Once my comment loads, I grab my purse and keys, abandoning everything else. I had already planned to stop at Goodwill on my way out of town to get what I need going forward, so I’ll just have to add a few more items to my shopping list.
The click of the motel door opening echoes through the room, but luckily Ryan doesn’t stir. I’m in my car and pulling out of the parking lot within minutes. As soon as I hit the interstate, I dump the phone I’ve been using as Evie Porter in Lake Forbing, and thanks to the little black box from Devon, if there is a tracer in my car, it’s not providing any information. Before, I wanted Mr. Smith to know where I was going, but not anymore.
Once I’ve been on the road about two hours, I stop to buy a prepaid phone and call Devon.
“Hey,” I say, when it connects.
“What happened?” he asks.
I fill him in and we’re both silent a few minutes. “You know what I’m thinking,” I finally say, not wanting to voice out loud who I think Ryan really is.
“You know I’m thinking it too,” he replies. “But no assumptions . . .”
“We only deal in facts,” I say before he can. This has been our mantra.
I’m still in the parking lot of the store where I bought this phone, pacing the length of my car again and again. I tell myself it’s because I’m stiff, but it’s fear that’s driving me.
“I’m back in Lake Forbing,” Devon says. “I’ll take care of my part, you take care of yours.” Before I can end the call, he says, “I’m close on the message board. Keep that phone so if I need you I can get you since I’m guessing you don’t have access to your Instagram account. The risk is low enough.”
I’m not sure what parameters Devon uses to gauge the risk versus reward in these situations, but I trust him enough that I don’t question his reasoning.
“Okay.” I pause a moment, then add, “If it looks like things are not going to end like we hope tomorrow morning, haul ass. Drop what you’re doing and disappear.”
“L, you know I’m not abandoning you.”
“Between Mr. Smith and the cops, we both know the chances of me walking away from this are slim. And there are other people to consider. Heather, for one, will need you.”
“Same goes for you,” he says. “It’s never too late to bail. Just get up and start moving.”
“I’ll check in when I’m done today,” I say, then end the call. This entire conversation felt so much like a good-bye that I couldn’t bring myself to actually say it.
* * *
It’s midafternoon when I pass the welcome to eden sign. It was a long drive with only a stop to buy the burner phone to call Devon, and in Winston-Salem to buy some clothes at Goodwill.
My eyes drink in the town I once called home. Memories flood in so fast that I almost drown in them. The fast-food restaurant where I hung out with friends and the fabric store where Mama and I spent hours poring over new arrivals every week are still there, but those buildings have been ravaged by time and neglect. I turn on the road that runs in front of my high school, and it’s almost physically impossible to breathe when I see the worn path through the grass between the side door and the parking lot that I traveled a thousand times.
The last time I was here feels like a lifetime ago.
It also feels like yesterday.
But as familiar as everything is, I am still a stranger here. There’s no one I would call up and visit.
One last turn and I’m on my old street. I pull into the trailer park and get out without cutting the engine. I study each one of the single-wide mobile homes crammed into this space, comparing what they used to look like to now and remembering who called each of them home. I save the middle one on the left side for last.
I cringe when I think about how embarrassed Mama would be for anyone to see it in this condition. Even though it wasn’t much to look at when it was ours, she always made sure it was neat and clean and the narrow beds near the steps had flowers planted in them. Now they’re full of weeds, and there’s a blue tarp covering some damage to the roof and a broken-down truck up on blocks next to the door.
It hurts to remember the girl I once was. The one who called this place home. That girl was happy here. Really happy. Even when Mama got sick, that young, naive girl thought she could take care of her. Thought she could save her from dying.
But that little girl learned a lot in that trailer. She learned that no matter how hard you try, sometimes it’s not enough. She learned the only person you could trust, the only person you could truly rely on, was yourself.
A woman peeking out from behind a curtain in the trailer closest to me reminds me I didn’t drive all this way for a walk down memory lane.
There is one reason I came back to Eden.
Once I’m in my car, I turn around and hit the main road again, stopping at Sheetz to refuel and do a quick wardrobe change in the bathroom. Then it takes only a few minutes to get to the newer area of town, where the businesses sit in a long row behind plate-glass windows.
I park near Dr. Brown’s office at the far end of the strip and make my way to the door.
“Can I help you?” the receptionist asks when I approach the counter.
“Yes, property management sent me over. We’re checking the breakers in all the units. There was an electrical problem in the pet store last night, but thankfully someone was there to get it under control before it started a fire. Shouldn’t take but a couple of minutes.” I was lucky enough to find a uniform shirt and a pair of khakis at Goodwill that I could make work so I look the part.
“Oh!” she says, motioning me to pass through. “Of course, let me know if you need anything.”
I give her a big smile then head toward the back of the office. Luckily, all the employees are with patients in the exam rooms so I go unnoticed as I slip inside the mechanical room. I bypass the electrical box, going straight for the main server and inserting the drive from my bag then running through the keystrokes Devon wrote down, guaranteeing the files are uploaded.
I’m out of the room in five minutes. Moving back to the reception area, I nod to the girl at the desk. “You’re all good, enjoy your day.”
I’m leaving Eden for the last time ten minutes later.
Calling Devon, I say, “It’s done,” the moment he answers.
“Sending you a screenshot,” he says. “The Coach Mitch gamble paid off. We know who Smith is now.”
My heart rate skyrockets and I pull over on the side of the road as I wait for the image to load. And there he is. Even though the screen is tiny, his familiar face is all I can see. I stare at it longer than I should.
Finally, I put the phone back to my ear. “We deal in facts now,” I say.
“Yes, we do.” He pauses then says, “This doesn’t have to change anything, L.”
I swallow hard. “I know. Make the calls. I want to get through the cops first. Then I’ll worry about the bank. If I can’t shake the cops, the rest of it doesn’t matter, so they are the priority right now.”
“Okay. Remember what I said. It is never too late to bail. Just start walking.”
I’m nodding even though he can’t see me. “And you’re handling things in Lake Forbing?”
“Already done. Got in the house without a problem. I’ll tip the police off first thing in the morning,” he says. “And the next river you pass, toss that phone in. Don’t have it on you when you meet with the cops.”
“Will do. I’ll grab another one when I get to Atlanta so next time you hear from me should be after I’m done with those detectives. And if I can’t call, you’ll know . . .”
“Nope, no doomsday talk just yet. I’ll wait to hear from you.” And then Devon ends the call.
I stare at his image a few more minutes before deleting it.
Alias: Regina Hale—Six Months Ago
It’s the first time I’ve been bored on a job. I’m in Decatur, Georgia, and the only thing I’ve been given was my new identity, a membership number for the local country club, and the name Amy Holder, along with a set of instructions: