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

pact to stay silent about what had happened the night Jonathan died. It was in everyone’s best interests, hers included.

Sibley has no idea what she’s given up for her. She’s never appreciated the sacrifices, how unselfish Deborah had to be to do what she did, but it’s not all her fault. A mother’s job is to protect her children, shield them from pain. She didn’t want to let her know the man she put on a pedestal was a cruel monster, even if it meant staying silent.

So both women have suffered and spread the blame around the same way you spread a thin coat of peanut butter on a cracker with a knife, stuff it in your mouth, and wonder why your throat has become dry and cotton-like. If you swallow the lies and half truths, they become toxic.

Deborah realizes Sibley’s asking her a question. Meeting her daughter’s eyes with a blank stare, she waits for her to repeat herself.

“Is my room the same?”

“Yes. You’ll probably want to change the bedding, though. It needs a refresh.”

“Why?” Sibley winks mischievously. “You have company lately?”

“Heavens, no.”

“Do you see Fletch a lot?” Sibley asks. “Or his family?”

“More than I’d like.” Deborah snorts. “Miles Fletcher told you he’s the next chief of police, huh? That boy is delusional.”

“How come?”

“Everyone in town knows he stole money from the officers’ union, but the charges never stuck. The district attorney decided not to prosecute, said the evidence wasn’t sufficient. Money and power always talk. All of a sudden, the money was found, and the paper wrote some long bullshit article about responsible journalism and fired the poor reporter who broke the news.”

“I bet his dad wasn’t thrilled about that.” The Fletchers prefer to stay out of the papers as much as possible unless it’s for a worthy cause, like a charitable donation or a community service award.

“He got off without so much as a hand slap.” She sniffs. “Everyone still feels sorry for him since his wife died. Did you know he married Kristin?”

“I heard.” Sibley wears a pained expression on her face. “Could it have been a rush to judgment? Even though Fletch and I have differences of opinion, embezzlement doesn’t seem to fit his character. His brother, Bryce, would be more likely.”

“Who knows?” Deborah shrugs. “He’s always been a wild card.” Snapping her fingers, she says, reminiscing, “Oh, don’t think I forgot when the four of you snuck out to go to some rock and roll mess. Or how one of the Fletcher boys broke your window to sneak back in the house.”

A giggle escapes Sibley’s lips.

“What’s so funny?”

Sibley gives Deborah a smug smile. “I thought you two buried the hatchet, is all.” With another yawn, Sibley languidly rises from the couch. “All right. I’m going to go grab my suitcase and try to sleep. Wake me up if you need me.”

Speaking to Sibley’s back, Deborah says, “I’m going to cook dinner tonight. This calls for a celebration.” Her words fall flat. “Anything particular you’re hungry for?”

She pauses with her hand on the doorjamb but doesn’t turn around. “Haven’t had much of an appetite. I’m more concerned with getting rest. Maybe just a salad.” Deborah notices how Sibley’s hands tremble at her sides.

“We need to fatten you up. You’re much too thin.”

Sibley doesn’t respond, and Deborah hears the slam of the screen door as her footsteps trudge outside.

“Sleep well, honey!” Deborah hollers a few minutes later, when she hears the stairs clunking as Sibley climbs them. After Sibley’s bed creaks upstairs, Deborah steps outside to make a call. Without saying hello, she whispers into the phone, “I’m not sure what to think.”

“Wait. I can’t hear you. Why can’t you speak up?” Robert lowers his voice, which is tinged with worry. “Are you okay?”

“I’m not alone, but I’m not in trouble,” she says. “But I think she might be. Maybe financially.” She recounts for him the concern about the missing wedding ring and the absentee husband. “She’s already looking for something.” Deborah huffs. “Maybe she’s got ill intentions.”

Robert lets out a lengthy exhale, a habit of his when he’s processing news. “How well do you know your daughter?” he asks gently. “You haven’t seen her since she was a teenager.”

Deborah bites her tongue. He has a point. She presumed Sibley had her life together; her list of accomplishments and degrees made her seem untouchable and superior. But she’s human. And Deborah’s certainly no stranger to making decisions that aren’t necessarily legal or respectable to survive.

“There’s a lot you don’t know,” Robert says, brooding. “I guess all you can do right now is keep asking questions.”

“But if I find out she’s using me or spying on me, she won’t be here long,” Deborah growls.

“Exactly. I won’t let her hurt you again.”

There’s a brief pause, and Deborah knows what he’s going to ask. She tightens her grip on the phone in anticipation.

“When are you—”

“You’re breaking up. Having trouble hearing—”

“—going to tell her who her father—”

Abruptly, she disconnects, and Deborah’s mind loops back to the farm and Sibley’s shocking appearance.

An unsettled pit in her stomach makes Deborah wonder if Sibley is telling the truth.

People don’t just reappear after so many years, out of the blue, without wanting something in return. The question is, what is it?

CHAPTER 23

Sibley

Fully awake and stifling a yawn, I readjust my arms above my head for a brief minute as I open and close my burning eyes.

Languidly, I crawl out of bed to stretch, reaching the tips of my fingers to my toes, twisting my body to release some of the stiffness from my cross-country drive.

My headache has waned, content to settle into a dull ache, a reprieve from a pounding one. Before I head downstairs, I splash cold water on my dull skin. I run a hand through my tangled hair and brush my teeth, my mouth bone dry.

Grasping the wooden railing on the wall, I descend the stairs. I’m amazed none of us have broken bones from falling