When Snow Falls (29 page)

The doctor continued to study her chart, then set the clipboard aside. “It appears you’ve sustained some injuries.” She came over to examine Presley’s black eye. “Want to tell me what happened?”

Presley averted her gaze. “Car accident.”

When there was no response, she looked back at the doctor. Eyes slightly magnified by her glasses, she studied Presley without responding. Then she said, “Are you going to stick with that story?”

Presley bit her lip. “It’s as good as any other.”

The doctor’s fingers curled around her upper arm as a way to gain her undivided attention. “If you need help, I know of a shelter nearby,” she said softly. “After we finish here, we could sneak you out. He’ll never know where you went.”

Presley opened her mouth to deny that it was Dick who’d hurt her. But what was the point in lying? “I—I’m fine.” It wasn’t as if he’d ever
forced
her to stay. And there was that syringe in his pocket. How could she get by without it?

“You can have a few minutes to decide. Consider doing yourself a favor, giving yourself a chance at a better life.”

When tears suddenly welled up in her eyes, she tried to blink them back, but they streamed down her cheeks, anyway.

The doctor bent her head to see into Presley’s face. “Is there any family we can call?”

Presley thought of her sister. Cheyenne had always been there for her. But how could she turn to Cheyenne after what she’d done?

“No,” she murmured.

“Okay.” The doctor gave her a gentle pat. “Just relax. This won’t hurt a bit.” She encouraged Presley to lie back and place her feet in the stirrups, but a jolt of sheer panic made that impossible. Her heart had jumped into her throat, racing so fast she was afraid she’d pass out.

The doctor paused. “It’s a relatively simple procedure.”

But her baby—Aaron’s baby—would be gone when it was over. That meant she could go back to life as she knew it. But was that really worth the trade-off?

“Are you having second thoughts?” the doctor asked.

Presley pictured Aaron. He didn’t care about her, and he definitely wasn’t ready for a child. As far as he was concerned, they’d just been having fun, getting high, having sex, laughing. He’d said so, many times, whenever she wanted to get serious.

Raising a child was a lifelong commitment. But she was thirty-three years old. When was she going to grow up?

“Ms. Christensen, I’m getting the impression you don’t really want to go through with this,” the doctor said.

“If I don’t…if I decide to keep the baby…do you think it’ll be okay?”

“You’re not even showing, so you can’t be very far along. That’s good. Are you using?”

She nodded and turned her arms.

The doctor examined the track marks. “You’d have to stop.
Now.
No alcohol, either.”

“And then you think my baby would be healthy?”

“There are no guarantees, but I’d say there’s a good chance. Certain tests can give us an indication, so you’ll be able to make a more informed decision later on.”

A good chance…

“Take some time to think about it. You can always come back another day.”

But what would she do even if the baby was perfect? She wasn’t capable of raising a child. Cheyenne might be willing to stand by her, but she couldn’t go back to Whiskey Creek. Not for any length of time. She’d be showing in a few months.

“I—I need some help,” she whispered.

“Rehab?” the doctor asked since she’d already turned down the shelter.

She needed her sister. To tell Cheyenne the truth about what Anita did. To walk out of here and never look back. To put her heart and soul into loving those around her, loving her baby, instead of destroying herself.

Most of all, she needed to fight her craving for what was in that damn syringe.

“Can I use your phone?” she asked.

31

C
heyenne wasn’t sure what to expect when they arrived at the address Presley had given her. It turned out to be an abortion clinic in Phoenix. Since it was well past ten, the clinic should be closed, but there was a light burning inside.

She dialed the number Presley had called her from hours earlier, when they were leaving Los Angeles.

“Hello?” The woman who answered had a thick Mexican accent.

“This is Cheyenne Christensen. I’m here to pick up my sister.”

“Wonderful. She has been waiting for you. I will unlock the door.”

Taking a steadying breath, she shot Dylan a look that begged his forbearance—she felt because she should go in alone—and got out of the car.

