Nothing ever hurt as bad as leaving Lars at that Town Hall with Tamara Honeywell. Obviously, my lame attempt to get her in trouble had no bearing on anything. I guess I kept a secret hope in my heart that he would realize she is not me. It cuts me to think he never even realized that I wasn’t her.

Even if he had an identical twin, I’m certain I would be able to tell the difference between him any anyone else. I’d know by his taste, his smell, his touch, his smile, the little nuances about him that make him uniquely him. My mind always goes into a tailspin thinking of him doing to her all the things he did to me, and it makes me sick to my stomach.

Even though I know now that he couldn’t even tell the difference between me and that repulsive witch, my heart aches for him and my body craves his touch. I wake up at night, restless, my soul longing, hurting. It’s dangerous, but I get into my sweats and go out running until all my muscles are screaming.

My heart is broken and I don’t know if I’ll ever be whole again, but I don’t regret Lars. Yes, it hurts badly, but I wouldn’t change one second of it. It was the time I felt most alive.

Also, how can I regret something that has paved the opportunity for me to have a new life? I was drowning in debt and indescribably desperate. I didn’t know which way to turn. Now, I’ve paid Dad’s hospital bills and put the rest of the money (a sizable chunk) into an account for anything else he may need.

I thought hard about paying Lars back, but doing that would have revealed that I’m not Tamara and opened up a whole can of worms. I’ve decided to return it to him anonymously bit by bit when the dust settles down a little.

I need to make big changes to my life, but I will wait for a while more. I intend to keep my job stocking shelves while my father is still alive.

Once he is gone, I will leave Chicago. I have decided to learn to be a horse trainer. I know now, that I belong on a ranch. I want to look up at the night sky and hear my soul sing. There has not been one night that has passed when I have not longed for the big sky of Montana. Just remembering those nights I sat alone watching the stars shine brings a new wave of sadness to my heart.

A sigh escapes me.

I look at my watch. It’s nearly five. Emma Jean will be starting dinner about now. I pray that Tamara was not rude to her before she left. She doesn’t deserve that. She is one of those special people.

I lift my head and look at my father, his chest rising and falling gently. He is sleeping, but sometimes he seems so still, I panic and have to hold my hand next to his nostrils to make sure he is still breathing. I lay my hand on his wasted arm and he shows no reaction. He is so near and yet so far away. In my heart, I am aware it is nearly time. My father is all but gone. His moments of lucidity are fewer and fewer, and they are always accompanied by pain and with no recognition of me or his surroundings.

Quietly, I stand and walk to the window. The evening sun is bright, and on the well-maintained grounds, patients are being pushed about slowly in wheelchairs. There is something very depressing in the sight and I turn away from it and rest my eyes on my father’s pale, shrunken face. Pain has hollowed out his cheeks and eyes. His eyelids are a network of fine blue and purple veins, and his thin lips are shiny with the lip balm I applied.

My phone starts vibrating in my pocket and I take it out and look at the screen. To my surprise, it is not Jesse, but Mrs. Carter. I haven’t heard from her since she wired the money into my account. I slip out of my father’s room and go into the corridor.

“Hello, Mrs. Carter.”

As usual, she skips the pleasantries. “You must have done a wonderful job last time because Tamara Honeywell wants to rehire you for another gig.”

“What?”

“It’s very late notice, I know, because you’ll have to ship out tomorrow,” she says, and before I can get a word in edgewise, rushes ahead, “but it’s a very exciting one this time. You’re being sent to New York! It’s just a single day, but you can stay on for another day and get your shopping fix. You’ll have to take comfortable shoes, but old, throwaway ones. The streets of New York are filthy. And here’s the best part of all. You won’t have to muck dirt or fall off a horse this time. You’ll get a thousand dollars just for cutting a ribbon at the opening of a new wing at a center for children with cancer or something like that.”

“It sounds like a wonderful job, but I’m not interested, Mrs. Carter.”

“Why not?” she shoots back in a surprised voice.

“My dad is very ill. I can’t leave him.”

“Oh! Well, uh, it’s just for one day. You don’t even have to stay for the shopping if you don’t want to.”

“No, maybe you can offer the job to the girl who usually impersonates Tamara.”

She pauses. I can imagine her frowning. “Is it the money? Because I’m sure I could get them to pay a bit more.”

“No, it’s not the money.”

“How about if I arrange it so that you are back on the same day?”

I groan under my breath. Might as well just come out with it. “Look, I’m sorry, but I really don’t ever want to impersonate Tamara again. It’s just not for me.”

There is a moment of silence. “You do know you won’t have to meet her this time.”

“Yeah, I gathered that. I just don’t want to have anything to do with her, that’s all. Sorry.”

“Hmm…yes, that is rather a shame. Well, goodbye, Cass.” She sounds very disappointed and it makes me feel bad to let her down, but even the thought of pretending to be Tamara again makes my skin crawl.

“Bye, Mrs. Carter.”

I put my phone back into my pocket and return to Dad’s room. He is lying in the same position I left him in. I kiss his forehead. His skin feels cold.

“I love you, Dad,” I whisper before I leave him. As I walk down the corridor, my phone buzzes again. I look at the caller ID and come to a dead stop.

“Hello, Ms. Moore.”

“Cass. How are you dear?”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

“Mrs. Carter tells me you don’t want the job.”

“That’s right. I don’t ever want to impersonate Tamara again.”

The line goes silent for a few seconds. “Would you please do it as a favor to me? Just this once. I’ve messed up badly and booked this engagement when I knew she wouldn’t be finished with the reality TV thing she signed up for. I’d really, really appreciate it if you could do this one thing for me.”

“Oh, Ms. Moore. I really don’t want to pretend to be her again.”

“It’ll just be for an hour or so. I’ll double the fee.”

“It’s not the money,” I almost wail. I hate saying no to Ms. Moore.

“Please,” she begs. “I would never ask if it wasn’t important.”

Ms. Moore has always been kind to me, and it makes me feel horribly ungrateful and churlish that I cannot return the kindness when it sounds like such a short and easy gig to do. What harm can it do to help her out once? “All right. I’ll do it this once, but please don’t ever ask me again.”

“Thank you, Cass. Thank you, very much. I promise you, you won’t regret it. It’ll be the easiest grand you’ll ever earn. You’ll be picked up and flown by private plane. A chauffeur will take you to the ceremony. Once you get there, someone will be there to hold your hand and make sure that everything goes well. Afterwards, you can decide if you want to stay for a few days, or I can arrange for you to be returned back to Chicago on the same day.”

“I’d like to return on the same day, please.”

“Of course.”

“What time will I be picked up tomorrow?” I ask.

“Nine-thirty in the morning, your time.”

“Fine.”

After a week of trying to heal myself, I’m being forced to stick a bandage over a gunshot wound and crawl back to pretend to be the woman who destroyed me.