Page 52 of The Five Year Lie

“Sounds perfect,” I say, although I’m not exactly the poster child for relaxation.

“So are you going to tell me why we’re driving to Lowden?” she asks. “Is this about your guy?” She taps the GPS she’s installed on the dash. “And what’s on Shawmut Street?”

“That’s a lot of questions.”

“It’s a forty-five-minute drive.”

I lean back into my seat and close my eyes. “There are a lot of things I don’t know about ‘my guy.’” I make my fingers into air quotes. “His real name, for example. He told me he was born in Maine and he grew up in the foster care system. When I met him, he went by the name Drew Miller. I’ve just found out the name was a fake—but someone named Andrew Miller lived on Shawmut Street in Lowden.”

“And their connection is...?”

“Unclear. He died the year before I met Drew, but I think he might have been one of my Drew’s foster parents. Drew—or whoever he was—used this guy’s Social Security number when he came to work at Chime Co.”

“Aw shit.” She’s quiet for a moment. “And now you want to know what’s up with that. So we’re going to Lowden to do... what?”

“I don’t evenknowwhat. Part of me thinks we should turn off at the next exit and bail. But I’ve been dragging this guy around withme for five years, and I can’t help wanting answers. So I’m going to knock on the door of this Lowden house and ask for Drew Miller. See what they say. It might be a huge waste of time. The house was probably sold.”

“You could check Zillow.”

“I don’t have the exact address,” I admit. “But I know the street and I know what the house looks like. I’m sorry in advance if this is a total waste of time.”

“Don’t be sorry. I’m the queen of lost causes. What will you say if you knock on this door and somebody answers?”

“I’ll tell them I was a fan of Ernie’s—that’s the name the older Andrew Miller went by—and that I want to pay my respects. Maybe they know something about him.”

We ride in silence for a moment. Then Larri says, “That’s one of those phrases that never made sense to me.Pay your respects.It’s a meaningless phrase for a gesture the living make to the dead.”

“Yeah, I guess. Do you know a better phrase, though?”

She shakes her head. “Visiting graves never made any sense to me, either. My mother puts flowers on my father’s grave every year on his birthday.”

“It’s for her sake, really,” I point out. “Not his.”

“No kidding. The weird thing is? She likes him more now that he’s dead than she did when he was alive. They used to drive each other batshit.”

I turn to stare out the window at the highway. Drew and I never had the chance to drive each other crazy. I’ve always assumed we would have been happy together forever.

There was no wife or girlfriend listed in that obituary, either. I noticed that early and often.

Left to cherish his memory are his army teammates and his beloved dog, Coby, the obituary says. I wonder what happened to Coby.

I wonder a lot of things.

As we approach Lowden, my phone vibrates with several incoming messages. All from Zain.

Zain: Anything on Shawmut Street?

Zain: Did you find the house?

Zain: Dying here.

I reply to shut him up.

Ariel: We’re not even there yet.

I’m pretty sure he’s miffed at me for not letting him tag along. He has a stock of unused vacation days, and he was ready to use one of them for this.

But if I learn anything important about Drew, maybe I won’t want to share it.