by Brenda Novak
“Will that be enough to get us through?”
“I think so.”
“How can you be that confident?” he asked. Her friends weren’t even home yet. Just wait until they were....
“Because…”
When she didn’t finish what she’d started to say, he tilted his head in question.
“I admire Joe. I really do. But…” She set down the dog. Then she straightened and her expression softened as she met his eyes. “I’m in love with you.”
Dylan had never expected her to make that kind of admission, that kind of commitment. Not so soon. Not when she had so many reasons to feel torn. But it gave him the confidence he needed to believe that maybe, just maybe, they had a right to be together. He’d never felt the way he was feeling at this moment. The craving for cigarettes disappeared. So did the difficulties he’d known since he lost his mother, the confusion and anger inspired by his father, the loss, the betrayal, the lashing out that came as a result and the regrouping in order to cope. The only thing that mattered was that this woman welcomed his kiss, his touch, his imperfect heart.
* * *
Cheyenne spent a wonderful morning with Dylan and her new three-legged puppy.
After showering, they took Lucky, which was what she’d decided to name her dog, and walked over to see Dylan’s brothers.
It’d snowed in the night, covering the landscape with a thin blanket of white. The river bottoms had never been the prettiest part of town, but they looked beautiful now, as pristine as anywhere else.
For a second, as she gazed down the road that eventually wound to the right, Cheyenne was sorry Anita wasn’t around to see the lacy trees. It was so rare that they looked this way. That it was Christmas morning gave this beauty special significance.
Maybe, with time, she’d learn to appreciate the better parts of the woman her mother had been. She hoped so. She wanted more than the dark memories that rose in her mind so often.
Except for Mack, everyone was still sleeping, even though it was after noon. No doubt the Amos boys had partied late and were taking advantage of the chance to sleep in, since they didn’t have to work. Even Dylan’s dogs didn’t come and greet them, so she felt comfortable putting Lucky on the floor.
Glad she didn’t have to encounter Aaron right away, she breathed a small sigh of relief. She wasn’t sure how she’d react to him, given that she believed him to be one of the reasons her sister ran off.
“There you are.” Mack seemed a little forlorn, sitting in front of the TV alone, with no decorations on the tree and no presents underneath. He was only twenty-one, after all. Like the rest of the Amoses, he’d had to grow up fast—but twenty-one was still young not to have the love and support of either parent. Cheyenne felt guilty for stealing Dylan away for so long.
“Hey, you about ready for your present?” Dylan asked.
Mack’s reserve seemed to vanish. “Were you trying to make me think I wasn’t getting one this year?”
Dylan laughed. “You’ve never been overlooked before, have you?”
“Santa’s never been so preoccupied,” Mack teased, winking at her.
She grinned back at him. “Fortunately, your Santa’s pretty reliable.” Another thing she liked about Dylan.
Dylan marched down the hall, banging on doors as he went. “Hey, you’re sleeping Christmas away! Get up if you want your presents!”
Cheyenne watched to make sure Lucky would be okay when Dylan’s dogs came bounding out of the bedrooms, but they merely sniffed her, looked at Mack as though asking how they should react to this interloper, then wagged their tails. Once Cheyenne was satisfied that Lucky wouldn’t be harmed, she sauntered over to the kitchen and peered in the cupboards. She wanted to start baking. Dylan had assured her they’d have all the supplies she’d need, but he’d never made pies before.
“Where’d that dog come from?” Mack asked.
She turned to see that Dylan’s youngest brother had followed her. “She’s my Christmas present.”
“A deformed puppy? I hope it wasn’t from Dylan.”
She couldn’t help laughing at his horror. “Actually, it was.”
“Jeez, he couldn’t have gotten you one with all its legs?”
“He picked the one I would’ve picked,” she said simply. She loved Dylan all the more for understanding what would be important to her, but she didn’t add that.
“I see. Nice.”
