Page 66 of Reclaimed Roots

Mom paused and looked up at me. "What's that mean?"

So, I explained it to them. What I found and how bad the situation looked. "I can't be certain. We need to talk to Natalie. But, she, uh, left town and isn't answering her phone."

"Oh, the poor thing," Mom said. "She's probably blaming herself."

Chase scowled and bit off a hangnail. "Yeah, well, she should. She knew and didn't tell us."

"Chase!" Elliot hissed. "That's not helping."

"Yeah, I think she does blame herself," I said. "And I probably didn't make matters any better by yelling at her."

"Jasper Everton, you did not yell at that girl!" Mom knocked me upside the head.

"Ouch, shit!"

"You really are a dumb son-of-a-bitch, aren't ya?" Dad said.

"He gets it from you," Mom retorted. "Let's not talk about how many dumb mistakes you made when we were dating."

Dad merely laughed and pressed a kiss to Mom's hair.

Mom swatted him away and turned back to me. "Well, what are you going to do about it?"

Elliot handed me a fresh bag of ice. "Yeah, Jas. What's the plan?"

"Please tell me you have a plan," Chase chimed in.

Their expectant faces were too much to bear. "I don't know, alright? I don't have all the fucking answers."

Mom's lips pursed at my language. I covered my face with my hands and took a slow, measured breath. "Sorry, I just... I need a minute."

My chest tightened, and my palms were drenched. I had to get out of there. Breathe fresh air. I ducked out the kitchen and slammed the door behind me.

Once outside, I leaned on the porch railing. After a few slow, deep breaths, I raised my head and looked out over the orchard. An endless sea of trees stared back at me. It was almost like they were looking at me too, patiently waiting for answers.

What the fuck am I going to do?

I'd been on the porch no more than two minutes before the creak of weathered wood made me turn. Nana was taking the porch steps one at a time, her arthritis clearly bothering her that day. Her silver hair caught the afternoon sunlight as she made her way toward me.

"There's my favorite grandson."

"I don't think you're supposed to pick favorites, Nana," I grumbled, unable to keep the edge from my voice.

"What's with the attitude?"

My fingers clenched around the porch railing. "Natalie left."

"Well go get 'er."

I raked my fingers through my hair, frustration building in my chest. "It's not that simple."

Nana fixed me with that stern look she used to give me when I was a kid trying to sneak extra cookies. "You love 'er?"

"Yes," I whispered.

"Then itisthat simple."

Chapter Twenty-Eight

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