Deborah says nothing, just motions for her to step aside so she can enter the small walk-in. With disbelief, Deborah stares at the corner of the pantry. There’s no dress balled up on the floor. Jackets and a scarf hang on their usual hooks, but there’s no sign of a floral print.
Slowly crouching down, Deborah even rolls her long sleeves up and gets on her hands and knees to check beneath the bottom shelf. There’s nothing but dust mites and a gold stud, no sign of blood or a crumpled dress. When she steps out of the pantry to confront Sibley, she says, “You must’ve put it back upstairs in your secret stash.”
“Oh, really?” Sibley puts her hands on her hips. “What happened to your arm, Mother?”
“What do you mean?”
“You have scratches all over your arm.” Sibley points at the jagged red marks. “You got clawed pretty bad. Please tell me it wasn’t one of the feral cats.”
Stumped, Deborah traces the lines. “It must’ve been Esmeralda,” she says, but she knows she probably doesn’t sound convinced.
“You better put some alcohol on it.” Sibley raises her brow. “And I hope for your sake the cats don’t have rabies. We don’t need a Pet Sematary situation out here.”
Deborah bites her tongue and swallows a response.
“By the way, when you were going through my room,” Sibley says, “you didn’t have to scare the bejesus out of me when you came upstairs last night.”
“I didn’t come upstairs last night,” Deborah says. “I went to bed and conked out.”
“So I dreamed that?”
“You were drunk,” Deborah says matter-of-factly. “You made a mess in the living room when you tripped over the lamp. At first, I thought I’d been robbed.”
“No, I wasn’t. I was disoriented. Different surroundings and all. I forgot where I was.”
“I found a smashed, empty bottle outside.”
“Well, I don’t remember why I went downstairs in the first place, but I woke up with a massive headache and a goose egg on my forehead,” Sibley gripes. “Is that why you called the police?”
“I didn’t mean to hit call, but I saw Miles Fletcher’s truck outside,” Deborah states. “You better put some frozen peas on your eye.”
“No. It’ll be okay.” Sibley tiredly rubs her eyes. “I’ll survive. I don’t really remember much about last night. Can we talk about my father?”
“What about Jonathan?”
Sibley fixes her with a glare. “Who’s lying now?”
Deborah stumbles backward, relieved to feel the solid edge of the counter cutting into her back. A dizzy spell washes over her like a tidal wave. Pressing her fingers to her forehead, she murmurs, “I need to lie down.”
Ignoring the surprise on Sibley’s face, Deborah slinks out of the room and shuts her bedroom door firmly against her daughter and questions she doesn’t want to answer.
CHAPTER 31
Sibley
After I hear my mother’s door slam, I wearily climb the stairs, tracking bits of grass from being barefoot earlier. Not wanting the showerhead’s blast or noise, I settle myself on the tub’s side to rinse my muddy feet under the spigot. My bloodshot eyes stare back at me from the mirror with a vulnerable rawness that startles me.
Why would she accuse me of having her dress? I ask my reflection.
After swallowing a handful of pills, I strip the rest of my clothes off and burrow underneath the covers, my exhaustion giving way to an uneasy slumber.
Then, unable to sleep, I boot up my laptop, deciding to search for information on my newfound father. Even though he graduated with my mother, I can’t find any recent information on him or any type of social media presence. An obituary for Edward Marvin Pearson pops up, and my hands tremble on the keyboard.
Both of my fathers are dead?
I tell myself this can’t be the right Edward M. Pearson, but he’s the same age as my mother and grew up around here. It says he served in the navy and lived all over the world during his deployment.
Left to honor Edward are his two children, Edward Jr. and Olivia. He was preceded in death by his parents, Edward and Louisa, and his brother, Preston.
A cause of death isn’t listed, and minimal details are included. I search for the two kids and find a million Edward Pearsons and a decent number of Olivias, more than I would’ve thought possible, but none seem to have ties to our small town.
