have the energy for it at all. “What?”
Presley used the remote to turn down the television. “Chey’s not home.”
“I didn’t ask if she was.”
“I wanted you to know she wasn’t.”
Her mother’s eyes showed a heightened alertness. She’d noticed the change in Presley’s tone. Sometimes they told each other more than they ever admitted to Chey. “Why?”
“Because I’m going to ask you again about Eugene Crouch.”
“Don’t.” Her mother smoothed her thin gray hair. “It’s better if you…leave that alone.”
“Why? He had a picture.”
A grimace added more wrinkles to Anita’s heavily lined face. “So?”
“So?” Presley repeated. “Aren’t you curious where he got it? Who was in it?”
She coughed again. “No.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to…hear anything about it.”
“Because you already know.”
With a grimace, Anita motioned to the TV. “Turn that back up.”
Presley didn’t comply. She bent over Anita to convince her that she wanted the truth. “What happened, Mom? Who was the blonde woman in the picture? Is she the one Chey keeps asking about?”
Her mother waved her off. “Stop. Just trust me.”
“That’s all you have to say?”
Her face flushed with the first color Presley had seen in several days. Maybe she realized she hadn’t earned much trust, even from the daughter who loved her. “I’m trying to…do you a favor,” she said, finally meeting Presley’s gaze. “Don’t ruin it. It’s…the last gift I have to give you.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“It does! Why make you…carry the secret after I’m gone? It will…only tear you up inside.” She lowered her voice. “Or cost you…the one person you’ve always been able to count on.”
The sickening feeling that’d crept over Presley when she’d seen that photo of Cheyenne as a little girl, all dolled up, returned. “She doesn’t really belong to us, does she,” she said, clutching her hands in the bedding.
Anita’s breath rattled as she dragged it in and out of her lungs. “You knew that. You might…deny it, but in your heart…you knew all along.”
“No.” Presley shook her head. “We don’t look alike because we come from different fathers. That’s what you said!”
“That’s what you wanted to believe!”
She was right. As much as Presley would rather have denied it, she’d had her doubts. She’d just been unwilling to face them. She’d heard Cheyenne ask about the blonde woman, had listened to her sister describe with longing the many toys she’d once had, the pretty clothes and the full belly, and she’d purposely pretended she remembered no time when they weren’t a family. She’d even told Chey, on a number of occasions, that those images had to be from a dream.
“Oh, God,” she muttered, and sank down into her chair.
It required considerable effort, but Anita managed to sit up on her own. “Presley, you wanted a sister so bad. I couldn’t have another child, but you needed someone, someone besides me. I couldn’t be there all the time. I had to make sure we had food to eat and somewhere to sleep. I— It was just the two of us, and every day you begged me for a playmate.”
Anita’s actions hadn’t been entirely altruistic. She’d used her children as much as anything else. But Presley didn’t make an issue of it. She was too preoccupied, too frightened by what she was learning. Covering her mouth, she spoke through her fingers. “So what did you do?”