The woman who met her at the door seemed to be in her forties, had dark skin, long black hair and bright, shiny eyes. She introduced herself as Maria Sanchez, the receptionist at the clinic, and thanked Cheyenne for coming.

“I’m so grateful to you for staying with her,” Cheyenne said.

A smile curved the other woman’s lips. “I could not release her into that man’s hands. He is a devil.”

“What man?”

“The man who brought her in. When you see her face… But she is fine. Do not worry. Her injuries will heal. There is nothing serious.”

Injuries? Presley hadn’t mentioned that she was hurt. She’d talked about the blonde woman in Cheyenne’s memories and what she knew about Anita as if she couldn’t wait to get it off her chest. “That’s why you stayed? To keep her safe?” she asked Maria.

“What else have we got in life if we do not help one another?” she replied with a shrug.

Cheyenne wiped sweaty palms on her jeans. “That’s true. Still, it was very nice of you.”

“This way.”

She followed Maria through the empty lobby to one of the examination rooms in back, where she saw Presley curled up on her side, sleeping.

“Your sister is here,” Maria said, shaking her gently.

Presley awoke with a start, then pushed herself into a sitting position, but that was as far as she got before Cheyenne pulled her into an embrace.

“Thank God,” she breathed as Maria left to give them some privacy. “I thought I’d lost you.”

“I’m sorry, Chey,” she said. “I should’ve told you from the beginning. I should’ve told you about Crouch.”

What Presley had confessed on the phone earlier hadn’t been the shock Presley assumed it would be. “It’s okay,” she said. “I can see why you were scared.”

“I didn’t want to lose you.”

“I know.”

“I’ll make it up to you. I promise. I’m going to get clean. I’m going to change my life.”

“I’m so glad to hear it.” She drew back to look at her sister’s injuries. “Who did this to you?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Cheyenne decided to let it go. Presley was safe now. That was all that mattered. “Fine. I don’t want you to worry about anything. Even what happened the night Mom died.”

Confusion created lines in Presley’s forehead. “What are you talking about?”

Cheyenne swallowed hard. She didn’t want to address this so soon, but they had to get past it. “I saw the pillow, Presley. I saw the blood. And I understand why you might have—”

“Wait.” She grabbed Cheyenne’s hand. “You think I killed Mom?”

“You didn’t?”

“No! She…she begged me to. She was in so much pain. She said if I loved her I’d put her out of her misery. And I tried. But…when I couldn’t leave the pillow on her face for more than two seconds, she got up, swearing and angry, and knocked over the lamp. Then she—” tears caught in Presley’s lashes “—fell back. And that was it. She was gone.”

Relief surged through Cheyenne. Could this be true? It had to be. Why would Presley lie about the night Anita had died after telling her the truth about the private investigator? She had as much reason or more to continue lying about Crouch. “Then why did you run away?”

“Sandra Morton at the Gas-N-Go told me that someone named Crouch came by, asking about you. I couldn’t stand the thought that Mom was dead and, because of him, because he wouldn’t go away, I was going to lose you, too. More than anything, I didn’t want you to know
I
was the reason you didn’t have that other family you’ve always wanted.”

Then there was the baby. Cheyenne smoothed her blouse as she glanced around them. “I see. And…I’m guessing you were pregnant.”

Presley nodded.

“But you’ve—” she cleared her throat “—taken care of that?” This was delicate territory, something Cheyenne didn’t even want to think about. So she couldn’t blame her sister for not answering.

“I’m going to move to Sacramento, Chey. Start over.”

“You’re willing to leave Whiskey Creek?”

“I have to. I don’t want to fall in with the same people. Especially Aaron. He has too strong a hold on me.”

Cheyenne tried to imagine her sister living elsewhere. It could work, if she was really ready and willing to give up drugs. “Sacramento isn’t that far. Or the Bay Area. We’d get to see each other anytime we wanted. We’ll make it work. I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

“Rehab first,” she announced.

Cheyenne agreed with that, too, but she felt duty-bound to tell Presley about Aaron. “Aaron is already in rehab. He just went in. To a new facility south of Sacramento.”