Filled with sadness, I cry myself to sleep, hating the unfairness of never knowing who my father was until it was too late.
I’m discombobulated when I wake. The light streamed in when I first hobbled to bed, but now the moon’s the only flashlight. The digital clock on the nightstand informs me it’s after 9:00 p.m.
Before I lug myself out of bed, my thoughts drift to my earlier discovery in the barn, and a wave of nausea overtakes me. My racing mind is screaming with an insatiable need that hasn’t been fulfilled. The distinct voice in my head always has a solution to my problems. I need something to curb my craving.
When I emerge downstairs, my mother’s seated at the table, her fork digging into a baked potato loaded up with butter and sour cream. I’m surprised to see her eating something, considering the state of her fridge.
“I waited as long as I could,” she says apologetically.
“Jeez, Mother, it’s after nine.” I shove my trembling hands in my pockets. “I would hope you wouldn’t wait for me to eat.”
“I was about to come and check on you.” Her hand twists around her fork. “I just didn’t want you to think I was spying on you.”
“I’m sure you have a hard time getting up the stairs.” I shrug. “If you need anything, you can always holler at me from the bottom.”
She puts down her fork.
“Are you feeling any better?” I ask. “Didn’t you go and take a nap?”
“I did. I feel much more refreshed.” My mother gives me a small smile. “And relaxed.”
Since my mother finally seems at ease, I should take this opportunity to settle on the couch with her and catch up on the past sixteen years. Find out about Edward and what happened to him. But I don’t have the patience to sit down, my body thrumming with nervous energy. After all the nonsense about the farm and her dress accusations, only one thing is on my mind.
Nonchalant, I slide my flip-flops on. “I’m going to run into town.”
“For what? I just got groceries.”
“I need to just clear my head with a drive.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” She frowns. “I worry about you driving at night. You gotta watch out for deer.”
“I drove all the way here. I think I can handle it.” I grab my wallet. “Want anything?”
“Mind if I go with you? It might be good to get some fresh air. We can stop and get some ice cream, my treat.”
“As much as I’d love the company, do you mind if I bring some back for us?” Her crestfallen face causes me to hurriedly add, “I was going to try and call Holden. I’m having trouble with my signal out here.”
“It can be spotty,” she murmurs. “I wondered why I hadn’t seen you on the phone. I figured that husband of yours was getting worried. If it’s about privacy . . . ,” she says with an air of concern.
“It’s not. I’ll just call him on the drive,” I offer. “We can have dessert together. Least I can do for making you wait to eat dinner so late.”
“It closes at ten, so you better hurry.”
With a nod, I search for my keys.
I’m growing increasingly agitated, since there’s nothing more I’d like to do than close the gap between me and my next sip.
“If you’re looking for your keys, they’re in your ignition.” My mother studies me intently.
I don’t bother to ask how she knows this or why I left them there. Mumbling a simple thank-you, I rush outside to my car and pause a moment. I hurry to the barn, carefully remove the towel from the chest, and place it on my passenger-side floor mat. I did tell the chief of police
I would pay him a visit. He’s used to having late shifts and is a born night owl. I’ll check and see if he’s in tonight.
Sweat trickles down to my tailbone as I drive, and I can’t decide if I’m anticipating answers about the gun resting on the floor or the taste of my disease. When I reach the station, I’m relieved to see the chief’s vehicle in the parking lot. Even though his gait has slowed with time, he still has a bounce in his step, and he barrels toward me to greet me warmly.
“Sibley!” He gives me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “How’re you?”
“I’m okay.” I lean into his arms, smelling his pine aftershave, the scent as much a part of him as the mole on his chin.
“Must be pretty heavy to be back home after all these years.” He motions toward his cramped office, made smaller by the files and paperwork that take up every square inch of his desk and a folding chair. “Take a seat.” At my questioning glance, he adds, “Wherever you can find one.”