She laughed again when he finished with an uncertain “I guess,” that indicated he didn’t see at all. Then another voice caught her attention.
“Is Presley home?”
The joy she’d been feeling seemed to leak out of her, like a balloon slowly losing its air, as she noticed Aaron, who looked as if he’d just stumbled out of bed.
“I’m afraid not,” she said. “Not yet.”
“Have you heard from her?” Eyes red, hair wild, he’d obviously passed a very difficult night.
“No.”
A confused, hurt expression stole over his face. “Where could she be? She never goes too long before contacting me.”
Cheyenne shook her head. She had no answers.
* * *
Presley squinted up at the single bulb on the ceiling overhead, in so much pain she could hardly move. Apparently, a “light” bondage session for her new business partner meant whips and chains and a few blows from his closed fists. But at least he’d provided some of the best drugs she’d ever had. He’d used a needle. She hated to think it was heroin—she knew how addictive it could be, had always promised herself she’d never go that far—but she had a feeling heroin was exactly what had produced such a magnificent high.
Gingerly, she moved her tongue over her busted lip, listening to find out if the man she’d met outside that ramshackle grocery had returned. He’d been gone for hours, or so she thought. She couldn’t say with any certainty. Before he left, he’d given her another shot. She’d been floating in euphoria for God knows how long. As a result, she wasn’t aware of who was in the house with her or how much time had passed. She couldn’t even tell if it was day or night. She had only one frame of reference: she could remember being driven to an old pueblo-style house that sat on hard-packed dirt with the desert stretching for miles beyond it. The windows had been blacked out, the place had smelled like mildew and there’d been plenty of BDSM toys in the bedroom—along with a video camera.
“Dick?” Her voice sounded more like a croak. But she didn’t care. She was trying to remember if Dick was even his name.
No answer. Running water droned in her ear. When she listened carefully, she was pretty sure it was the toilet in the bathroom.
“Dick?” She lifted her head, trying to see if the video camera was rolling, but there was no way to tell. He’d left the overhead light on, but she couldn’t see a red indicator on the camera.
She called his name two more times, louder, and tried to move but found that her right arm was still shackled to the headboard. What the hell? How dare he leave her like this? How would she get free?
She was just starting to tug in earnest, despite the pain caused by the slightest movement, when she saw a key on the nightstand. She could unlock herself and leave. But beside it was a syringe containing a brownish liquid and a note that read, “Have a good time while I’m gone. Merry Christmas.”
28
The Christmas feast Dylan had bought was tasty despite the fact that it wasn’t homemade. And, after running home to get cinnamon and cloves, Cheyenne had managed to bake a coffee cake and an apple pie, which everyone seemed to like. Everything would’ve been fairly idyllic—as idyllic as could be expected under the circumstances—if not for Aaron’s morose mood. His gloom overrode the excitement of the new smartphones Dylan had purchased for each of his brothers. Mack and the others showed a great deal of interest, but Aaron would barely touch his. He seemed preoccupied and upset, and that made it impossible for Cheyenne to forget the reason.
Not long after they ate, sh
e went home. Dylan walked her to the door and promised to come over later but returned to his brothers. She was glad. She felt Aaron and Mack needed his attention. Also, she was planning to call Eve, and she figured it would be better to have some time alone for that.
But even after she and Lucky had gone in and she’d locked up it took her several minutes to work up the nerve. So much had changed since Eve left that Cheyenne had no confidence she’d be able to explain what it all meant.
She tried Presley’s number first, but was immediately transferred to voice mail, which suggested the battery was dead or the phone had been turned off.
The same thing had occurred the last hundred times she’d called. With a sigh, she forced herself to dial Eve’s cell instead.
“Don’t tell me this is my best friend calling,” Eve said without preamble.
Cheyenne cringed at her wounded tone. “I’m sorry, Eve.”
Silence.
“Did Riley tell you about this morning?”
