Page 38 of Taste of Addiction

I slide into the backseat and am relieved the privacy screen is down, just so I don’t feel so alone. Austin joins Collins in the front, and we cruise down the driveway that takes us to the front security gate. We exit with a code and are on our way back to Portland.

I must have drifted off because I wake to the car stopping in a grocery store’s parking lot in the suburbs. Collins cuts the engine and turns in his seat to look back at me.

I rub the sleep out of my eyes and try to get my eyes to focus.

“You okay, Miss McFee?” he asks, his voice full of concern.

“Yeah, I just dozed off. I’m still waking up.”

Collins’s eyes narrow, and I try my best not to make him worry. I sit up in my seat and clear my throat.

“Inside near the seafood section, you’re going to see a woman your height, your weight, and with your hair color. She is going to be wearing a ‘Feminist AF’ hoodie. She also has your set of car keys. Are you following me so far?”

“Yes, I think so.” This girl must be my body double.

“Put on her hoodie, take your car keys, and find your car parked in row D, the second spot. We will put all of your belongings in the trunk when you go into the store. The townhouse is about fifteen minutes away from here. Just plug in the address on the GPS on your phone. I’ll have Austin follow you back discreetly in a nondescript car to make sure you get back safely.”

“I can go to classes as usual tomorrow?”

“Yes. You just need to not contact Mr. Hoffman in public or try to see him. Act like you are not together anymore. Oh, and here,” he says, passing me back a pair of sunglasses, “wear these.”

“Okay. I think I got it.”

I say my goodbyes and slip out of the backseat, with just my purse in hand. I roll my shoulders and rub the tension out of my neck with my free hand. I walk toward the automatic doors and look at the big signs along the wall until I find “Seafood.” I make my way to the back corner of the store and see my doppelgänger.

“Hi,” I whisper to her, making her look up at me with a smile.

“Let’s go find the restroom.”

I nod and follow beside her until we see the sign in the back center of the store—between the ground beef and poultry sections. My twin does resemble me. She isn’t a dead ringer or anything, but with sunglasses on, I can see why Graham would have selected her. I want to ask her what her real job is. Her hobbies. I giggle to myself as I think about how absurd I sound—even if it is just in my head.

We select adjacent stalls. I grab the hoodie over the privacy panel and slip it on over my shirt. It is definitely something I would own. In fact, I think I have the exact one—but in a different color—hung up in my closet at the townhouse.

“Thanks,” I call back over to her.

“No problem. The keys should be in the front pocket.”

I reach inside and fish them out. “Got ‘em.”

“I’m going to hang out in here for another ten or so minutes. So, you should be good to go. Good luck.”

“You too,” I say. “Thank you.” For your service? I have no idea really what to say. This is all a bit awkward.

I walk out of the store and find my car in the second spot in row D, exactly where I was told it would be. It feels weird to be behind the wheel, nostalgic even. I can’t even remember the last time I drove myself anywhere. I adjust my seat and mirrors, then pull out of the parking spot. I glance periodically at my GPS to make sure I am on the correct road. Once I get to a familiar section, I shut it off and place the device into my cupholder.

I park my car in the empty spot that is assigned to me and then walk up the stairs to unlock the door. I trot back to the car and unload the trunk. It takes me just two trips to have everything inside. The house feels cold, as if it has not seen life in weeks. I adjust the thermostat to the heat setting and move about the house, putting things back where they go. This is my home for the foreseeable future.

I should be used to not having a permanent home. I should be used to having to move around my whole life. But despite being familiar with the emotions, it doesn’t mean I like it.

I jog upstairs to see my room. It feels dull. All of my sewing materials are gone. While my bed is in the same place, I don’t want to sleep in it. I miss the penthouse bed I share with Graham. I miss Graham.

Collins must have sent for some of my items to get cleaned from the safe house, because I see everything I already wore there neatly folded in my bag. I add my new wardrobe to my closet.

As I bend, I catch a glimpse of the cardboard box in the back corner on the floor. It is hidden behind a pile of clothes that need to be donated to the local women’s shelter. I scoot to the floor and pull the box toward me. I finger the lid and read the label description—McFee-McFee Baker City General Hospital.

I take deep breaths to calm my heart and lift the lid a crack, peering inside for the first time since the accident. I have transported this box from bedroom to bedroom, during every move that I have endured over the last five years, never having the desire or the courage to look inside.

I place the lid on the floor beside the box and look at the ziplock bags that hold James’s and my bloodstained clothes. I remember the outfit I wore. It was my favorite white shirt with the lace. I stare through the bag and see that the color is now a burnt red color, almost black. My denim skirt? Ruined. I push the bag to the side and look at my purse and broken jewelry and the ball cap that James would live in.

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