Page 20 of Buried Roots

I’d do anything for just one more moment with him.

Sometimes, you don’t get more chances. Everything can slip through your fingers in an instant—I should know that better than anyone. That’s why the next time I have a chance to be with Owen, I’m going to take it.

I head inside and throw the primary bed’s sheets and blankets into the laundry. I’m ready to drive to the Inn so I can collect my things and check out before grabbing groceries from MoonMart.

After finding my purse on the kitchen island, I dig through it for my keys. When I don’t find them, I end up dumping out the whole thing, going through every zipper. No dice.

That’s odd—I always put my keys in the same pocket of my purse, so I never misplace them. I’ve become a stickler about these kinds of things. At the thought, a rope of fear twines around me. I’ve experienced lapses in memory, and not just before I was adopted. For a short while, after my parents died, I started forgetting basic things. I’d get groceries and forget, so I’d buy them again. I’d leave items in odd places and misplace things.

I remind myself that it’s been an impossibly long twenty-four hours. I end up retracing every step I made through the house—the office, the laundry room, the kitchen, the living room, and even end up back in the stables.

I can’t find the keys anywhere, and I’m getting nervous. The car is a rental, and god knows what the fee is to replace them, not to mention that the car came from Atlanta. Ihaveto find these keys.

For the second time, I check around the coffeemaker and find nothing. Out of utter desperation, I open the refrigerator door even though I got nothing out of there.

I blink. My keys are sitting there on the top shelf by Mary Louise’s pie, which I haven’t touched.

Shudders rack my entire body. What the hell?

I sink to the floor and bury my face in my hands. “This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening.”

Maybe half asleep, making coffee, I got in the refrigerator, looking for supplies? But I don’t use creamer. But maybe I was confused? Then, for some reason, set my keys in there?

I’m straining my brain to remember something,anything, but nothing comes to mind.

Please tell me this isn’t happening to me again.

8

Cut The Cheese

Afterreturningtothecastle where I cleaned and stocked the fridge and cabinets, I made my mom’s Italian spaghetti and meatballs, getting it reasonably right. I’ll never make the dish as good as she did. It’s just not in my blood.

Now, I’m back at Bo’s desk, peering out the window. The silhouette of tree branches whipping in the breeze is the only thing visible in the darkness, which is unnerving. It reminds me of the face I thought I saw outside the barn, but maybe it was nothing. Anyway, I refuse to let any of it keep me from doing what I need to do.

I open my laptop and power it up. When I see what’s in my inbox, my throat goes bone dry.

There’s an email with the results of Bo’s, Lily’s, and my DNA tests.

I sit frozen for a moment, staring at the bolded message, unopened. What is it going to mean for me? I could—no, Iwill—know who some of my family members are.

My heart thuds in my ears as I click on the results, sure of what I’m going to see. Are Bo and Lily going to be my aunt and uncle? My cousins? First, second, third? Will it be on Bo’s side or Lily’s? My fingers tremble as I log into my account, entering my password wrong twice because of nerves.

The page takes forever to load, or it feels like it, as jitters needle my body and bring my cheeks to a boil. When the page finally appears on the screen, I blink. I can’t believe my eyes, so I blink again.

It says that Bo and I share zero percent of DNA.

Zero. Meaning we are not related, even distantly. So, I have to be related to Lily.

But when I click on the results of Lily’s, it’s the same. Zero percent DNA.

“No,” I croak. Nausea rolls through me like a wave, and I look away from the screen, as if it’ll make the truth disappear. Instead, I stare at my fingers on the keyboard, trying to figure out why I feel like I just got a swift kick in the gut. I’m not related to Bo or Lily.

This means that, again, I have no explanation for this inheritance. My missing adoption papers. Nothing.

I thought that was the main reason I wanted them to be my family, but by the ache in my heart, I know it isn’t. Since my parents died, I’ve been okay with living my life alone, but right now is the first time I feel lonely. I’m lost, floating and untethered.

Which is silly because this is exactly how I was before I’d ever heard about Bo and Lily. But after being here and learning about who they were—feelingwho they were—it’s different.

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