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“There’s a box of really old photos here.”
“Yeah?” Kodiak responded, but he was leafing through the pages.
“This could be him, but I’m not sure.”
He went to her final entry, scanning the words she must have written shortly before she died.
“All I ever did was love her.”
Perhaps in his own perverse way, he did.
Grace was certainly in love with him.
“Did Jarrid have a sister?”
“Not that I know of. He always told me we didn’t have any kin.” Kodiak held out her mother’s diary. “Linnea, there’s something you…”
“Who’s Brandy then?”
Putting the diary aside, his brows cinched together, and he gave his head a shake. “What did you say?”
“Brandy. That’s what’s written on here.”
“Let me see.”
Linnea handed him a photo.
A woman’s handwriting on the back, Kodiak read it out loud, “Joe, Jarrid, Brandy, and me. 1983.”
“That would make Jarrid fifteen here, right?”
He studied the photo in his hand. Even as a teenager, his father looked pretty much the same, albeit younger. Shirtless, a cigarette tucked behind his ear, he was down on his haunches next to the girl, her chestnut hair in braids. She appeared to be around ten. A man and woman stood right behind them.
“My mother’s name is Brandy.”
“Oh, shit.” Linnea gasped, clapping her hand to her mouth. “Do you think that’s her?”
It must be.
“Are there any more?”
“Pictures?” Her grin smug, she pushed a good-sized box his way. “Weren’t you listening?”
Dumping the photos into a pile on the bed, Kodiak attempted to put them in some semblance of order. Some had names and dates on the back, but many did not. Who were these people?
“Joe must be Jarrid’s father,” Linnea reasoned, her finger tapping on the man’s image. “Dark hair. Green eyes. See the resemblance?”
He saw it. “Maybe, or his uncle.”
But who was Brandy to his father? Would Jarrid finally tell him? Because that’s what he wanted to know.
“Your phone, Seth.”
It vibrated on the mattress beside him.
The caller was straight to the point and brief. Hurry.
Kodiak looked at his sister.