“I’ll just lean against the wall,” I offer, suddenly nervous with the towel-wrapped firearm in my handbag.
“You sure?”
“I’m not going to attempt to clean this mess up,” I tease. “It’s probably the same files from sixteen years ago.”
“Might be.” He chuckles. “But seriously, it’s so good to see you. I’m glad you took my advice and stopped in.”
“Yeah, me too.” I can feel my face flush as his pensive stare lingers too long on my bruise. I’m waiting for him to ask me what happened, but he’s silently giving me a chance to talk. “You wanna know about my face?”
“Nope. I figure you’ll tell me in due time. Something else is on your mind. The gears are turning in your head.”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Yep.”
I shrug, letting my gaze drift to a family picture taken when his children were tiny. I smile at one of his kids running through a sprinkler system as his wife holds a grinning boy bundled up in her arms. “I love that picture.”
“I know. It’s my favorite.” He barely glances at it. “You’re deflecting. What’s up?”
I say casually, motioning to the floor, “I found something.”
“On the farm?” Leaning his elbows on his desk, he watches me reach gingerly into the handbag resting at my feet. I set the rolled-up towel in front of him on the scratched surface. The chief looks at me, then at the faded towel as if it might bite him.
I warn him it could be loaded.
Raising a quizzical brow, he nods at the desk. “There’s a gun in here?”
“Uh-huh.”
His nostrils flare. “Where did you find it?”
“In the barn.” He waits for me to explain the exact location, and I add, “It was stuck behind a wooden chest in the tack room.”
His eyes become narrowed slits as he unwraps it slowly. When the ugly metal object is unveiled, he stands to consider it. “Why did you bring this here?”
“I thought it might help in the arrest of my mother’s assailant.”
He sucks in a ragged breath and exhales slowly. “That was a tragedy.”
“I hope it can be analyzed for fingerprints. With the prison being so close, I figure there’s a good chance prints are already in the fingerprint system.”
The chief strokes his chin. “Did you touch the gun?”
“Absolutely not!”
“That was a trick question.” He lets out a loud cackle. “I’m glad you ended up a lawyer. You always were a smart girl, Sibley.”
“I just want whoever did this to be caught, you know?” My voice catches. “I can tell my mother is a nervous wreck because of this.”
“That would be the best outcome, honey. This could be what we need to arrest someone,” he soothes. “How’s everything going so far since you came back home?”
“Well . . .” I take a deep breath. “I have a couple of questions about my mother.”
“Go ahead. Shoot.”
“I found some old correspondence between my mother and a man named Edward Pearson and . . .”
Perspiration beads his forehead before I even finish. Instantly, the chief shrinks into his chair, as if he wishes he could fold his towering form into it. It makes sense that the chief would know him in this small community.
“So you knew him?”
With a shrug, he claims they were acquaintances, but his sunken posture and red face tell me he’s lying. Usually, he has an expert poker face, and I’d know because Jonathan used to play poker with him and told me.
Besides the guilt, recognition and pain are visible in his eyes.
“I just thought since you and Deborah are close to the same age, it would make sense,” I offer. “I mean, there were only forty-seven students total in my mother’s graduating class.”
“And that’s combining a few towns,” he chuckles.
“Can you tell me about him?”
“I can try.”
“Did my mother used to date him?”
The chief shifts uncomfortably in his seat, and I decide to put him out of his misery. I’m just as eager to leave the claustrophobic room as he is.
“Did they have a bad breakup?”
“Not that I recall. Eddie enlisted in the navy and went off to war. Hard to have a long-distance relationship, let alone international.” He pokes my elbow. “Remember, back then, we didn’t have cell phones or email. Everything was snail mail and maybe even a passenger pigeon.”
“I have to ask you something, and let me preface it with: I’m not upset.” I consider him mournfully. “I just want to know the truth. The other day my mother was having a nightmare, and I heard her yelling two names: Edward’s and Jonathan’s. When I woke her up, she kept murmuring she was sorry she didn’t tell me sooner that Edward was my father, not Jonathan.”
