This Much Is True Read Free Page A

in a while, and he takes Dickie— that’s my husband Richard, actually; but everyone’s called him Dickie since…well, since we met in the eleventh grade fifty years ago.” Her cheeks are flushed, and even her scalp that peaks through her thinning silver hair is tinged a faint pink.
    I swoop in when she gives me a chance to speak. “My name is Lincoln Presley. Yes, I’m actually playing on the Stanford Cardinal baseball team again this year. First game next week. Now it’s practice pretty much all the time.”
    “Oh. Well, good luck—although I personally think you should stay in school.”
    “Yes, ma’am. I’ll finish up at Stanford this June. And the sports reporters are covering the stuff with major-league baseball’s interest in me. I can’t really comment about that. My publicist would have my head if I did.” Kimberley would be so proud. I actually try to smile. “My dad’s Davis Presley. He played for the Giants. Maybe your husband remembers him.”
    “Oh, my goodness, yes. Your father is Davis Presley? Then your mom was Cara Sanderson? I remember when she up and married Davis Presley. I loved her films. I’m so sorry she died.”
    She makes this sympathetic clucking sound while I hold my breath and strive for composure by hanging my head to hide my face before it betrays all these emotions that I don’t usually give into when people mention my mom.
    “I don’t…I don’t talk about my mom. I’m sorry.”
    There’s this awkward silence. She folds her hands into her lap and mumbles an apology and manages to look disappointed at the same time. In me?
    I’m a little taken aback that even this woman demands I talk about my mother. I have to tell myself to forget it, even though I feel bad for a brief moment like I always do. I let the moment pass because, even though it’s been eight years, I still hold on tight to the notion that I don’t talk about my mom or my brother Elliott to anyone, least of all a stranger. My feelings about their loss are mine, and I don’t tell anyone how I feel about that. I sigh deeply and start again. “I’m looking for this girl. There was this girl. She was in a car accident, and I was just wondering if you had any way of looking up her information. I’d like to know if she’s okay. Her sister…” My voice shakes. The woman’s blue eyes alight on mine. She looks sympathetic again. “Her sister didn’t make it. I didn’t get her name.”
    “Mr. Presley, I’d like to help you—I really would—but I can’t give out information about the patients.”
    “What’s the information desk for, then?” I ask gently and flash her one of my most charming smiles as a last-ditch effort to disarm her enough to help me anyway.
    “Oh, you know.” She gets this little smile. “We tell people how to find their way around. And when people know the patient’s name, we look up the room number for them and direct them from there. That kind of thing. I’m just a volunteer three days a week. It helps pass the time.”
    “I’m sure it does.” I sigh again and fidget with the baseball cap in my hand.
    The woman eyes me closer. “Were you there at the accident? It sounds like it was awful. It’s all over the news, and that girl—the other twin—she was too young to die such a horrible death. How sad. I just feel so sorry for the family. He’s one of the best…here.” Her eyes get teary. “But there was just nothing he could do. It was too late for his daughter.” She studies me for a few long seconds, clearly aware of the small tidbit of information she’s just given to me. “You really need to get the blood of out your clothes before it completely dries; otherwise, it will never come out. She’s not going to want to see you like this. You’ll scare her and remind her of the terrible tragedy she’s just been through. Poor girl.”
    “I don’t think I’ll be wearing these again.”
    “Why don’t you sign for a nice bouquet of flowers with the gift