“There’s more than one place to get help. I’ll go to the Bay Area.”

Cheyenne couldn’t believe her sister suddenly had so much resolution, that she was willing to make the sacrifices it would take to build a better life, but she didn’t want to sound skeptical so she didn’t question Presley further. “Let’s get you home.”

Once Maria heard them in the hallway, she came back to show them out. “Do not forget to take your prenatal vitamins,” she cautioned Presley, wagging a finger at her as they stepped outside.

The receptionist’s words made Cheyenne’s heart skip a beat. “You’re still pregnant?” she whispered as soon as they were alone.

Presley’s chin came up. “I’m keeping the baby, Chey. I want this child.”

Conscious of Dylan, who’d spotted them and was driving across the lot to pick them up, she lowered her voice even more. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I’m not telling anyone.”

“Not even Aaron?”

“Especially not Aaron. He’s not ready. But I am. I need this—someone else to love, some reason to take care of myself and contribute to life.”

“He has a right to know, Presley.” If it
was
his child… Cheyenne supposed there was that small question.

Presley shook her head. “I don’t care. This is the only thing I have, and I’m going to do everything in my power to protect it.”

Cheyenne would’ve argued further, except that her sister was right in at least one respect. Aaron wasn’t ready. And, if Presley had gone through with the abortion, there wouldn’t be a baby to fight over. “You have to tell him someday, don’t you?”

“Maybe, when I think it’s safe.”

They said nothing more. They couldn’t. Dylan was getting out to hug Presley.

* * *

“I can’t believe you’re with Dylan,” Presley said. It was late but they were both awake, lying in Cheyenne’s bed with Lucky, Cheyenne’s new puppy. It had taken them two days to get back from Phoenix, so this was Presley’s first night at home without her mother. It felt strange, especially with the dark memories of Anita’s final night, when she’d demanded that Presley finish her off.

“I’m in love with him,” Cheyenne said simply.

Presley experienced a twinge of jealousy. She so desperately wanted that same relationship with Aaron. But she’d given him up, traded him for his baby. In her mind, it was better to take the sure thing. For a child, her child and his child, she could get clean. “You deserve him,” she said when she’d mastered her emotions enough to say the words.

Cheyenne reached for her hand. “It’s okay, isn’t it? You haven’t lost anything, Pres. Now you’ll have two people to love you instead of just one.”

Dylan had treated her well when they picked her up. He’d always been nice, but there was added kindness in his words and actions tonight. There was also the tenderness he showed her sister. That gave Presley hope she might find a man like him someday, even if it wasn’t his brother.

“Do you think you’ll get married?” she asked, pulling Lucky closer to her body.

“Maybe.” Her sister’s smile was barely discernible in the dark. “I’m pretty sure I’d like that.”

“Tomorrow night is New Year’s Eve. Seems fitting, doesn’t it?”

“What do you mean?” Her sister was getting tired, starting to drift off.

“We’ll both be living new and different lives in the new year.”

* * *

The weather was beautiful for Anita’s funeral, which was held on January 3. So many people came out. All of Cheyenne’s friends were there, including a very pregnant Gail and her movie-star husband, Simon. Most of Presley’s friends came, too. The Amos boys turned out—except Aaron, of course—in suits, no less. They looked as respectable as any man there, especially Dylan, who’d cut his hair. Joe and his father attended, too, along with the Harmons, the hospice nurse, Marcy Mostats-Passuello, even Chief Stacy. As they lowered the casket into the ground not far from the place where little Mary Hatfield was buried and began shoveling dirt on top, Cheyenne couldn’t help but think how grateful she was that Anita had brought her and Presley to Whiskey Creek seventeen years ago.

This was her home. These people were her family.

She could feel Dylan at her side, a constant source of strength. Presley had talked her into taking an over-the-counter pregnancy test before the funeral, and she’d been slightly disappointed to learn that she wasn’t pregnant. Seeing Gail’s extended stomach and knowing Presley’s would soon be the same made her crave a baby, too. But there would be time for children—after she and Dylan were married.

