The Perfect Lie (The Perfect Stranger #3) - Charlotte Byrd Page 0,4
as if I were forcing myself to relive the trauma that I felt being trapped in that apartment in New York by my ex-boyfriend and all the time later in my own house. He refused to let me leave and after I was free of him, I forced myself to stay home and to live this quiet little sheltered life away from worrying about all the things that I used to worry about.
I'm not saying that it is going to be like this for everyone. Anxiety and depression are really serious conditions and I have not just snapped out of them.
However, being here, on the road with Tyler, helping him along, and living a life of adventure, has made me realize that maybe my world doesn't have to be so small.
Perhaps, I was making it small for no reason at all.
3
Isabelle
I keep driving just as the sun disappears over the horizon. I don't know where I'm going except that I'm going north.
I don't want to go Los Angeles. Cities are easy to blend in with, but they're expensive and I can't leave my car full of cash on the street.
I also can't shovel all of that money out with everyone looking. I need to find somewhere secluded and private.
A cabin maybe?
The desert is beautiful, but I am starting to crave seeing some trees. I need a change of scenery.
I stop briefly to get some gas and then look up a few options on my phone.
Big Bear, California, shows up as a city in the higher elevation and not too far from here. Apparently, it also has a large lake. I look up some cabins in the area and see that the prices there are a lot more affordable than those by the beach.
I'm tempted to rent it through Airbnb, but then there’ll be a record of exactly how long I stay there. I want this to be even more private. I'm not going to be there just for one night.
Luckily, not everybody in Big Bear is very technologically advanced and some vacation rentals just post the owner's or the rental agency's phone number. I avoid the agencies, knowing that they're more likely to check for ID.
The road to Big Bear is winding and full of loops, but the higher that I go up the mountain, the more pines shoot up and the taller they get.
At the very top, they are over sixty feet tall with thick, wide trunks the color of rust.
The air up here is crisp and delicate. It was a warm day, in the seventies, but now the temperature has dropped well below forty.
My cell phone reception comes back and I load the advertisement for the A-frame house and dial Lisa Bowden's number. After a few rings, she answers. I ask her if the place is available for two weeks and she says that it is.
“I just got to town,” I say. “Is there any way I could see it right now?”
She hesitates and then says, “Well, we are just sitting down for dinner now, but why don't you stop by and we can chat a little?”
The request is little bit odd, but I decide that this is probably my best chance for not giving my ID.
She gives me the address and I drive over.
She lives in a modest two-story house surrounded by mansions right on the lake. The driveway is poorly illuminated, but I park a little bit out of the way and tell Tyler to wait for me. He took a long nap and is now feeling a little bit better but is still in a tremendous amount of pain.
I knock on the door and the woman who answers is small in stature and looks to be in her seventies. She is thin, but toned, not at all frail.
She has a lot of pep in her voice and she immediately invites me inside. I want to talk to Lisa outside, but she quickly invites me in. I'm tempted to turn around and run away, but I don't have too many other options.
I want to rent this house from her and I want her to trust me enough to not ask for too many details.
I look down at my clothes and realize just how dusty and dirty I am. I'm about to say something when I stop myself. Maybe she won't even notice. Why bring it up?
“So, you said that your name is Samantha?”
“Yes, Samantha Atwood.” I extend my hand and shake hers.