That line of inquiry is premature, Leah. No need to ponder that until you must.

For the past several months, Mom had been on a genealogy kick. In February she’d gifted Leah a DNA test kit for her birthday, though Leah would have preferred the book on category theory she’d requested. That said, she was someone who loved to accumulate knowledge, and since she knew next to nothing about her ethnic heritage or her ancestors, she’d sent in her sample with a sense of pleasant anticipation.

She slid back into the dining room chair and retraced the steps she’d taken after logging on to YourHeritage. The first screen full of results informed her that she was 72% Scandinavian, 20% Irish/Scottish, and 8% German. Noteworthy, but no great surprise, since she was fair, with blond hair and grayish-blue eyes.

She moved to the next screen of results. Right beneath the first heading, Closest DNA Matches, her mother’s name should have appeared.

It did not. Instead, the site designated Leah’s closest DNA matches to be people with faces and names that didn’t ring a bell in her memory.

Riley Haskins. David Brookside. Margie Brookside Schloss. Emilie Donnell. Doug May. Ryan Brookside.

Who?

No Everly relatives from her mother’s side in this list. No Montgomery relatives from her father’s side.

Weeks ago her mom had granted Leah permission to view her YourHeritage data so that Leah could access the family tree Mom had been compiling. She visited her mom’s page of DNA matches. Leah ought to appear here as her mom’s closest match . . . but didn’t. Mom’s list included several relatives Leah knew—relatives who were conspicuously absent from her own list.

She checked her profile settings. Not wanting any of the strangers connected to her by DNA to see her pop up as a surprise cousin, she switched her settings to private, then knotted her hands in her lap.

She’d spent a lifetime trusting in the answers math provided. The world was not always logical. But math was. And she loved math for that.

Her saliva sample + laboratory analysis = the results she’d just received. Her inclination was to believe this sum because it was highly unlikely that there’d been a flaw in the equation.

The ghostly fist that had a hold of her insides squeezed harder.

She logged off and cleared her browser history. Grabbing her phone, she stepped onto her back patio and closed the sliding glass door behind her to ensure she was safely out of earshot of Dylan.

She dialed her mom, bracing herself the way she did for doctor’s appointments and other such duties, which were occasionally necessary but never enjoyable. Mom rarely picked up when Leah called. Even so, Leah murmured, “Answer.”

Mom did not pick up.