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Back One White Lie Save as PDF
Chapters (59)
  1. COVER
  2. About the Author
  3. DEDICATION
  4. ONE
  5. TWO
  6. THREE
  7. FOUR
  8. FIVE
  9. SIX
  10. SEVEN
  11. EIGHT
  12. NINE
  13. TEN
  14. ELEVEN
  15. TWELVE
  16. THIRTEEN
  17. FOURTEEN
  18. FIFTEEN
  19. SIXTEEN
  20. SEVENTEEN
  21. EIGHTEEN
  22. NINETEEN
  23. TWENTY
  24. TWENTY-ONE
  25. TWENTY-TWO
  26. TWENTY-THREE
  27. TWENTY-FOUR
  28. TWENTY-FIVE
  29. TWENTY-SIX
  30. TWENTY-SEVEN
  31. TWENTY-EIGHT
  32. TWENTY-NINE
  33. THIRTY
  34. THIRTY-ONE
  35. THIRTY-TWO
  36. THIRTY-THREE
  37. THIRTY-FOUR
  38. THIRTY-FIVE
  39. THIRTY-SIX
  40. THIRTY-SEVEN
  41. THIRTY-EIGHT
  42. THIRTY-NINE
  43. FORTY
  44. FORTY-ONE
  45. FORTY-TWO
  46. FORTY-THREE
  47. FORTY-FOUR
  48. FORTY-FIVE
  49. FORTY-SIX
  50. FORTY-SEVEN
  51. FORTY-EIGHT
  52. FORTY-NINE
  53. FIFTY
  54. FIFTY-ONE
  55. FIFTY-TWO
  56. FIFTY-THREE
  57. FIFTY-FOUR
  58. Acknowledgments
  59. THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING

I took a deep yoga breath. I was like a scared animal sometimes, worse than Dusty with his tail between his legs.

I set the hammer down and pushed the bed aside, metal screeching against the floorboards. I knelt, knees leaving prints in the blanket of dust, and carefully pressed each plank. After five minutes, I found one that felt loose, a few inches off the baseboard. I pried it up with the claw of the hammer, creating a space about ten inches long, four inches wide, then tucked away each item, everything but money for rent and my mother’s scarf, and pressed the board back into place. I ran my hands from side to side, scattering the dust, before repositioning the bed.

I needed a drink. I’d forced myself to abstain since I left, knowing I had to keep a clear head. It was almost three, earlier than I’d start in regular life, but it seemed okay, considering. This was my new reality: I lived in a sweet little cottage, woodland creatures romped about, and I stored my possessions under the floorboards – who’s to say I had to wait till six?

‘What do you think?’ I asked Dusty. ‘Has Mommy earned a drink?’

From my suitcase, I retrieved Davis’s last good bottle of whiskey, the one I’d stolen two days ago, and headed to the kitchen. I glanced around the room, and my eyes caught on a doggie door, something I’d have to train Dusty to use properly. I poured a couple fingers of whiskey into a small juice glass and took a sip. I peered outside – the fenced-in postage stamp of yard was surrounded by an expanse of woods. This was the perfect place for us. It had to be.

Back in the bedroom, I situated myself on the bed, opened my laptop, and logged in to the VPN I’d signed up for, the one that would scramble my IP address, keeping my connection untraceable, just in case. I loaded my old email, fearing the worst, but there were no new messages, nothing more than retail spam and nonprofit solicitations, stoking fear in a bid for more donations.

I read over the draft I’d written last night, chest constricting at the thought of what my best friend, Ellie, might already know.