“So you were a kid? Could you talk?”

“Yeah. Mom said I had this funny accent that stuck around for about a year.”

“Huh. Didn’t you know where you came from?”

“Mom says I knew my name but nothing else. I didn’t know where I was from or what happened or anything.”

“That is the weirdest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“It made for a huge legal mess. After my parents decided they wanted to adopt me, they had a private investigator looking for my birth mother and all sorts of stuff about temporary custody and whatever. Took over two years before everything was final.”

“Did you live in a foster home or something?”

“No. The judge my parents worked with was pretty cooperative, so I got to live with them through the whole process. A social worker came out to see us every week, though, and my parents weren’t allowed to take me out of the state till I was seven.”

“Weird. Do you ever wonder where you came from?”

“I used to. But there are no answers, so it gets frustrating to think about after a while.”

“If you could find out who your real mom is, would you?”

“I don’t know,” she said, pushing her hands into her pockets. “Probably. But I like my life. I’m not sorry I ended up with my mom and dad.”

“That’s so cool.” David gestured toward a driveway. “This way.” He glanced up at the sky. “It looks like it’ll rain soon. Let’s drop our bags and hopefully we’ll have time to see the tree.”

“Is this your house? It’s pretty.” They were passing in front of a small white house with a bright red door; multi-colored zinnias filled a long bed that ran along the front of the house.

“Should be,” David said, turning up the front walk. “I spent two weeks this summer painting it.”

They dropped off their bags by the front door and walked into a neat and simply decorated kitchen. “Can I get you something?” David asked, walking into the kitchen and opening the fridge. He pulled out a can of Mountain Dew and grabbed a box of Twinkies from the cupboard.