The Truth About Rachel by Deanna Sletten (recommended reading .TXT) 📕

until her death in 1985.” Gladys paused. “I’m sorry, dear. But it appears that the birth certificate showing your aunt and uncle as your adopted parents is a fake.”

Rachel dropped onto the bed, completely stunned. How could that be? How could she have possibly lived her entire childhood as Rachel Scott if there was no record of it? It made no sense.

“Ms. Parnell? Are you still there?” Gladys asked.

“Yes, I’m here,” Rachel said.

“I made copies of everything I found. They’re here if you’d like to have them.”

“Okay. Thank you, Gladys. I appreciate your help.”

“I’m sorry it wasn’t what you’d hoped for. But dear? If you are who you say you are, I’m sure there’s a way to prove it. Don’t give up yet.”

Gladys was right. There had to be a way to prove who she was. “Thanks, Gladys. I won’t give up.”

She hung up and stared at the hideous flower wallpaper in the motel room. Had Julie and Gordon lied? Had they bought a fake birth certificate so they could take Rachel away from her family? It was so hard for her to believe they’d do such a thing. But then, she remembered the many arguments between her mother and aunt about them having custody of her. Would Julie have gone as far as having fake documents made up? It was all so crazy.

She thought back to the day her aunt and uncle had picked her up at the park. They hadn’t even let her go home to pack a few things. It had seemed odd then, but now she wondered. Had they kidnapped her? Could they have done that?

No matter how she’d ended up living with Julie and Gordon, Rachel knew who she was. She couldn’t leave town until she found out who was in the grave with her name on it.

Chapter Five

After her long day, Rachel was hungry, so she decided to drive around town and look for a place to eat. But first, she wanted to drive by her old house. Her curiosity was getting the better of her. She hopped into her rented car and went the short distance to the older part of town. Driving past the park, she headed up one street and then down another. Many of the homes had been remodeled and looked decent. Some still appeared as forlorn as they had when she was a child. A couple had been torn down altogether, and newer homes had been built. Since many of these homes were built in the early to mid-1900s, it didn’t surprise Rachel that some had been replaced.

As Rachel drew near her old house, she moved slowly. There was Mr. Anderson’s house two doors down, then Old Lady Porter’s house. Keith had named their neighbor that because she was always yelling at him to get off her lawn. Finally, the bungalow-style house where she’d lived appeared. Rachel pulled across the street and parked a moment so she could study it. It was a small, Spanish-style home with a clay tile roof. The paint was still peeling, and the shutters were still hanging crookedly. No truck or car was in the driveway. But as she stared at it, she noticed a light flickering through the living room window and realized the television was on. Her mother was probably sitting in there watching her shows, just as she’d always done. After thirty-five years, nothing had changed.

Memories tugged at Rachel’s heart as she thought about her father. She wondered if he were in there too, watching TV with her mom. He’d be seventy-seven now, his hair completely gray—if he still had hair—and his back probably bent over from years of driving truck. She wished she could knock on the door and see him, but she grudgingly had to agree with Jeremy. She couldn’t just start pounding on doors, telling people she was Rachel Parnell, come back from the dead, without any proof. It would cause chaos in such a small town.

Finally, Rachel pulled away. Once she could prove who she was, she’d let her family know she was alive.

Heading downtown, Rachel found a small pub that served food and went inside. It was a Monday night, so the place wasn’t busy. She found a table in the back corner and ordered a burger with chips and a Coke. Waiting for her food, she gazed around the pub. It was a nice place. They’d taken one of the old downtown buildings and remodeled it to look like an Irish Pub. There were open beams above, dark wood paneling half-way up the walls, and rich green wallpaper above that. Booths lined the back wall, and tables filled the center. A long, curved bar stood at the far wall with a mirror backdrop that held shelves displaying all types of liquor bottles and glasses. Rachel thought it was probably a busy place on the weekends, filled with locals enjoying food or a drink with live music turned up high. Now, though, there were only a couple of older men at the bar and another table with a young couple eating dinner.

The waiter brought her meal, and she started eating. The door opened and closed, and Rachel glanced up. Striding toward her was Jeremy Mitchell.

“Hey,” he said, sounding friendlier than he had this afternoon. “I came in for a burger. Didn’t know you’d be in here.”

Rachel had trouble believing that. He’d walked purposely toward her like he’d known she was there. He wasn’t wearing his uniform, though. He wore jeans, a button-down plaid shirt, and cowboy boots. Jeremy should have looked comfortable and casual, but he looked all business to her.

“Are you following me?” she asked, half-joking.

He raised his hands up in defense. “No, no. I swear. I eat here a lot. It’s just a coincidence.”

Rachel wasn’t completely convinced, but she supposed it might be a coincidence. Jeremy continued to stand there as if waiting for something. “I suppose Gladys told you what she found.”

He nodded, then turned to see if anyone