always sensed between myself and him.
I went from shock to anger and rage and then to
simple resignation. What could I do about any of it
now? How could I be angry at my mother when she
was at death's doorway? I did feel a surge of
resentment for Belinda, a jealousy I never imagined,
but I had no time for it now, no time to feel sorry for
myself, no time to rant and rave, no time to confront
Mother and Father and berate them for living a lie and
for betraying me and forcing me to live the same lie. "Winston never loved you less, Olivia. He
decided he would think of you as his own and he
never faltered. I swear to you. He never once brought this up or threw it back at me. Your father, the man you respect for being coldly realistic and strong never gave up the illusion. He accepted what was and made it his reality and mine and I love him more for it. Please, please love him more, too," she pleaded. "Say
something, Olivia."
I shook my head.
"It's so much to take in at once, Mother." "I know, but I'm going to ask you to make a
promise to me on my death bed, Olivia. Promise me
you will never tell anyone, never tell Belinda, and
never tell your father what I have told you. It's the last
thing I will ever ask of you," she said. "Will you,
promise? Please."
I closed my eyes. It was like swallowing down
the truth and burying it inside me.
"I promise," I said.
"And you never lie," she reminded me. She
smiled and with all her remaining strength, sat up to
reach for me.
I hugged her and she put her arms around me as
firmly as her weak arms would permit. I held her
longer than I had expected, held her as if I were
holding onto her for dear life. She kissed me on the