“Here,” he says.
There're four. At first glance, I go motionless. There's no denying what these are: a passport, a social security card, a driver's license, and birth certificate. But something’s wrong. The driver's license and passport have my face—a clear photo ID. One Grandpa asked me to pose for two years ago, but the name isn't mine.
Olivia G. Tucker displays on all the records. I gulp. “Grandpa. This is… This is…”
“A new identity.” He nods once, his face solemn. “I became worried two years ago when you told me Lonnie showed up at your house, threatening to douse you both in gasoline.” One large hand rubs the nape of his neck. “Then, when Pat’s brother got him cleared squeaky clean of all allegations, I knew we had a problem.”
I’m speechless.
“Pat won't admit his son is a psychopath. Kathy, on the other hand, won’t admit that her family is not a thing to be admired. They're too obsessed with perfection and what looks good.”
Boy, do I know all about that persona. It's cost me everything.
“So when the last threat happened, I called Will. I had new IDs made for both of you. I told Will I wanted you both to get away. Leave and start a new life.” He shakes his head. “But he wouldn’t do it. He swore he’d keep you safe and that nothing would happen to either of you.”
My heart sinks with a gut-wrenching plummet. He was wrong. Will wasn’t enough. Tears well up in my eyes. “I wish he would have listened.”
“So do I.” He frowns. “That's why we're making this right.” A warm hand cups my shoulder. “Lonnie will pay for this, but until he does, go. Investigations, if handled poorly, can drag. I imagine Kathy and Pat will fight this, and if Lonnie isn't detained at once, he'll hunt you down.”
A heartless shiver runs through my body.
“I've seen it before, and I know I'm right about this. Lonnie's crossed the line and won’t stop pursuing you while he’s free. For now, I want you to go.”
I gasp. “But where? I have no money. I have—”
He turns from me, going back to the safe, grabs something, then turns around again.
My eyes do a double blink of shock, and I almost pinch myself. It’s the biggest wad of cash I’ve ever seen. “Grandpa, how much is this?” Then I shake my head. “There’s no way I can take this from you.”
He juts his hands out, refusing my rejection. “It's enough to float you for a long while. Don't worry.” Thin lips curl up to an elusive smile. “I'm a hoarder. You're not putting me out. Plus, this money is old, so it won't be tracked. If you're going to do this right, you won't be able to use your cards. Take it.”
Touching the money, it doesn't feel real. None of it does. This is a dream, no, nightmare, because this isn't how people live their lives. My fingertip grazes over one of the bands of the cash, and I shake my head. “How did you do all this?”
“Let’s say the CIA trained this dog to be smarter than he looks.”
Holy crap! Grandpa is CIA?
“Now, go into the living room. I have a phone call to make.”
Nodding, I duck out of the closet and wind my way through the house. I stop in the kitchen. Sitting on an old stool, its thin seat cushion with the imprint of a cute teddy bear doing little to pad my behind. Then the whoosh of what this is pulls me under. What the fuckery is all of this? It's too much, and I numb completely, sitting there wondering if I'm even a real human being. Maybe I'm the fake thing existing at this moment.
I jolt back to life when Grandpa reemerges.
“Got it settled.” He stands across from me, near the sink. Back upright, eyes stoic. “Make sure you listen because this is important.”
I nod.
“You’re going to the bus station. The one on 7th. Not far from here. Don't use the main entrance. Go to the employee only entrance and knock twice. Wait two seconds and knock twice more. The door should open. When it does, ask for Greg.” He folds his arms. “Repeat that.”
“Uhh.” My voice falters a moment before I reclaim it. “Employees only. Knock twice, wait, knock twice. Ask for Greg.”
“Good. He'll give you a hat, a jacket, and a ticket. Then you'll board. Everything will say Olivia Tucker.”
“Where am I going?”
“New Jersey. Then from there, anywhere you want.”
“And my car?”
“Leave it. I’ll have that taken care of.”
A knot forms in my throat. “When will I be back?”
“When Lonnie’s been convicted and can’t hurt you.”
The knot travels down to my stomach, and I chew on my lower lip. “And how will you know I'm safe until then?”
He reaches out and pats my hand. “I won’t, Vivie. All I’ll have is hope.”