22

Bat out of hell. That’s how fast Holly had to drive to get to Springfield in time. She winced, apologized to herself in the rearview mirror as she waited for the stoplight to change. But bat out of heck didn’t make sense. Besides, there was no one to tell on her for saying bad words. At least she looked like regular Holly again. New makeup, no geeky glasses, her hair puffed up, as it should be. Much better. Except she had to hurry. She had to really hurry.

She should have left sooner. But she had to pack and she had to organize and she had to get ready and there was no way to make it happen any faster.

The light must be broken. It had been red too long. Way too long. She clenched her fingers around the steering wheel. Other cars zoomed across the intersection in front of her. They were getting to go where they needed to. Why wasn’t it her turn? She wanted to honk her horn, but that would draw attention to her, and she didn’t want that. But what if the light was broken? Maybe she should—

The light changed. Green, thank goodness. Holly shifted into Drive and pushed the accelerator, lurching her rental car through the intersection. She always put it in Park when she stopped, especially on a hill, just in case. This car also had a little digital clock on the dashboard; she loved it, the little numbers changing as she drove, like having a timer. But now her timer showed she would be late.

“Drive. Drive. Drive.” She said it out loud. The words sounded reassuring. Owen himself had told her he was going to Springfield. Obviously he told her that on purpose. He wanted her to join him. It was an invitation. Owen invited her. And she was accepting.

Yes, he thought she was Hannah, the little housewife. And that made it even better. Owen was going to be so surprised.

“So very surprised.” She said that out loud, too.

Both hands on the steering wheel, ten o’clock–two o’clock, she rounded the curve onto the entry ramp of the Massachusetts Turnpike. Just keep going straight, the man at the gas station told her, all the way to Springfield. The New Englander Hotel, where Owen told her the event would be, was right by the highway.

She had her camera, safely in a black patent leather bag. She had her best coat and a very cute hat.

She’d mailed the first parcel. The second one was wrapped and ready to go. She’d already left her little gift in Owen’s office. They’d find it soon enough.

It had been so easy to get inside the campaign office. Like playing dress-up. Who would ever think frumpy little Hannah was not who she seemed?

She caught a glimpse of herself in her mirror. She looked happy.

Soon, everyone’s lives would be very different. Owen Lassiter’s, that was for sure. For sure, for sure. Eventually, her own, too. Soon her life would be perfect.