My Sister's Keeper

Epilogue

Epilogue

OVER THE NEXT FEW MONTHS, we would come to know ourselves, Charlie, and Mother in ways we never imagined. I looked behind the disfigurement of my father and discovered myself within him. His love of the arts, his passion for the theatre, and his gentle manner mirrored mine, and made me as proud of him as he was of me. The tension in my life disappeared. Whatever I'd been running from no longer chased me. I'd been set free.

Charlie and Mom married the following spring and she became Mrs. Winston Gaylord. She sold her house and moved to the farm. I've never seen her happier.

Dane Bonner was eventually found guilty of the murders of Scott McGillikin and Ashleigh Matthews as well as two of the missing Wilmington girls. He was sentenced to death.

Dane's associate, Greg, left the gas station after the explosion and thumbed rides the rest of the way to Bonner's cabin in Boone. He still had the $2000 cash in his pocket and the keys to the cabin. He assumed Bonner would show up, but, of course, never did. Greg remained in the house and, last I heard, was working as a highly sought guide along the southern half of the Appalachian Trail.

I did make it to Broadway, after all. Twice in fact, though not as a director. Sydney and I went to New York on our honeymoon that first Christmas after Gus died where she took dance classes during the day at Broadway Dance Center, then saw many of her instructors performing in the shows we took in on Broadway at night.

We were back in New York again just last month to accompany Martha to a book signing at Barnes & Noble for her new bestselling novel, Down in Flames. When she arrived, the line waiting for autographs stretched out the front door to the sidewalk. Everyone applauded when she arrived and walked in on crutches.

We were back in New York again just last month to accompany Martha to a book signing at Barnes & Noble for her new bestselling novel, Down in Flames. When she arrived, the line waiting for autographs stretched out the front door to the sidewalk. Everyone applauded when she arrived and walked in on crutches.

After returning from the book signing in New York, I sat on the back deck and watched the sky grow dark in the west stroking the long black and tan fur on the feline curled in my lap. She nudged her head against my palm and closed first the blue, then the brown eye as she practically caressed herself with my hand.

Mrs. Winslow scurried around her back yard folding chairs and putting them away before the storm arrived.

I waved. "Evening, Mrs. Winslow."

She turned and waved. "Good evening, Mr. Baimbridge. There's a storm coming!"

"Yes, I know," I called back. "I'm looking forward to it."

She shrugged her shoulders, wrapped her housecoat more tightly around her, and scampered back inside. Flags along the lakefront snapped and popped while boats tugged at their lines as the wind rose. I laid my head back, closed my eyes, and tuned in to the distant thunder.

"You too busy to see an old friend?" a voice called.

I opened my eyes and looked around. It was Sam Jones coming up the walk in an electric wheelchair. He looked a little grayer than I remembered, but his eyes were still piercing under those thick eyebrows.

"Hey-Hey! The man is back! Can I get you something to drink?"

"Nope. On duty—sort of."

"I thought you retired."

He steered the chair along the brick walk toward the steps. "Yeah, my body retired, but my mind didn't. I'm doing private-eye work now."

I put the cat down, stepped down the stairs, shook his hand, and sat on the bottom step. "That's good isn't it?"

"Well, it pays okay, but the hours stink." He leaned forward and rose to stand in front of the chair. "Look, the reason I stopped by is that I need your help with something." He carefully turned and sat on the step next to me, stretched his legs, and leaned back on his elbows.

"Okay, shoot."

"I need a photographer."

"For what?"

"I'm trying to get a part in a movie."

"Forget it! I don't do nudes anymore."

He laughed so hard, his eyes watered. I laughed, too. When he settled down enough to speak, he continued. "My granddaughter's coming to town next month and I want a good portrait of her."

"Who does she look like?"

"Looks like her granddaddy, of course."

"Save your money. Take her to Wal-Mart."

He cracked up in another huge belly laugh. "Well, she looks like me, only prettier."

I slapped his knee. "Call the studio and make an appointment. This one's on me."

The door behind us opened and Sydney leaned out as Tux bolted out through her legs. "Hey, Sam!" she said.

Sam twisted around. "Well, hello there, Miss Sydney."

"You two mind a little company?" she asked.

"'Course not," I said.

She held the door back and little Charlie toddled out. Thunder boomed a short distance away and Tux bolted back in the open door.

"'Torm coming," Charlie shouted.

"You got that right, Buddy!" I said clapping my hands together. "Come here, Tiger."

The toddler bobbled along with Sydney bent forward holding his hands to help him keep his balance. I reached out, lifted him, and set him on my lap. "Say hello to Mr. Sam, Charlie."

Charlie just sat and looked at Sam.

"Growing up, ain't he?" Sam said pulling at Charlie's toes.

"They do that."

As thunder clapped and leaves fluttered across the ground, my son bobbed up and down on my knee slapping his hands together.

"I don't understand," Sydney said. "Most children run from storms, but Little Charlie wants to be right in the middle of it."

"Takes after his daddy," I said.

Sydney leaned down and kissed my forehead, her long hair spilling around my face until thunder exploded nearby sending her racing back inside.

Charlie laughed and clapped his hands together.

"'Torm coming!"