“Yes. And I can’t believe it.”
Lucky was sniffing around her feet, trying to climb into her lap. Cheyenne reached down to help her. “I need you to trust my judgment,” she said. “I…I really need that.”
“I don’t want to see you hurt, Chey.”
“I understand. The fact that you’d give up Joe, the man you like, rather than see me with Dylan tells me how sincere you are. But Dylan is a good person. Even if he’s not perfect, neither am I. I believe…I believe he’s the right man for me.”
“Wow.” Eve sounded shocked. “I’ve never heard you talk like this.”
Her puppy curled up in her lap and laid its head on her thigh. “Because I’ve never felt like this.”
“I have to admit—that threatens me in a whole new way.”
Encouraged that Eve seemed to be bending, Cheyenne hurried to reassure her. “You have no reason to feel threatened.”
“I don’t? You get with Dylan and suddenly I’m not even important enough for you to answer my calls.”
“That wasn’t it at all. I…” She ran her fingers through Lucky’s fur, taking solace in the feel of it. “I couldn’t bear to hear you tell me not to see Dylan.”
“He’s that important to you? Already?”
She smiled, as she did every time she thought of him. “I’m in love.”
It took Eve a few seconds to absorb this news. “Oh, boy,” she said when she spoke again. “And we were going to stage an intervention.”
“Please don’t. Don’t even try. I need him. Especially now. My life’s a mess. I’m still getting my bearings. But I have two things going for me.”
“Those are…”
Cheyenne felt the wet rasp of Lucky’s tongue. “You—and him.”
A sniff showed that Eve was crying.
“Can’t you just…support me even if I’m wrong?”
“Of course. We’re best friends.” She sniffed again. “If it turns out to be a good decision, I’m here to celebrate with you. And if it turns out to be a bad one—”
“You can say ‘I told you so.’”
“No. Then you’ll need me even more.”
“Do you mean that?” Cheyenne asked. “There’ll be no more talk about making the biggest mistake of my life and taking unnecessary risks and…and interventions?”
“Riley said an intervention wouldn’t do any good, anyway.”
“He’s right.” She tried to lighten the moment with a laugh. “Nothing can save me now.”
Emboldened, Lucky stood to lick her face. Cheyenne raised her chin so the dog wouldn’t be able to reach the phone, which made her bark.
“What was that?” Eve asked.
Cheyenne urged Lucky to lie down again. “My Christmas present from Dylan.”
“He gave you a dog?”
“A puppy.”
Eve sighed audibly. “Okay. He wins.”
Cheyenne smiled. “You’re going to like Dylan. You’ll see. All you have to do is give him a chance.”
“He has a chance so long as he treats you right.”
“That’s fair.”
Call waiting beeped; someone else was trying to get through. She pulled the phone away from her ear to see who it was and nearly fainted. “Eve, Presley’s calling! I’ve got to go!” she said, and clicked over. “Presley? Where are you?” she asked, her heart hammering against her chest.
“This is Officer Hauck with the California Highway Patrol.”
Cheyenne’s stomach plummeted. Please don’t tell me my sister is dead. “What… Why do you have Presley’s phone?” she asked, her mouth suddenly dry. “She’s okay, isn’t she?”
“I’m afraid we don’t know” came the officer’s reply. “We’re trying to find someone who might be able to help us locate her.”
Nudging Lucky to one side, Cheyenne got up, trying to prepare herself for whatever news she was about to hear. “Because…”
“We found her car on Interstate 5. Her purse, her phone, everything was inside. Except her.”
* * *
“What if you could figure out where you were born and where you really came from—whether your mother was Anita or someone else? Would you want to pursue it?”
Cheyenne was half-asleep when Dylan posed this question. But he sounded wide-awake, which gave her the impression that he’d been thinking about her situation for some time.
Shifting onto her back, she covered a yawn. “Definitely.”
“Even though Anita’s gone and you’re happy with where you’re at in life?”
