Page 42 of Buried Roots

Owenleavesmyroom,telling me to get some rest and that his mom offered to check in on the farmhands and the horses today. So, I lie down, drifting off almost instantly.

It’s a sound, peaceful sleep.

Until it’s not. The gnarly tree is back, coming at me, strangling me. As I gasp for air, I scream a word. It’s what I always scream—but I don’t know what it is because I’m asleep. I try to wake myself—I know I’m dreaming—but it doesn’t work.

I can’t get out. I’m trapped, the tree surrounding me as sirens blare.

Everything in the dream blurs, and I’m sweating and sobbing when Owen’s voice finally cuts into my panic. “Willow, wake up!” I’ve never heard him so loud before.

My eyes flutter open to see him hovering over me, his face wracked with worry. My entire body trembles as I’m gripping my palm on Owen’s shoulder. I realize I’m now saying, “Take me home,” and I finally stop, breathless.

“Willow, it’s okay,” Owen says, pulling me into a tight hug.

I sit for a few seconds in his arms, out of breath and in hysterics. I take far too long to calm down. Ican’tcalm down. I loathe these dreams, and I’d give anything to make them stop.

“Night terror,” I say through a sob.

He strokes my hair. “It’s okay now. Everything’s okay.”

I’m still gasping for air. “Oh my god. Those make me feel like I’m dying.”

“Just breathe, Willow.”

I sit, letting his strong arms and gentle nature soothe me. There is no place I’d rather be than right here, just like this. When I’m finally calm enough to speak, I pull away and meet his gaze. “Would you mind taking me on a drive? There’s something I want you to see.”

He tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Of course.”

Before I stand, I check my phone to see that Natanya has texted and called a zillion times. “Oh, no. I’m late for a Zoom meeting with the Kleins. I’mneverlate.“ I jump up and scramble for my computer, not caring that I’m only in my bra and panties. “Can we go after this call?” I throw on my shirt.

“Of course.”

We’re driving down I-85, and I’m so relieved to finally have someone I feel comfortable enough to share this with. When I see the tree up ahead, I direct Owen to pull off in a safe spot on the shoulder of the road.

I point to it. “Do you know anything about the memorial cross on that tree?”

“I don’t think so, no.” He eyes me quizzically. I’m not surprised at his answer—no one seems to know about it.

After we’ve stepped out of the car, I tell him about how it’s appeared in my night terrors. As we climb the hill, I shudder, but keep moving. I know I need to tell him about the parts of my life that don’t add up so he can understand the significance of this. I stop and wring my hands when I say, “So, I’m going to drop something on you, and I don’t want you to make a big deal out of it.”

“Okay.” His brows furrow. “Worse than you losing both your parents in a car accident?”

“No. It’s not worse. But it is… weird. And getting weirder. It’s about my adoption.” I proceed to tell him that my night terrors are about this tree, that I don’t have memories before five years old, and that I can’t find my adoption records or birth certificate in New York. I fold my arms over my chest trying to stave off the shivers.

He takes my hand and squeezes it. “The wedding’s over, so it’s time I talk to my mom, okay?”

“Okay.”

When we get to the top, I take Owen’s hand in mine as we carefully step over the roots. Arriving at the tree, I take a deep breath before I point to the cross.

He squats down, blinking. “Oh, shit,” he mutters, before looking up at me in shock.

“Right.” I shake my head. “No one I’ve asked knows about it. And I’ve researched it—there are no news articles about it either.” I swallow hard. “Don’t you think it’s weird that I have dreams about this tree and my name’s on this cross?”

“Definitely weird, but it could be a coincidence.”

“It could be,” I say. “I couldn’t find any record of another Willow in this town for the past thirty years. I also can’t imagine my adoption involving anything nefarious.” My adoptive parents would never do anything like that—but maybe they didn’t know.

Owen’s phone pings, and his lips press together as he reads it. “Dammit.” He looks at me, fluttering out a breath. “I was waiting to hear from my mom before I told you this—in case she knew anything about it. She doesn’t, so I’ll just tell you.”

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