Abruptly, the chief stands up and walks to the corner of his office, his back toward me.
“It’s true.” My voice shakes. “Isn’t it?”
“Sibby.” I can hear the hurt in his voice. “I didn’t want to be the one to tell you.”
“You didn’t.”
He doesn’t turn around, speaking to the wall instead of my face. “Yes. Edward was your father.”
“Do you know how I can reach him?” I pretend I don’t know this will never happen, ignoring the hard tug on my heartstrings.
“You can’t.” I watch his neck lower as he hangs his head.
“What happened to him?”
The chief’s voice has a hard edge to it. “He killed himself. Supposedly PTSD. He saw a lot of shit he shouldn’t have had to see. It’s a real, serious thing.”
“When did he . . . when did he pass?”
“You were in high school.” He grimaces. “Shortly before, yeah, shortly before Jonathan died.”
“How long have you known I was his daughter?”
“Edward told me when you were younger, probably when you were in seventh or eighth grade.” The chief turns to face me, and I see wetness on his cheeks. “One day, he spotted you walking with your mom, going into the diner, and when he noticed you, it was abundantly clear you shared similar features. Said he about dropped of a heart attack right there. He confronted Deborah, and she reluctantly admitted it.”
“But when did you know?”
“That same time frame.”
“Didn’t Edward know about me before?” I’m suddenly confused. “I thought he didn’t want me. Didn’t he want her to, you know, get rid of me?”
“Sib, he didn’t know your mother was pregnant with you. He was overseas.”
“But I found unlabeled letters my mother wrote.”
He shrugs. “If that’s the case and Deborah sent them to Edward, why does she still have them?”
“No idea.” I frown. “Did he ever get married?” I pretend I don’t know about his life, about the obituary that mentioned his wife and kids.
“Yes.”
“Children?”
“Two.” But he adds hurriedly, “They live on the East Coast
. I think Boston. And his ex-wife moved there too. I’m sorry I lied to you. Eddie and I were good friends. I was a pallbearer at his funeral when he died. It’s a sensitive topic. He was one of my best friends. It’s reprehensible to me, such a waste of a good life.”
I double over, feeling like I just had the wind knocked out of me. He hurries to my side.
“Are you okay, Sibby?” His huge palm swaddles my shoulder.
“I’m okay,” I moan as a stabbing pain guts me, bringing me to my knees. He doesn’t move his hand away until I’m settled on the cold tile.
“Be right back.” He steps out for a minute and returns with a bottled water, then pushes it into my hands.
“I wish I could crawl down there with you,” he says with a ragged inhale. “But these bones creak now. I’m not as limber as I once was.”
“You and my mother have that in common. You both keep saying you’re old.”
He chortles. “I feel like it most days.”
I look up at him sadly. “Do you talk to Edward’s kids or ex-wife?”
“I don’t. And Sibley, let me ask a huge favor. You might feel like you want to reach out to them for some kind of closure or to find out about your father. Understandably, you’d want to feel some kind of connection to your dad.” He runs a hand through his thinning salt-and-pepper hair. “I want to discourage this because they don’t know about you or know that Eddie had a love child.”
“Was he also married when my mother got pregnant with me?”
“No.” He moves back to his chair, settling with a thump. “But no one else could hold a candle to your mother, and his ex-wife knew that. There’s a lot of sadness in that family. I don’t want to open old wounds, especially for those kids.”
“You don’t think after all this time, Edward’s family might forgive the situation?”
“Unfortunately, no.” He shakes his head glumly. “It would be awful for both his ex and Debbie to have to relive their relationships with Eddie. Neither would appreciate the gesture.” He adds, “And your mother’s health is, well, frankly, I was relieved when you came home and I heard your voice.” The chief yanks at the top button of his shirt. “At first, I thought she was having hallucinations about you being at the house.”
The Imposter Page 24