As the mourners came by to hug her and Presley before moving off toward the B and B, where many of them had parked, she could see Clarence Holloway, the undertaker, waiting to speak with her. No doubt he was eager to discuss his bill, but she didn’t want Dylan to be around when they did. She knew he’d try to pay for it, and she didn’t think it was fair for him to bear that expense.

Excusing herself the moment Eve started talking to him and Presley was preoccupied, she walked over to Clarence. “Thank you for arranging such a lovely service.”

He bent his head. “That’s what we do at the Holloway Family Funeral Home.”

She cleared her throat. “I know I owe you quite a lot of money. I’d like to assure you that I have every intention of paying. Have you decided whether or not you’d be willing to set up monthly installments?” She’d asked him twice before, once just yesterday, but he’d never given her a commitment. He kept saying he’d think about it as if he’d capitulate only if he had no other choice.

“There’s no need for that,” he said.

What did he mean? She shifted on her feet, feeling awkward and wanting to get this over with before Dylan could join them. “Excuse me?”

He handed her a piece of paper. “I was just waiting to give you this.”

“What is it?” she asked, but he didn’t answer.

She opened it, and saw the word
Invoice
was stamped across the top. The total for the funeral and burial, written in red, could be found at the bottom: $5,200. It was a fortune to her. But then she saw a zero below that, after the words
Total Due.

“I don’t understand.” She frowned at him.

He nodded toward those still lingering at the grave—Gail, Simon, Sophia, Ted, Riley, Noah, Baxter, Callie, Kyle, Eve and a few others. They were planning to go over to the coffee shop together so they could spend some time with Gail and Simon while they were in town. “Your friends split the bill. They’ve covered everything.”

Cheyenne felt her eyebrows shoot up. “But…they shouldn’t have done that! You shouldn’t have let them. This isn’t their responsibility.”

“They said you’d complain. So they told me to give you this, too.”

Stunned, Cheyenne accepted the card he thrust into her hands. It was a sympathy card, one created by Callie on the computer, with pictures of them as a group in Santa Cruz, San Francisco and Tahoe. Her favorite was the photograph of them at their graduation. They looked so young in their caps and gowns....

The bottom read “That’s what friends are for.”

* * *

“Don’t be nervous.” Dylan’s presence, his support, soothed Cheyenne, but there was no way she could master her nerves. She’d finally garnered the courage to call Eugene Crouch. Now she was sitting in the anteroom of his office in Danville, waiting to meet with him. She had no idea what he might reveal or what that information might mean to her life, which was why she’d delayed scheduling this meeting until Gail and Simon had gone back to L.A. and she’d booked Presley into a rehab facility in Walnut Creek not far away.

“What do you think he’ll say?” she whispered.

“That he’s been looking for you a long time,” Dylan replied.

Cheyenne drew a deep breath. She was so happy now. Was she crazy to risk that happiness by opening a Pandora’s box?

The door opened and a tall, gaunt-looking man peered out at her. Despite his height and craggy features, he had a gentle demeanor. She liked him immediately. “Well, hello, Cheyenne Christensen.” He smiled. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you.”

“Thank you,” she managed.

“Are you ready for this?”

“I hope so.”

He came to her and gave her his hand, then turned to Dylan. “And this is…”

“My boyfriend, Dylan Amos.”

They shook hands, too. “I’m glad you came along.” Mr. Crouch indicated his inner office with a jerk of his head. “Let’s go have a seat.”

Dylan’s hand felt warm against her cold fingers as they followed Eugene Crouch and took the seats he offered them.

“I was pleased to hear from you the other day,” he said as he rounded his desk.

“It wasn’t an easy call to make,” she admitted.

“I can understand why. I’m sorry to hear about…I guess we should call her Anita. Cancer is a difficult way to go.”

Cheyenne didn’t know what to say to that. She wasn’t sure why he was being so generous toward the woman who’d kidnapped her. She was back to feeling angry again. Somehow, she could forgive Presley. Presley was as much a victim as she was. But Anita… “Is my real family looking for me?” she asked.