The front door opens without a knock. I sit up, expecting to see one of Marian’s parents, but instead it’s Sheriff Gleason and Grandma Gleason.

Their disappointment in my physical state is clear on both of their faces.

Grandma Gleason clears her throat. “I didn’t realize that grunge is still in. Maybe you should shower and freshen up before we go.”

They’re taking me to see Paula. I am going to meet Amanda Linsley’s mom. My mom.

“Do you need help picking out what to wear?” she asks.

God, what does one wear when meeting one’s mom for the first time in fifteen years?

“I’m okay,” I reply as I stand up. “But before we go, I’ve been thinking and there’s something I need to ask you both.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter

TWENTY-THREE

“Ready?”

I duck down in the back seat of Grandma Gleason’s car as we exit the garage, not wanting to risk being seen by reporters.

“It looks like the coast is clear,” Sheriff Gleason says. He changed out of his police uniform and instead has on jeans and a sweater so as not to draw suspicion. Grandma Gleason is in the seat next to him.

The sedan slows as we get to the corner of Elm, where you’d take a right to get to where Dad and I live. Or is it “lived”? Had lived, before.

“Oh my,” Grandma Gleason calls out under her breath.

I take a peek at my block and duck back down. There are news vans lining the entire street. Bright camera lights are focused on my house.

I can’t help but feel sorry for my neighbors. How they’re being hounded and questioned. Then I feel a twinge of gratitude that they aren’t talking.

God, all it will take is just one person, one person saying my name or giving them a picture. I’m so relieved for my Erin Rodgers alias and private online life.

As we hit the highway that leaves town, I start to relax a little. I’ve never been so grateful to get away.

We’re meeting Paula at her hotel in Green Bay. She’s staying there because, well, first of all, there isn’t a hotel in Valley Falls. And, most importantly, it will give us some privacy.

The car is mostly silent on the drive to the hotel. I get comfortable enough to fully sit up in my seat. I watch the farmland pass by. Do they even have farms in Florida? Or is it all palm trees and beaches?

I realize my hands are gripped in tight fists. All I can do at this point is pray my plan works out.

Bile rises in my throat as we pull into the Hyatt Regency. Sheriff Gleason parks the car, and nobody moves. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“Okay,” I reply without moving a muscle.