She was glad he hadn’t mentioned that Presley was gone, too. Surely Presley’s “gone” wasn’t as permanent as Anita’s. Since the police had recovered her car, Cheyenne was feeling a resurgence of hope. At least Presley hadn’t crashed; they hadn’t found a body. And Chief Stacy was finally making some calls. She’d contacted him after hearing from the CHP earlier. Because of where Presley’s car had been left, they thought maybe she’d hitchhiked to Los Angeles, which seemed like something she’d do. In the morning, Dylan was going to drive Cheyenne to Los Banos to pay the impound fees and pick up the Mustang.
“I could have a different mother out there. A better one. Maybe even a father or other family. Why wouldn’t I want to find out about that?”
“Because you’ll have to face the resentment and anger of knowing what Anita did to you. It won’t be just a suspicion anymore.”
As she heard rain pelting the roof, Cheyenne felt glad Dylan was here with her. Otherwise, it would be such a lonely sound. Maybe snowy days wouldn’t make her melancholy now that Dylan was in her life. “I realize that. But, either way, I need closure. I think everyone wants to be certain of where they came from, don’t you?”
Those details might be important to her children someday, she thought, but she didn’t say that. She didn’t want Dylan to think she was already considering a family. She hadn’t had her period since she’d been with him, but it wasn’t due yet, which left her hopeful that she wasn’t pregnant. She preferred not to deal with that kind of complication so early in their relationship.
“We could hire someone to look into it,” he suggested.
“We?” Scooting closer, she kissed his whiskered cheek. “I don’t have the money, and it’s not your problem.”
“I’m happy to help.”
“I appreciate your generosity, but now that I won’t be chained to this house every minute I’m not at work—” and she wouldn’t have to contend with her mother daily “—I’m going to make a more concerted effort to do some searching on my own.”
“Where will you start?”
Leaning over him, she rubbed her nose against his. “I’ll go state by state, if I have to. Send a letter to every single county, asking for my birth certificate.”
He held back her hair. “And if Anita changed your name?”
That was a very real and depressing possibility. “I’ll know if there’s no record of a Cheyenne Rose Christensen being born on my birthday.”
�
�If it’s your birthday.”
“If it’s my birthday.”
“And then?” he prompted.
Cheyenne toyed with the hair leading down from his navel. “And then I’ll call every police department in America. I’ll start on the West Coast, since I don’t think Anita was ever out East, and I’ll ask about any cases they might have involving a missing girl.”
His hand slid up her bare back, moving in a gentle caress. “There might be a less tedious way.”
The rain was falling harder, and the wind was picking up. “How?”
“If you were kidnapped, there’s a good chance Presley knows about it.”
Cheyenne sat up. “No. She would’ve told me.”
He propped his hands behind his head. She couldn’t see his expression clearly in the moonlight streaming through her window, but she could make out the general shape of him. “How old were you when you were wearing that party dress?” he asked.
She knew where he was going with this and didn’t like how it made her feel. Doubting Anita was one thing. She’d always doubted Anita. But Presley was a different story. Presley had been her ally, her confidante, the one person she trusted, in certain ways even more than Eve, to have her best interests at heart. They’d made incredible sacrifices for each other over the years—going hungry so the other could eat, taking a beating to spare the other further blows, lying to avoid seeing the other punished. There were some lines they didn’t cross, and this would be one of them.
“About four,” she admitted grudgingly.
“That would make her…”
“Six.”
“That’s old enough to remember something.”
She could hear the frown in his voice. “Not necessarily,” she argued. “Anita could’ve told her I was her sister but had been staying with someone else. That would make it seem less remarkable when they ‘picked me up.’ Anita would’ve had to invent some excuse, right? Maybe it all happened so smoothly, Presley had no reason to be aware of anything unusual.”
“Are you serious? She didn’t have a sister and then she did? That’s not unusual?”