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

him out of her line of sight, she goes so far as to pick up the remote and turn the volume louder, a universal signal to be quiet.

“I’m not leaving until we’re square.”

“Would you just shut up?” Deborah’s lip quivers. “Please! For five seconds.”

“And then what?”

“Then I’ll deal with you.”

But it’s no use; his incessant demands don’t cease, and frustrated, Deborah explodes out of her chair. Tossing the remote into Jonathan’s recliner, she angrily strides into the kitchen. When the timer beeps to signal the pie is done, she can still hear him chanting from the other room.

Frustrated, Deborah watches the glass pie tin rattle after she sets it down harder than she intends to. Avoiding the living room and the man’s raised voice, she walks the long way around to enter her bedroom. When she’s safe inside the master bedroom, she locks herself in the bathroom.

After reaching into the medicine cabinet, Deborah fumbles with the bottle. She cups her hands in place of using an actual water glass, tips her head back, and swallows the pills down quickly, imagining them slowing down the rampant thoughts running through her mind. Her brain needs a break from the uncontrollable mania.

She slowly sinks to her knees and crawls to the corner of the bathroom, resting her back against the wall. With no recollection of nodding off, she wakes to find spittle pooling in the creases of her mouth. After she swipes her hand over her eyes, her vision appears blurred, as if due to a smudged contact lens.

Wondering why the television is blaring, Deborah drags herself from the bathroom into the living room. At first, she thinks Robert must’ve let himself in somehow, but she enters an empty room. The television’s on a talk show channel Deborah dislikes; wrinkling her nose in annoyance, she searches for the remote.

Frustrated it’s not in its usual spot, she starts to lower herself to the floor, wondering if it fell underneath the couch or one of the chairs. That’s when she glances at Jonathan’s empty recliner, where it rests innocently enough.

Odd.

“What’s it doing in his chair?” she mutters, staring at it in confusion. Scratching her head for a moment, Deborah suddenly remembers the loud stranger demanding payment.

But for what, she hasn’t a clue.

Deborah rocks herself slowly back and forth, an unsuccessful attempt to self-soothe. She keeps envisioning the man as she stares out the picture window. Her diminished recollection tells her the memory was real, down to his contorted face.

But she’s doubtful about their interaction. Involved in an internal battle with herself about what she saw, she’s relieved to hear the wheezing of Robert’s beat-up truck coming up the drive, the exhaust pipe sounding like a smoker’s cough.

She prefers his presence so she doesn’t have to be alone with her memories. Lately, they’ve been nothing if not frightening.

CHAPTER 5

Deborah

The grocery store is a good twenty miles away, and Deborah waits until she dodges the pothole to call Robert.

Deborah has learned from experience that half a mile after you bounce over it, cell service becomes available. It’s the reason for many flat tires, yet the city refuses to fix the soon-to-be sinkhole, made worse every year by the snowplows and farm equipment that bump over it. The county says it’s not within their jurisdiction, so she’s left veering off to the side to avoid the natural crater’s jarring consequence.

“We need to talk,” Deborah says as soon as he answers. “I keep getting all these weird crank calls and hang-ups.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m headed to the grocery store.”

“Okay. I’ll come to meet you. I’m about to take a lunch break.”

“Except . . .” When Deborah admits she’s in a neighboring town, he chuckles at her but agrees to drive that way, with a gentle reminder he won’t be able to stay long.

They agree to meet in the produce aisle, as clichéd as it sounds, before they disconnect.

Deborah’s wrapping a sprig of rosemary in a plastic bag when he appears by her side. He greets her warmly, his smile making her giddy inside, even though she’s filled with dread.

“I got another letter from the Department of Transportation.” Deborah tosses a bag of organic carrots next to the herbs.

“About what?”

“They want my land to build a road for nothing more than convenience. Can you believe that?” She frowns. “It’s not for sale, but they’re claiming eminent domain.”

“I heard they wanted to expand, connect the county route to the expressway.” His fingers clasp the metal of the cart.

“My father would be rolling over in his grave,” Deborah mutters. “And so would his ancestors. Why would I care about accessibility? I live out here for a reason,” she says bitterly. “No one bothers me, and I don’t bother them.” Her shoulders droop. “Or at least, no one used to.”

“I bet they’ll eventually come for my land.” He sighs. “The economic development they claim will result isn’t as necessary as they want us to believe. Though,” he ponders, “maybe it’s not such a bad thing.”

“How can you say that?”

“Because maybe it’s time for a change.” He cocks an eye at her. “I was hoping someday soon we could talk about our future.”

Deborah holds her breath. “What do you mean?”

He leans down to whisper in her ear. “Maybe us starting a life together, if you’ll have me.”

“Like moving in together?”

“That.” He guffaws. “Among other things. Potentially moving somewhere else. Somewhere warm.”

“I didn’t take you as the kind that would want to leave your roots.”

“I know it’s a lot to consider since my kids are here, but it might be a good change for us.” He squints at her. “You ready to battle another winter?”

“No,” she concedes. “But the kids don’t know about me; won’t it be a pretty sudden bomb to drop on them?”

“Yes. Which is why I’m not trying to rush us into making an impulsive decision. I just want us to consider our options. I will tell them soon about us,” he promises. “I’m just waiting for the right time.”