Page 63 of Buried Roots

And there were so many workers here today! Actually, Huck is still here. I look to the field to see if he’s there on the combine, but he’s not. He must’ve left.

I realize water has soaked the bottom of my calf-length jeans, and if I don’t stop this fast, the basement is going to flood.

Oh, god. This could compromise the structure of the house. And it won’t pass the state tourist landmark inspection if the basement’s been flooded!

And the brand new bricked patio! The grout is fresh, so sitting water will ruin it.

I take off running, grateful to know exactly where the water shutoff valve is, and that Bo had the proper tools to do the job. With the fitted wrench in hand, I sprint down the road between me and Mary Louise’s house, which is where the valve is. My lungs burn when I get to it, but the wrench works.Hallelujah.

I bend over my knees to catch my breath before walking home, formulating a plan on how to fix the pipe. I’ve done it before, but never by myself. Maybe I should call Owen.

No. I can figure this out, and I’m resolved not to spend another minute with him. I’m sure he’s furious I was a no-show for dinner earlier this evening, and Ican’task him for yet another thing now that I have to end things for good.

I run to the barn to see what equipment I can find. I need a pipe cutter, extra piping, and the clips and binders that hold the replacement piece in place. I’ll be lucky to find even half that. But as I scan the equipment area of the barn, there’s a shelf marked “Water line replacement.”

Clearly, Bo had been through this before because he has every part I need. I truly wish I could’ve met this man. I grab the supplies and return to the burst pipe where I lay them out. It starts to sprinkle, ever so slightly, which is no big deal. Now that the pipe has stopped spraying water, I can work quickly. Normally, I’d use an auger to dig the hole, but since the teams took it away today, I’ll have to do it by hand.

I get started, alternating between a shovel and hoe. As I work, I’m grateful for the recent rain, as it made the Georgia clay soft—a prayer answered since usually, it’s impossible to penetrate. If nothing else, I’ve learned that all too well these past weeks here.

I grunt as I jump onto the shovel to get it under the dirt, which is getting harder the deeper I go. The sprinkle turns into a shower, which is all I need right now—more water near the property. My arms ache, but the animals and farm need water, so I work through the pain.

“Willow.” It’s Owen, and he looks pissed.

I spin around to see him covered in mud, dripping from the rain, and a scowl on his face. “What are you doing?”

I stand up straight, brushing the sticky strands of hair off my face, which I’m sure leaves a trail of mud behind. “The workers must’ve hit one of the water pipes. I’m fixing it.”

He puts his hands on his hips. “I see that. But our fields share a line. When you turned your water off, you turned ours off too. I’ve been going through the field trying to figure out why our sprinklers stopped working.”

“Oh.” I groan. I’m not sure this day could get much worse. “I’m sorry.”

He looks at me, shaking his head. “You promised to call if you needed something.”

“I know. But you’ve been so kind to me already—going to Atlanta and back with me on Friday.”

“You mean going to hell and back with you.” His tone is sharp.

Wow. Heispissed. “See? I know. That’s why I’m sorry.” An apology about missing dinner is on my lips when I check the house and drop my shovel. “Oh, shit. Water’s about to seep into the basement window well that leads to the mechanical room.”

His face drops. “That could short out all your electricity.”

“Exactly.”

We race into the mechanical room, glad to see the water heater is on a stand and all the electrical wiring is off the floor. But tucked away behind the heater is an aged cardboard box, which Owen picks up and moves to the only wire shelf in the room.

So, there’s a box of memorabilia… and I’m dying to know what’s inside, but that has to wait.

By the pelting against the window, we can tell that the rain shower’s turned into a downpour, and I nod toward outside. “We should get back to it.”

“Yup.”

I hate this side of Owen—the curt, one-word answer side that makes me feel two inches tall. But after we head back to the burst pipe, he looks at it and says, “So, we need to dig a gigantic hole?”

“About four feet long and five feet deep.” I have two shovels and hand one to Owen.

He takes it, and we work together, which is a million times easier than trying to do it alone. Except my stomach is churning because Owen’s really steamed, and rightly so. Also, there’s nothing else to think about while I shovel, so I can’t help but question how I got into this situation. Did I overlook another thing?

Owen is only slightly out of breath as he continuously flips over more scoops of dirt. “Levi’s cigarette butts are everywhere.”

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