Impostor by Jill Hathaway Read Free Book Online Page B

Rollins standing on my front porch.
    It’s my dead mother.

Chapter Eight
    I don’t say anything. I can’t say anything. I feel my jaw drop open, but I can’t force my lips to move or exhale the breath required to make a sound.
    Logically, I know this can’t be my mother. I was there the day she died. I attended her funeral, dropped a single white rose onto her coffin as it was lowered into the ground. It’s as though my eyes are betraying me. She’s just as I remember her—long blond hair, now wet from the rain that started up soon after Rollins took off. Her eyes are bright blue, just like mine. Only her clothes are different. Instead of the ripped jeans and band T-shirts my mother wore when I was little, this woman is wearing khakis and a button-down blouse under a peacoat. She is completely soaked. Mascara trails down her cheeks, but I can’t tell if it’s from the weather or if she’s been crying.
    After a moment, I realize this must be my mother’s sister, Lydia. She’s the aunt I never met. My father explained she moved to California a long while ago and lost touch with the family.
    “You must be Sylvia,” the woman says. “You look just like your mother.”
    I clear my throat. “So do you.”
    “Who’s here?” My father’s voice emerges behind me.
    “Hello, Jared,” Lydia says, almost businesslike. “It’s been a long time.”
    I turn to examine my father’s face. He looks like he’s in shock, just as I was a moment ago. He’s probably struggling with the very same emotions that flooded me—longing for his wife, who passed away years ago, confusion that someone who looks so much like her could just show up on our doorstep, unannounced. He opens his mouth and then closes it again, like he’s not sure what to say. I reach out and touch his arm.
    “I’m sorry to just show up like this.” The woman gestures to the yellow Toyota parked in the driveway. “I can leave if you like.”
    “No,” my father says quickly. “No, don’t go. I’m sorry. I just . . . wasn’t prepared. Come on in. It’s raining buckets outside. Don’t you have an umbrella?”
    I notice a small suitcase on the porch beside Lydia. She stoops down to grab the handle and then walks through the door that my father is holding open for her. I take a step back. It’s so strange to see my aunt here, in my house. She honestly looks like my mother’s ghost.
    “I didn’t bring an umbrella,” Lydia explains, pulling off her soggy coat. “It was kind of a spur-of-the-moment-type thing.”
    My father takes the coat from her and hangs it on the coat-tree. “You must be freezing. Would you like some coffee?”
    Shivering, Lydia nods. “That would be great.”
    I hear a thump come from the living room, followed by giggling. If Mattie were to walk into the room right this second, I realize, she would be in for a shock.
    “I’m going to go let my sister know that you’re here,” I say.
    “Sure.” Lydia gives me a knowing look, as if she understands that I might need to prepare my sister so she isn’t alarmed by the Mom clone standing in our front entryway. She follows my father into the kitchen.
    I spin around and head into the living room to find the movie on pause and Mattie and Regina practicing herkie jumps.
    “Come on, Vee, you know how to do this one,” Mattie calls out.
    Ignoring her invitation, I throw her a serious look. “I need to talk to you. Right. Now.”
    Regina apparently catches the grave tone of my voice because she mutters something about promising her mother she’d be home for dinner, grabs her jacket, and heads for the door.
    “What’s up?” Mattie asks. “Does this have to do with Rollins?”
    I wince, remembering the awkward way Rollins rushed out the door, but then I push the memory aside. I have bigger things to worry about right now. Like why my aunt suddenly decided to show up after all this time. Something must have happened in California, and I’m dying to know