Page 75 of Buried Roots

I eye him quizzically. “Okay.”

27

The River

It’sduskbythetime we follow a trail to the river, and the sky is putting on a show, but Owen’s quiet. When I glance at him, I realize there’s something about his face that isn’t quite right—an intensity as he stares ahead. He squeezes his eyes tightly, his jaw clenched. I’ve only seen him like this once before, and it was the night Oreo was born.

So, I walk quietly as I let him have the space he needs. The frogs are croaking, and the warm evening air wraps around me like an invisible blanket. It’s so peaceful.

Finally, Owen says, “It’s my fault my pa’s dead.”

My stomach clenches, and something sharp pierces my heart. I shake my head and whisper, “What do you mean, it’s your fault?”

My pulse rockets into high gear, and it feels like an eternity passes before he speaks again. He stops walking when he says, “I was sixteen, and I thought I knew everything. That I was invincible. I was sure my dad was cheating on my mom. He worked all hours being the town’s district attorney, and he hadn’t come home a few nights in a row. He was acting distant, and I saw Ma crying when he left one night. If he wasn’t going to be the man of the family, then I’d do it. So, the next day, I followed him. I saw him in a car with a woman, and I was sure that I was finally going to catch him. Then, I could tell Ma and she’d know the truth. Pa was driving a car I didn’t recognize, so I thought it belonged to the woman. Anyway, back then, I ran track and was pretty fast. Plus, I had an idea where he was probably going. That house.” He points ahead.

I look to see a cabin, the ceiling caving in and rot taking over its wooden beams. I already don’t like the woods, and the place gives me the major creeps.

Owen’s voice is raw. “Pa used to spend a lot of time at the place, fishing, so, that day, I cut through the woods, pushing my way through the tall grass and getting scraped by branches. I got there just after they’d gone inside. I ran to the door and stopped Pa from closing it. He drew a gun, which I didn’t know he had, but when he saw it was me standing there, his face turned purple with rage. ‘What the hell are you doing here, Owen?’”

“Oh, no,” I utter.

“And I said, ‘What areyoudoing here?’“ I had all this attitude. And he was so angry—angrier than he’d ever been at me when he said, ‘You have to leave. Now.’ When I wouldn’t, and I said I knew he was cheating, he finally told me the truth. ‘This is a safe house, and I’m trying to protect a witness. You’re about to get yourself killed.’” Owen looks away, his eyes dark and shadowed. “I told him I wouldn’t leave. Pa was fuming when he said the cops were on the way, and they were on the verge of bringing down some big criminals. Pa said he could protect himself, that he’d be fine. I’ll never forget his voice. It was like acid when he said, ‘For once in your damn life, Owen, do as I ask.’ Then he told me to float down the river so that I wouldn’t be seen leaving. I didn’t want to do it. With everything in me, I didn’t want to go, Willow. But I had to obey my father on something so important, so I did what he said.” Owen hesitates, swallowing so hard his Adam’s apple bobs. His voice cracks around his words when he says, “I was floating away when I heard the bomb explode. I wish I’d never left. It was the worst moment of my life.” A single tear rolls down Owen’s cheek.

“I’m so sorry.” I take his hand and rub my thumb over his palm. I had absolutely no idea, from everything Owen said, that he’d gone through something like this. But it all makes sense now—his empathy toward my situation. Him being closed off about his past. The way he shuts down on the anniversary of his father’s death.

He continues, “I was so completely overwhelmed with grief that I wasn’t focused. The current got me and pulled me into a riptide. The last thing I remember is this overwhelming calm feeling after I inhaled the water.”

“Oh my god.” I want to pull Owen into a hug and comfort him like he’s done for me so many times. But he’s keeping his distance from me, so I don’t think that’s what he wants right now. And I feel so inadequate compared to him—with that soothing voice and natural calming presence that I’ll never have. All I can do is continue rub his palm.

His voice is raspy when he says, “I came to when I was on the shore. Ma was doing CPR on me. She saved my life, then told me never to tell anyone that I’d been there, so I didn’t. She told people I braved the river trying to get to Pa. Iwishthat were true. I’ve told myself over and over that it wasn’t my fault. But what if I’d just argued with Pa a few minutes longer? Then he would’ve been outside. He would’ve had a chance. How am I supposed to live knowing I could’ve done that?“ He rakes his hand through his hair. “I don’t know how to live with that.”

“But you were doing as you were told.”

He clenches and unclenches his jaw. “Yeah.”

“And if you were both standing just outside the house, you both would’ve died.”

“I know that, logically. But there’s a voice inside of me that will never let me believe it.”

I put my hand on his back. “I can’t entirely understand what you’ve been through, because what happened to my parents was very different. But I do understand what it’s like to live with survivors’ guilt. I know that I wasn’t a part of my parent’s death, but I still always wondered what I could’ve done differently. If I could’ve stopped them from going that night in the terrible rain.”

His nose flares. “I’m still trying to come to terms with what happened. I thought it would help when they caught the suspect and threw the book at him, and it did some, but not nearly enough. The big criminals behind it never got caught. I’ve never told anyone this before, besides Ma, but I told you.” He looks at me, his eyes desperate. “That’s progress, right?”

“Huge progress.” I manage a weak smile as I touch his face.

His voice is lighter when he says, “We both live with this impossible pain.”

I blow out a long sigh. “People who say time heals all things are assholes.”

“They really are.” He puts his hand out, and I take it. After a squeeze, he says, “Now. You ready to watch some stars?”

“Absolutely.” And I don’t want this to be the last time I do it.

I’m buzzing with so many emotions, and a thought hits me so hard it almost knocks the breath from my chest.

I need to stay.

I can stay.

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