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

falsehoods drowned out facts, neighbors pitched in and helped with chores until we got back on our feet. I’m disgusted the weeds have engulfed the wraparound porch to become a single landscape without any ending or beginning. If you were a painter, you’d just make a swift stroke across the canvas.

How long has it been like this? I shake my head sadly.

Unfortunately, the house is not a pleasant sight for my tired eyes.

It’s squalid, with faded siding from a century of battling four seasons and uncompromising weather patterns, and I wince at the disrepair. In some places, vinyl’s missing. One of the blue shutters dangles precariously off the window, like a cigarette hanging off someone’s lips, signaling it could fall without warning.

Nailed to the spot, I stare at the ripped mesh in the screen door, drooping like a face with partial paralysis. A wave of nausea consumes me, and struck with an uncanny feeling, I pause.

I ran away from this ugly olive-green entrance, with no plans to return.

The red blinking light catches my attention. It belongs to a security camera hanging underneath the roofline.

Tentatively I knock, at first timidly and then with more force.

After all, she’s not expecting me.

Thinking the front door will swing wide at any moment, I hear footsteps and the click of the lock, but it must be my imagination, since no one answers.

Shifting impatiently from foot to foot, I’m eager to see her reaction.

But there is none. Because the door doesn’t open.

I collapse on the rickety porch swing and rest my groggy head in my hands, considering my options. I could take a nap in the back seat and wait for her to come back, but on second thought, the exertion of standing up seems like more work than it’s worth.

I moan. Maybe I can roll over on my side and nap until my mother arrives home. But what if she’s not coming home anytime soon? Maybe she went out of town. That could be why the yard looks like a wildlife conservation area, I argue to myself as my eyes under their sagging lids peruse their surroundings.

And go where? I think. And with whom?

Suddenly a moment of clarity hits.

The hidden key.

Lethargic, I stumble to the side of the house, hopeful the farm’s unchanged appearance means the rest is also untouched. We kept a spare key hidden inside an old metal container by the side of the house. Under the rusted lid, there was a tiny crevice in the top where only a small object like a key would fit.

Of course, it’s not here anymore.

I decide to check the detached garage, wishing there were a window I could snoop through for my mother’s car, just to confirm or deny her presence.

Frustrated, I run a hand through my unkempt hair. When I kick a loose board, I catch a rusted nail and utter a steady stream of curse words.

Unsatisfied, I follow them with a shrill yell, letting the universe know how I really feel about the kinks it keeps throwing in my master plan. I’m loud enough the visiting birds scatter, annoyed by the sudden interruption.

But my luck changes when I spot the rusted container pressed against the garage, partially hidden by an overgrown brush.

As I hold my breath, the box squeaks open, and . . . it’s empty.

CHAPTER 16

Deborah

“Come on in,” Dr. Alacoy tells Deborah warmly. “I’m just finishing up with some notes. I’ll be right there.”

Nodding her head, Deborah settles into the leather couch that’s starting to feel like a second home, now that she’s had multiple sessions.

Though she wouldn’t go so far as to say she’s a fan of coming, it doesn’t cause her as much discomfort as it did. Deborah tells herself the meds can only help her feel better, and this way, she can show Robert she’s willing to work on herself and isn’t losing her grip on reality like before.

Flustered when she notices the drapes and windows are wide open, Deborah asks Alice if she can shut them.

“Of course.” Alice waves her hand at the window. “Sorry. I was in here by myself and needed some natural light and fresh air.”

Standing up, Deborah’s caught off guard when she notices a blonde woman getting out of a white car across the street and then tossing something in the trash. She’s wearing cutoff shorts and a tank top, and her hair rests on her head in a haphazard bun. Or maybe it’s intentional, Deborah supposes, since shaggy ponytails and loose-fitting buns seem to be a popular trend.

The woman crosses the street toward her and stops abruptly on the corner. She takes a few tentative steps in the opposite direction and then, just as suddenly, turns around to pause and stare up at the sky. Her movements seem disoriented, as if she’s not fully capable of carrying herself upright.

When Deborah shields her eyes from the sun, she notices the absence of a wedding ring. Alice is speaking to her back, but Deborah doesn’t acknowledge her. “I got the records from your last MRI.”

“Soren,” Deborah whispers out loud.

“Beg your pardon?”

Deborah watches as the woman tightens the strap of her purse on her shoulder. When she twists around, Deborah scans the back of her shoulder for the defining mark. Instead, she sees artwork, some kind of tattoo, but can’t make out the image.

Soren.

Tears well up in her eyes. She can’t help herself.

Deborah cups her hands by her mouth and hollers, “Soren, is that you?” Startled, the woman glances around for the voice responsible for shouting.

“Right here.” Deborah knocks at the open windowpane. “I’m right here.”

“Do you know that woman?” Alice stands next to her at the window.

“Yes,” Deborah manages to choke out. “Please excuse me. I have to go.” Not bothering to grab her purse, Deborah darts out of the office and outside, but the woman is no longer standing on the sidewalk. She’s disappeared, almost as if she vanished into thin air.

As she walks into a few different stores, Deborah hurriedly scans the