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

faces of the few people she encounters, but none are the woman. Recognition lights up in Deborah’s eyes at a sales clerk she knows from church, but unwilling to make small talk, she abrasively asks if she’s seen the blonde woman. The clerk stammers as confusion clouds her face.

Frustrated at her slow reaction, Deborah fumes a goodbye and storms out. The blonde woman couldn’t have evaporated.

When Deborah is back on the sidewalk, she glances at the parking space where the white vehicle was parked just a few minutes ago.

It’s empty.

I must have the wrong spot. Deborah shakes her head as she paces mindlessly up and down the concrete, scanning for the white car.

Clenching her fists angrily at her sides, she blames herself for not memorizing the license plate. A tightness wells up in her chest, and unable to breathe, Deborah rests a hand on her throat, reassured when Alice joins her on the sidewalk.

“Don’t let me suffocate,” Deborah manages to whisper.

Gingerly, Alice takes Deborah’s elbow and walks her back inside the office, where the window and drapes are now closed.

“I think I have heatstroke,” Deborah confesses, sinking into the couch.

“I think it’s a panic attack.” Alice hands her a glass. “What happened with that woman? Who is she?”

“I guess she left.” Deborah gratefully sips the water.

“You seemed alarmed to see her. And now you’re having a bout of anxiety,” Alice points out gently. “Did something happen between the two of you?”

“She’s from my past, is all.” Deborah twists uncomfortably on what is usually a comfortable couch.

“Do you want to talk about her?” Alice asks. “Soren, is that what you called her?”

“Not right now.” Deborah brings a sweaty palm to her forehead. “I didn’t know she was alive.”

Alice starts to ask a question, and almost as if she thinks better of it, she pauses with her mouth wide open. Deborah thinks she looks like she’s trying to catch flies.

With a resigned glance, Alice shuts her mouth and settles in the chair. Holding up a thick file, she flips through the pages. “I got the record of your MRI back, and I’d like to schedule another CT scan.”

Deborah is only half listening. “Is everything okay?”

“I think we just need to complete the puzzle,” Alice says thoughtfully. “A couple pieces aren’t fitting correctly, and I’d like to make sure we have the most up-to-date information possible.”

“I see.” Deborah leans her head back against the leather. She wishes she had a couch like this at the house. She’d surely be able to sleep then.

“Let me ask you this,” Alice says. “How are you feeling on your meds?”

“I’m still adjusting to them.” Deborah closes her eyes. “My brain feels like mush.”

“Ah, we call that ‘brain fog.’”

“It makes it impossible for me to follow a train of thought.” Deborah likens it to driving down a street and having it dead-end every time. Her brain merely screeches to a sudden halt.

“Are you sleeping better?”

“I am, but I feel like I want to stay in bed.” Deborah clutches the water glass tightly. “It’s as if I can’t get my day started. When I do get up, I have no energy.”

“Do you feel depressed?”

“No.” Deborah’s eyes flicker open. “I should be thrilled.”

Alice waits for Deborah to express her emotions.

“My boyfriend—oh yes, I told you about him. Robert, he talked about us moving in together.”

“That’s exciting!” Alice says. “Congratulations.”

“It seems weird to say ‘boyfriend’ at my age . . .”

“Are you ready for this next step?”

“I think so. It’s just hard because I’ve been independent for so long.” Deborah bites her lip. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous. I’m super anxious about it.”

“Let’s talk about your anxiety.” Alice asks her questions, and Deborah tries to answer as truthfully as possible.

“Have you dated or lived with anyone since your husband passed away?”

“No. That’s another reason this is such a huge change.” She takes a deep inhale. “And my husband, Jonathan, we didn’t have the best marriage. It was rocky . . . it was always bad. It wasn’t a fit.”

“If you knew it wasn’t a match, I’m curious to know why you married your husband, then.”

“I didn’t want to.” In a tempestuous voice, Deborah recalls her former love. “I dated a guy named Edward in high school. We were very much in love, but he joined the navy and got his papers to go overseas.” Deborah is always surprised at the emotion she conjures up when she thinks of this. Alice must notice her discomfort, because Deborah feels a tissue pressed into her hand.

“My father, being a preacher, didn’t like the idea of me moving to different military bases or leaving our hometown and his watchful eye, regardless if it was for a good cause like serving our country.”

She dabs at the crease of her eyelid. “Unbeknownst to me, my father forced Edward to break up with me on a visit home.”

“How did that make you feel?”

Deborah wonders if Alice has been listening. “I felt like my heart had been yanked out with pliers.”

“So when did your husband come into the picture?”

“Not long after. My parents forced me to attend a singles mixer at the church. They said Jonathan was a God-fearing fellow, would make a good husband, and had farming in his blood. Marriage was the furthest thing from my mind at the time. Except . . .”

Deborah inhales a sharp breath. “I found out I was a couple months pregnant after I met Jonathan, except it wasn’t his. I thought I was depressed, since I was tired and moody all the time. I blamed it on missing Edward, but my mother made me take a test. When it came back positive, she forbade me from telling Jonathan or my father since I was ‘used goods,’ and certainly Jonathan wouldn’t want to marry me.” Deborah chuckles. “And she would’ve been right. When Jonathan asked my father’s permission, my mother told me I didn’t have a choice, that we had to act fast to pass the child off as his, and six weeks after