Epilogue
Vector
“There’s something that I’ve been chewing on mentioning since you had me in here the first time,” Paul says, slowly standing up and walking over to the mantel. “It was the kind of things that clients would pay a little extra for over the years, and I’ve been wondering if you know about it.”
I’m certain that the look Bridget is giving Sloane matches the expression on my face, but my Ol’ Lady shrugs her shoulders, looking as baffled as we are. Looking between us seems to give Paul the information he was looking for in order to continue.
“Jigsaw had me build this in,” he says, pushing on a small section of the elaborate carving. It takes him a second try, but then there’s an audible click and a section of it opens up, revealing a metal box.
Stepping forward at the same time as Bridget, I give her a nod since she’s as eager as I am to see what our father hid away. I’m directly over her shoulder when she pulls out the rectangular box and find myself holding my breath as she quickly opens it to reveal a couple of stacks of cash and an envelope—addressed to her, in Jigsaw’s handwriting.
“There’s nothing else in here,” she says, visibly upset when she looks up at me. “Why didn’t he leave you a letter?”
Turning my head, I lock eyes with Paul and see his answer before I ask the question. “There’s another one in the office, isn’t there?”
“Yes,” he simply says.
Looking back toward the mantel, I nod my head, having an idea of where I’ll find the hidden compartment. My eyes land on Sloane next.
“Text me if you feel like company,” she says softly, understanding that I want a moment.
The fact that this is who she is, that I’ll never have to make up an excuse for a moment of privacy, makes my heart swell with more love and certainty that I found the right woman at the right time in my life.
Fuck it , I think when I get outside. Climbing into Bridget’s truck and after confirming that the keys are in the cupholder, I start it up and drive up to the main building.
Did the old man write me a letter? Or am I about to find a stack of Playboys and an old pack of smokes?
Pulling up to the front door, I head directly to my office without acknowledging anyone inside. I have two possibilities as to where the compartment is, but I guess it in one and see that the inside of this box is set up like Bridget’s was.
Right before I open the lid, I look at the fine work Paul did, making both of the compartments invisible to the naked eye and I once again wonder about the top step in his own house.
There’s no way that man would accept a flaw in his own house unless there was a pretty good reason for it being there.
Looking inside, there’s a letter addressed to me on top of similar sized stacks of cash. Smiling to myself, I know damn well that the old man never told Nadine about the compartments. Neither Bridget nor I would have received any cash if that was the case.
I love my sister dearly, but her mom is, and always has been, a greedy bitch. Dad might have loved Nadine, but he obviously wasn’t blind to her faults. Of course, it would have been nice if he had let me know about the items he hid.
If not for Paul, another decade could have passed. I let out a sigh, knowing that I’m stalling, but also that if we had opened the compartment when Nadine still lived here, she would have taken Bridget’s share.
After his funeral, I gave her a fifth share of the cash he had on hand, considering how much there was, I figured that was more than fair. Jigsaw and me were joint tenants on this property, so it passed to me as soon as he died. I never put any pressure on her to move out of the house, but I was quick to offer help when she announced she wanted to live in Florida.
If Bridget asked me for half the value of the land tomorrow, I’d give it to her, no questions asked. Not that it was something that Dad and I ever discussed, but in my heart I know it was understood.
Finally, I quit stalling and open my letter.
Starting out it’s about what I expect.
Right until it gets to the part about another child that he fathered, and I shoot out of my seat, needing to catch myself when the muscles in my leg scream in pain.
When the office door flies open, I reach for my gun—until I see Bridget.
She’s holding her letter in one hand, her face is red with perspiration running down her temples and I remember that I used her SUV in my rush to find my box.
“Did you know?” The words are barely out of her mouth when she takes in the expression on my face.
Letting out a string of cuss words that would make Jigsaw proud, the half-sibling that I always knew about calms herself down as she closes the door and sinks into the chair across from me.
“When are we going to tell him?” she asks me.
Rather than sitting again, I cross to a picture of a group of us, taken during a lunch break on one of our many rides together.
The man I now know is my brother stands beside me. My hand is resting on his shoulder, like I need him to keep me upright as I’m laughing hysterically at something. Jigsaw is off to the side with a proud grin on his face as he looks in our direction.
I’ve walked by this picture nearly every day for over a decade and not only did I never wonder why my dad took the time to frame this, but I never paused to truly look at it until this moment.
“Brain took that,” Bridget says quietly from behind me. “Dad saw it and had me get the memory card from him. We rode to town, and I walked Dad through how to print it up at CVS. Afterwards we bought the frame and went for ice cream. Dad knew it by then, you can just see it on his face. His two sons were already brothers.”
“I haven’t finished my letter,” I say, hoping for privacy as I try to process the emotions that threaten to overwhelm me. I didn’t even get to the part about how Jigsaw found out he had another kid.
“Well, one more brother was the highlight of mine,” she mutters, sounding frustrated as she pushes out of her chair. “I wonder if I have a sister out there somewhere. Maybe I should do one of those DNA tests?”
“We’ll talk to him together, just give me a minute to figure this out,” I tell her, reaching for the doorknob to get her moving. “Don’t tell your ma. At least not until we get this figured out.”
“I’m not telling her! She’ll lose her shit.” Bridget looks panicked at the mere thought.
In the next breath, she’s got her arms wrapped around me as tight as she did at the VA all those years ago. Squeezing me for all she’s worth, I let go of the door to hold onto her. Poor kid.
Last year she found out about Nadine’s sons by Preacher and now this.
“I never would have kept this from you,” I say, remembering her words when she entered the room. “You were a baby when Dad made me swear I wouldn’t tell you about Maverick and Shady. I tried to get Nadine to tell you for years, but I should have done it myself after he died. If I had known about our brother, I wouldn’t have kept it from anyone.”
“I shouldn’t have accused you,” Bridget says, her voice cracking as she keeps her face pressed against my collarbone. “I love you.”
“You too, brat,” I chuckle back.
“Jerk.”
“What are you gonna do? Have all your brothers beat me up?”
“You do remember that I have access to all your banking information, right?”
“I love you and you’re my favorite sister,” I respond, instantly contrite but still a sarcastic asshole.
Her humph is followed by a kiss on my cheek before she turns to go and once the door closes behind her I turn back, looking at the letter that’s sitting on my desk still waiting to be finished.
End