Her parents had left an incredibly demoralizing birthday message in her voicemail while she’d been out snooping. It was so passive-aggressive, she knew it would become an obsession until she confronted them—asked what they meant by “Happy birthday, since it matters so much to you.” She was going to call. Tell them she was “back” in the States and that she’d gotten their message. But as long as she was walking, she was busy. The longer she walked, the longer she could put it off. She thought about taking the long way around to the motel as she approached it, but spotting Sean’s bike, she remembered why they were even there in the first place. She had information to share about Los Impostores. She didn’t know how much of it was useful, but he probably would know, so she needed his help. And still, every step she took became harder, her feet heavier. Coward. “I can just get it over with. Put it behind me.” That way she could rage for a while and get it out of her system—move on to more productive things.
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