I blinked, I thought, I nodded. “I think I do.”

“We’ve sure missed you.”

“I missed you all, too. I always felt you. Right here.” I tapped my heart.

Intimidating boxer-man became all teary-eyed. “I want nothing but the best for you, Rose. We have loved you forever.”

* * *

When Johnny, Betsy, Tilly, and Kayla left on Sunday, and I stood waving at the ferry, we were all in tears, and yet I knew I would see them again. And again, forever.

They were family, after all.

* * *

I later learned why Chief Ass Burn did not come up the mountain to check out the explosion.

He had “accidentally” locked himself in his shed.

At least, that’s what people told him when he finally busted down the back wall of his shed with an ax.

That was the story . . . no one would have locked him in his shed on purpose. Oh no. That wasn’t the island way . . . probably. . .

* * *

Because Johnny and Betsy had included the media in their search for me, they did one more interview. “We have found our daughter through a DNA test. . . . She is beautiful and generous. . . . We are grateful to her and her family for including us in their family.”

They did not reveal my name or where I lived. They protected my privacy. They told me they would be doing no future interviews, though the interest was high.

“We will always protect you, Evie,” my father said. “Always.”

* * *

I bought another pickup truck, since mine had exploded.

A woman who rescued horses was selling hers. It was five years old and black, double cab, a real monster of a vehicle.

“Trust me,” she said in her red cowboy hat and boots, “you will feel like a ball-busting woman driving Esmerelda here. She doesn’t let anyone get in her way.”

I laughed and bought Esmerelda.

She growled at me when I turned the key in the engine.

* * *

On Thursday at dusk, Sundance became ill.

I called Marco’s clinic, then called his cell phone, as it was listed as the emergency number. He called me back.

“Bring him in, Evie.”

I was almost hyperventilating while driving with Sundance’s limp head on my lap, his tail wagging slowly, up and down. He was failing, I could tell. He needed medicine or an operation or something. He wasn’t going to die. He couldn’t die. He couldn’t leave me.

“Hang on, Sundance,” I said, crying, petting his head. “We’ll get you fixed up. Hang on, honey.”

I felt Sundance’s breathing change as I pulled into Marco’s driveway, then into the clinic’s parking lot. He lifted his golden head, and I put my head down on his and he licked my face, but it was weak, his breathing labored, his body floppy. He could hardly move.

Marco opened the door on the passenger side. “How is he?”

“Not well.” My voice broke, cracked.