Escaping Reality

the
    property listings, then I break out the disposable phones. I begin making
    calls, pretending to be a reporter from a New York paper who is doing a
    story on my father’s life and death. No one can find records of the fire. This
    is illogical. There was a fire. I’m not crazy. I didn’t imagine that life-changing
    event.
    Hours pass and I make call after call to museums, media outlets,
    records departments, and old connections I know are linked to my father. It
    seems I blink and the room is dim, the sunlight gone. I flip on lights and
    check my inbox and find nothing from Meg on the property listing I sent
    her. I call her and she replies by text. Working late. Will call you tomorrow.
    A knock sounds on the door and I stand up, staring in the direction of
    the entryway. No one knows I’m here. Liam has stopped evening
    housekeeping visits. I’m not being paranoid. I’m being realistic. This could
    be a problem. More knocking sounds. I decide I’m going to pretend I’m not
    here. My cell phone starts ringing and I glance down to find the caller ID
    reads “Derek”.
    I am relieved. Someone will be on the phone with me if this door
    knocking turns into a problem.
    “Hello,” I answer.
    “Amy, this is Derek. Do you know who I am?”
    “Liam’s friend.”
    “Liam’s friend who is standing at your door with a delivery from
    him.”
    “Oh. Sorry. I was—”
    “Being smart like any woman alone should be, but let me in, will ya?”
    “Yes. On my way.” I end the call and rush toward the door.
    Opening it up, I find a tall, good-looking blond man about Liam’s age,
    in a well-tailored navy suit, holding plastic grocery bags. He lifts them
    slightly. “I bring food.”
    What? “Am I on Candid Camera?”
    He chuckles. “If you are, we both are, and I think I might be the one
    getting laughed at.”
    He enters the hall and keeps walking, leading me to the mini-fridge in
    the main room of the suite.
    He deposits the bags on the counter. “Liam didn’t trust you to spend
    your money, or his, on groceries. He didn’t want you to go hungry.” He
    starts putting away the groceries.
    “I can’t believe he asked you to do this. I can’t believe you really did
    it.”
    “He’s worried about you.”
    “He can’t keep spending money on me.”
    He glances over his shoulder. “You do know he’s a billionaire, right?”
    “Sometimes I wish he wasn’t.”
    He shuts the fridge and leans on the counter, crossing his arms over
    his chest. “I have to hear this. Do explain.”
    Liam’s words about his father, about many people, I suspect, come
    back to me. Sharks swimming at my feet. “How will he ever know I want
    him and not his money?”
    His expression softens. “He knows, Amy. Believe me, he knows, or
    you wouldn’t be here and neither would I.”
    “He won’t even take my calls.”
    “He’s messed up right now.”
    “Over his father.”
    “Yes. Over his father. Give him a little time.”
    I don’t like how that sounds. “How long do you think he’ll be gone?”
    “A few days. We have to finalize him as the architect on this project
    by next week or he’s out. He seems to want in.”
    “If he gets to use his design.”
    “You seem to know him pretty well for someone who just came into
    his life. That’s good.
    He’s been alone a long time.”
    Liam has been alone a long time. I’m still thinking about that a few
    minutes later when I shut the door behind Derek, promising to lock up and
    call him if I need anything. I like Derek and decide I will call him if I need to.
    I just hope I don’t need to. I dial Liam. He doesn’t answer.
    No surprise there. I shower and pull on one of his shirts and call
    again. Still he doesn’t answer.

    ***
    Two days pass, and Liam has only texted me a few times. I’m going
    crazy and it’s
    Sunday, so I’m limited on distractions. I can’t make much progress on
    the phone and the library in walking distance is closed. Monday comes with
    a text from Liam checking on me that leaves me feeling more alone than
    ever. I dress and arrive at the library when it opens, and my hunt through
    their microfilm collection takes up most of the day.
    Tuesday arrives with another text and drives me into more research.
    While I am no closer to answers about my past, I actually connect with
    someone who can change my identity completely. The catch: it will cost me
    ten thousand dollars I don’t have. The alternative is a flea-market fake that
    will at least