The Imposter by Marin Montgomery (ebooks online reader txt) 📕

“I’m going to call Holden since we’re about halfway to the facility. I’ll tell him we stopped for gas.”

Holden picks up on the second ring, concern in his voice. “Everything okay?”

“Uh-huh,” I say. “Google Maps estimates we’re about a hundred and twenty miles away. We stopped for gas, so I wanted to call you since reception’s getting spotty.”

“That’s not a surprise. You’re heading up into the mountains. I always lose my signal not far from there.”

“I’ll check in when I can.”

“Don’t worry about me, Sib.” I can tell he’s struggling with finding the right words. “Just focus on your recovery, okay?”

“I will.”

“Be safe.” He adds, “And put Adrienne on the phone, please.”

As I hand Adrienne back her phone, the screen feels damp against my fingers. Confused, I realize it’s from the tears sliding down my cheek. I hear Holden ask her to call him once she’s dropped me off. Adrienne looks at me and squeezes my arm after hanging up. “It’s going to be fine.”

“I’m risking a lot.” I bite my trembling lip. “Holden’s never going to forgive me for this.”

“And you’re never going to forgive yourself if you don’t make amends back at home.” She tugs on a strand of my hair. “You know I would never agree to cover for you if I didn’t think it was important.” She stares at the house up ahead. “I’m going to tell myself the end goal is to help save your marriage and your health. Now, here’s your replacement phone. Don’t get excited,” she warns. “It’s basic as fuck.”

“Wow. You aren’t joking.” The one time I lost my phone, it was a wake-up call, since I realized I hadn’t bothered to memorize anyone’s number but Holden’s.

This time, I only program in a couple of contacts, bypassing Tanner’s with an angry sigh. I’m supposed to be off the grid, so I don’t need many.

Grinning, I see Adrienne saved me the trouble of adding her contact info. She’s saved as Wingwoman. She’s definitely my partner in crime; her status is at a whole new level with our covert operation.

“Thank you,” I whisper. “I’m lucky to have you as a friend.”

“Now go, or you’re gonna make me cry.” After Adrienne helps unload my suitcase, she gives me a tight hug. “Let me know when you’re safe.” Pointing to a duffel bag, she nods at it. “I packed what you asked me to in here.”

I open the zipper, and there’s an envelope filled with cash, a refurbished laptop, a map, and a few other requests I made.

She also hands me another envelope with a money order inside.

“Did you have any problem getting the cash or money order?”

“No,” she says. “I withdrew it from my account, just in case.”

“You’re the best.” I wink. “Wingwoman.”

CHAPTER 13

Sibley

I walk toward a small house where an elderly man is waiting near a used car. Barely able to contain my excitement, I’ve never been so thrilled to buy a car, not even when I purchased my Tesla. The man is shocked I don’t want to go on a test drive, but in the interest of time, I do my due diligence and inspect the car, not letting on I know the bare minimum. It’s had a recent oil change, he’s kept impeccable records on any repairs, and even though the outside has seen better days, the interior is clean.

Adrienne doesn’t drive off yet, ensuring I’m not about to be swindled by this unknown seller from a vehicle marketplace and then get stuck in the middle of nowhere.

Giving her a thumbs-up, I present the man with a money order. He hands me the keys to my very used and over-a-decade-old white Toyota Corolla, with striped window tint and rock chips that have dented both the windshield and the body of the vehicle.

But I don’t care. It’s mine, and it’s freedom.

With one last fleeting smile and a heavy wave, Adrienne leaves me standing in front of my “new” used car.

Clenching the keys in my hand, I throw my luggage in the back, ready to start my cross-country drive.

Adrienne was right the other night. Before I can rehabilitate myself, I have to confront the demons of my past head on, and that starts with my only living blood relative.

I have to go back to my childhood home, a farm in the middle of the country, square in the center of the state.

It’s time to confront my mother about my father’s death and what really happened on that night sixteen years ago. The details have startling clarity, even after all this time.

This will take patience and understanding, since my mother and I have never had what most would consider a typical mother-daughter relationship. But then again, I can’t even say what that is. I grew up as an only child, a tomboy who preferred to be outside, my father’s small shadow.

Our relationship became strained in high school, when I found out some unsavory details about her, and it only culminated in an estrangement after my father’s death and my move to the desert. It hurt my mother when I left after my high school graduation, but we’d suffered too much tragedy to make it less than a painful goodbye.

I never looked back as my tires squealed out of the drive so fast gravel sputtered.

The problem with time, I contemplate, is that it passes, and you tend to get stuck in the minutia, right or wrong.

I’ve tried to reach out to her, but she’s been unresponsive. She’s never visited, not even to attend my wedding. Previously, her minimal interactions included an occasional phone call or card in the mail, and bizarrely, the greeting wouldn’t match the holiday. As she was unresponsive to emails, I extended multiple offers for her to visit over the years, but the plane tickets went unused.

Eventually, our communication dried up, and the years became a long gap of estrangement.

When I reached out recently, nothing but crickets.

As I start the long haul back to my humble beginnings, the