***
“Jessie?” My mother stepped into the hallway and tied her blonde hair up. “Can we talk to you for a minute?”
I dropped my bag on the floor and sighed. I was too tired to talk. “I guess.”
She gestured to the kitchen, and I sulked across the floor toward the table. My dad was seated, but my mom remained standing. I hovered in the doorway. “What’s going on?” I asked. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No, Jessie.” My mom smiled. “We just need to talk to you.”
“About?”
“About your parents,” she said. “While you were working on your project…” My mother stopped, and my father forced a smile. “We were working on finding information for you.”
Heat crept up my neck. “Really?” I asked. “Did you find anything?”
My mom nodded, but frowned. “Are you sure you want this, Jessie? It’s going to be very difficult.”
“I am.”
My dad stood up, pulled a manila envelope from his coat, and handed it to me. “This might help,” he said, and I grasped it. He smiled. “Open it.”
I unfolded the envelope and studied the paper. The newspaper crinkled beneath my fingertips, and my gaze traced over the old words and four pictures. “An article?”
The title, Two Die in Horrific Crash, hovered over a photograph of a mangled car. The victims, Joseph, Lynne, and their baby daughter, were placed below.
My mom leaned over and pointed to the adults. “Those are your parents, Jessie.” She moved her finger to the baby. “That’s you.”
“I got a copy from the library,” my dad said, and my hands began to shake.
“How do you know this is them?” I didn’t want to be disappointed.
“That was the only fatal crash in Hayworth the year we adopted you,” he said, and I stared at the couple.
They were beautiful, and they were my parents. My mother had thick, gorgeous brown hair and deep brown eyes, while my father had my blue eyes and short brown hair. They looked so happy, their smiles as wide as the camera lens. I hadn’t imagined they’d look so perfect—but I still didn’t feel anything for them. They didn’t seem real. What was wrong with me?
“Thank you so much,” I said. “But I need to figure out more.”
My father chuckled. “That’s why I got you that article,” he said. “Who wrote the article, Jessie?”
My eyes shot down to the bottom, and I wondered how I hadn’t noticed before. There was only one name in bold, and it was beneath my baby picture. Lola Hutchins. Crystal’s mom.
Minutes Before Sunset Page 33