The Imposter Marin Montgomery (rom com books to read TXT) 📖

“I’ll survive.” Deborah gives her a weak smile. “I’m starting to fall apart in my old age.”

“You’re hardly old.” Alice chuckles. “I can’t even believe you have a daughter old enough to be out of the house.”

“A daughter?”

“Yes.” Alice gives her an inquisitive stare. “You mentioned her last time.”

“I didn’t.” Deborah frowns.

“Yes.” Alice scans the notepad with wire-rimmed glasses that are better suited for her face and not so colossal.

“No.” Deborah licks her lips. “I wouldn’t have a reason to mention her.”

“Oh Lord.” Alice taps a hand to her forehead. “Please forgive me.”

Deborah stares her down, swallowing a biting comment.

“How unprofessional of me!” Alice shakes her head in annoyance. “But Robert mentioned your daughter in passing. He gave you a compliment.” She rushes to add, “This was before you and I had even met.”

“Why would the two of you be discussing me?”

“I thanked him for the referral after you made an appointment.” Alice gives her a wink. “He mentioned he knew you from way back because his son and your daughter went to high school together.”

“And our farms aren’t too far from each other.” Deborah shrugs. “And we go to the same church.”

“I know his kids are grown.” Alice grins. “And you certainly don’t look old enough to have one that age, so you better let me in on your secrets.”

“My advice is to get knocked up at nineteen,” Deborah says calmly but seriously. Deborah’s mother warned her it was easy to get pregnant at that age, and a giggle escapes her lips when she thinks back to her warning. It went unheeded since her mother’s advice wasn’t always reliable. A lot of the time, it was passed down like an old wives’ tale.

Alice gives her a peculiar look. “What’s so funny?”

“Something my mother told me as a teenager.”

“Let’s hear it,” Alice says. “I need a laugh.”

“She told me how easy it was to get pregnant. She said just looking at a man would do the trick, and for some reason, remembering her saying it all those years ago and how I didn’t take her seriously made me chuckle.”

Jonathan’s idea of intercourse was equivalent to that of a farm animal. He’d shove his sweaty body into hers in a frenzy, releasing his aggression after a couple of thrusts and grunts.

She wasn’t sure they could conceive because it was over so fast, and he never asked if she got any pleasure from it. In her mind, it wasn’t lovemaking, so it didn’t equate to making a baby like in the romance novels she would devour.

“Tell me about your parents. Are they alive?” Alice asks. “I know you mentioned your father was a man of God.”

“My father was a preacher, and he died when I was in my early twenties. Heart attack,” Deborah says. “My mother died a few years later, an accidental overdose. I miss my mother the most,” she muses. “She was strong and scrappy.”

Deborah’s mother wasn’t an affectionate woman; she doled out love sparingly, but when she did indulge her child, she gave the warmest hugs, which made Deborah feel wholly and completely loved. Deborah had promised herself that when she became a mother, she wouldn’t withhold affection or love, and there would be an abundance of it.

Her thoughts drift from her deceased mother to her estranged daughter. Though the estrangement was entirely unexpected, it shouldn’t have been. She made a solemn vow to be the best possible mother. Yet she feels like a failure.

Alice’s voice cuts into her thoughts. “Did your mother hate being a preacher’s wife?”

“You mean because that’s what she was known as, with no identity of her own?”

“Yeah,” Alice says. “It would be hard to have the expectations for you to be perfect all the time. No one can stand on a pedestal and never fall.”

“She had her moments. But she prized the role, and she knew how to bring out the best in my father. No one could’ve brought out his personality more than her. And he could be difficult.” She gasps involuntarily. “And cunning.” Deborah no longer wishes to talk about her parents, so, deciding on a subject change, she murmurs, “That reminds me, Alice. Speaking of our families, why don’t I know any other Alacoys? Did you not grow up around here?”

“I didn’t.” She offers a small smile. “Weird, right? I grew up in Ohio.”

“What brought you here?”

“Marriage.” Alice shrugs. “And even now, I live twenty-five miles away.”

“And this is where you wanted to open up a practice?”

“Not necessarily. I have office space countywide. It’s an easy drive, all highway.” Alice glances at her notes, back to business. “I know you live on a farm. And I’d like to know how you feel living out there, considering the circumstances. Can you elaborate on your mindset since the accident?”

“I have a security system now,” Deborah mentions. “And the police on speed dial.”

“Do you ever see yourself moving into town or closer to . . . ?”

“Civilization?” Deborah chortles. “I know the land is invaluable, especially to certain individuals who want to rezone it for something else.” Deborah sighs. “Unfortunately, everyone has always wanted the farm for their own intentions. I realized too late my husband married me for the stretch of property my folks passed down to us after we got married.”

“Speaking of your husband. I think you said his name was Jonathan,” Alice murmurs. “Last time before you left, the loss of him was mentioned.” Alice crosses her legs. “Please correct me if I’m wrong, but it seemed to trigger a negative response along the lines of a panic attack. Is this something you want to talk about?”

“Not particularly.”

“I’m guessing he had to have been very young when he died,” Alice says gently. “If it was sixteen years ago?”

“Yes,” is all Deborah feels like responding with.

“Then let me ask you this.” Alice taps her fingernails on the arm of the chair. “Will talking about it help with unresolved issues from the past?”

Deborah doesn’t answer, focusing on the polished hardwood floor. Her