And then there’s that smile. “Always,” he answers. “Give me a few minutes to clean up.”
He heads inside and I sit back and stare at the sky. It’s been a few days since I spied on him at the warehouse and the mailbox is still empty. There was another sighting of James and that woman last night. According to social media, they were at a local craft brewery listening to a popular local band. They have hit every hot spot in town.
The hummingbird feeder that hangs from a tree limb next to the deck draws my attention, and I watch the birds flap their little wings as they dart in and out to get a drink. Every morning, Ryan refills that feeder just like his grandmother probably did.
Mama would have loved it here.
We spent many nights dreaming up the fantasy house we’d one day build. I used to think she just hated the trailer. Or was embarrassed by it. It wasn’t until I was older that I realized Mama wanted more for us than just a bigger roof over our heads. She wanted a different way of life. One where you didn’t worry about having enough grocery money. One where she wouldn’t worry about what would happen to me once she was gone.
“Ready?” Ryan asks from the patio door.
“Yep.” I glance once more at the birds, then hop to my feet, following him back inside to the kitchen door that will lead us to the garage.
As we slowly wander down the aisles of Home Depot, Ryan studies each mower, then checks reviews on his phone before narrowing it down.
“I’m going to look at the plants,” I say after he has stared at the same three mowers for twenty minutes.
“Grab a buggy. We need something for the front porch.” He tears his gaze away from the machines in front of him and looks at me. “Maybe some ferns?”
“The ones that hang?” I ask.
He shrugs, then nods, letting me know it’s my decision because in his mind, it’s my house too. We are the epitome of a domestic couple. All we’re missing is a couple of Starbucks and some hand-holding.
The garden section is an oasis in a sea of tools, lumber, and electrical supplies. I take my time, passing trays of geraniums and petunias and pansies, and think about what I would add to the flower beds in the front yard if it was truly mine to do with as I wished. As if I would be here to see them in full bloom. Distracted by the prettiest pink hydrangeas I’ve ever seen, my cart clips the side of one coming from the opposite direction.
“Oh, sorry!” And then I nearly freeze when I see it’s James and the woman pretending to be me.
“Oh, hey!” she says. “I think we met at that Derby party!”
I hope the smile that spreads across my face hides the internal eye roll at her words. Nodding to them both, I say, “Yes, of course.”
Could she not know who I really am? That she was sent here as some threat to replace me? Because she’s good. Really good. There’s not a flick of recognition nor a long look that sizes me up as her obvious opponent. There is a chance she’s still in the “waiting for information” stage of her job, but does she not find the unmistakable resemblance between us as jarring as I do? Even though my hair is darker, it’s uncanny.
“Dad usually freshens up the beds for Mom, but he’s out of commission right now, so we thought we’d do it for him since it’s such a pretty day,” James says, nodding to the plants in his cart.
“Aw, what a good son,” I say, my back teeth grinding.
“James, hey man!” I hear Ryan say from behind me. He jogs up and the two of them shake hands, then Ryan nods a greeting at the woman. “Lucca.” He looks at her then back at me before once again looking at her.
He sees the similarities too.
Ryan clears his throat then turns back to me and says, “I picked one and they’re bringing it to the checkout in here. Thought I’d come help with the plants.”
James laughs. “Damn, when did we get so old that a beautiful spring day meant yard work? We should be on the lake, icing down some beer.”
“Yeah, no kidding,” Ryan says, but I know if given the option, we’d still leave here and spend the day in the yard, saving the lake and beer for after the work is done.
“Another time,” James says. The small talk lasts a few more minutes while she and I just watch each other. They start to move away, but I put a hand on James’s arm, stopping them. “I was just thinking—do you two have plans for tonight?” I glance quickly at Ryan and then back to them. She’s been dancing just out of my reach for too long. “We’d love it if you came over for dinner.”
She beams at the invitation.
“We’d love that,” James answers for them. “What can we bring?”
“Nothing! We’ve got it.” I look at the woman. “Can’t wait!”
Alias: Izzy Williams—Eight Years Ago
This is the first job where my fake name and background has the backup to support it. I even googled my new name, Isabelle Williams, Izzy for short, and found that I was listed as a member of the cross-country team who competed at state for a local high school a few years ago. Somehow the picture that accompanied the article included a grainy group photo, and I could swear I was the third girl on the right, complete with short blond hair, like the wig I’m wearing right now.
It makes me wonder how many people Mr. Smith has working for him. Not just people being sent on jobs like me but those working behind the scenes, altering images that show up on internet searches and creating identities from thin air.
The only other person I’ve dealt with is Matt, but it feels like whatever this organization is, it’s much bigger than just him and Mr. Smith.
There was a lot to do to get ready for this job. I was given instructions on how to pull my natural hair up and secure it under the wig so that there was no chance any of my strands would be left uncovered. I was also told to apply a thick layer of liquid bandage to the tip of each finger so no matter what I touch while I’m here, I wouldn’t leave a fingerprint behind. I’m to reapply it every couple of hours. I rub my fingers together, still trying to get used to the lack of feeling there. I added the contoured makeup and colored contacts on my own. Mama taught me how a few strokes of powder can change the shape and look of your entire face—although I know she would only have wanted me to use those tricks to enhance my face, not to make it unrecognizable.
It’s the first day of my first job for Mr. Smith, and I have to admit, I’m a little nervous. As far as Greg and Jenny Kingston know, I’m the new nanny for their son, Miles. But in truth, Greg has something in this house that my boss wants, and I’m here to get it for him.
There were a lot of instructions of how to handle items, as well. The second I retrieve the item I’m sent for, I am to drop it at a predesignated spot as soon as possible. It’s harder to get caught if you aren’t in possession of what you stole when they catch you.
Walking up to the front porch, I smooth down my shirt and shorts before ringing the doorbell.
Greg opens the door immediately, as if he has been waiting for me to arrive. He’s wearing a gray suit with a darker gray tie, and his hair looks like it hasn’t changed since he was a young boy. Short and combed to the side, not a strand out of place.
“Isabelle Williams?” he asks, then looks me up and down. I’m dressed exactly as instructed. Khaki shorts that hit two inches above the knee and a pink polo shirt. I look like I’m ready for a round of golf.
My hand reaches out for his and we shake. “Yes, sir. Mr. Kingston. You can call me Izzy.”
He nods and gestures for me to come inside. He checks his watch for the second time since he’s opened the door, then yells toward the wraparound stairs that curve up the foyer wall. “Jenny! She’s here!”
Both of our gazes are trained on the upper landing as we wait for Jenny to show herself.
She doesn’t.
Greg booms her name out again and again we wait.
He’s irritated. And slightly embarrassed. “Excuse me one moment,” he mutters, and then he’s gone. Taking the steps two at a time, he is out of sight within seconds.