Page 81 of Holding On

“It’s easy to claim that now, Miss Sinclair.” He huffs into the phone. “But maybe you didn’t want to wait for the wheels of justice to spin or maybe they weren’t spinning fast enough for your taste.”

“Meaning, what?”

“Meaning, maybe you took things into your own hands and decided to deliver your own justice because you think you’re above the law.” Jack snatches the phone up at that and ends the call with such force, I was worried the screen might crack.

In addition to any law enforcement that wants to speak to me about my mother needing to go through my attorneys, I also received a written formal apology from that detective and his commanding officer for his behavior and conduct.

What a douche canoe.

I hadn’t heard of calling someone that name before, but Savannah used it the other day and it made me laugh so hard I got the hiccups. Jack’s sisters have been so loving and attentive since I’ve been in Forrest Falls, with Fiona’s and now my mother’s deaths. Savannah, Vivian, and Cami all seem to understand that while both were unexpected and sudden, the two deaths are not at all the same, nor is my grieving process. For sisters that didn’t grow up together, the three are all very loving and maternal, something that made Cami tear up with a wistful smile when I pointed out the similarities after one of our yoga sessions together. Sometimes, I say things without thinking, but Cami assures me that I have nothing on her friend Cara, who has also proven to be a newfound treasure in all of this—in addition, the woman owns a freaking bakery with delicious treats.

No one will replace Fiona and the extraordinary, remarkable friendship and bond we shared. I will miss her every single day for the rest of my life. But the other night, as I lay in Jack’s arms under the stars, snuggled together on a couch on the rooftop, I couldn’t help but wonder if she somehow had a hand in all of this. Maybe Fiona called in some favors and somehow sent these new friendships to me to ease the heartache of her absence—of course she would assume it would take four incredible women to even try to fill the void she left behind. She was fabulous and she knew it.

Wells came back stateside the day after our mother’s body was discovered. The medical examiner performed the autopsy and we were informed that they weren’t able to give us an exact time of death. However, it was approximately sometime between eight p.m. and midnight the evening prior to the discovery of her body based on her body’s temperature and the stage of rigor mortis her body was in when the authorities discovered her. When they called to inform Wells, I was with him and had to rush to the bathroom, throwing up at the thought of our mother’s body going through that process in the middle of her living room. I’ve watched crime shows and listened to crime podcasts like most American women my age, but imagining my mother’s body made the concept feel far too intimate and flipped my stomach at the thought.

But like all things that involve our mother, nothing is ever black and white.

The autopsy unsurprisingly revealed substantial liver damage, including signs of cirrhosis, and other alcohol related damage that Bridget has done to her body over the years. According to the medical examiner’s office, we should get the full toxicology report in the next few days, but there was an unexpected discovery during her autopsy. Initially, the responding officers and detectives on the scene implied that it looked like an unremarkable scene, leading them to assume her death was likely from natural causes, but as it was an unattended death, an autopsy was required, and Wells had also insisted on one. While I initially was hesitant at the idea of them doing that to our mother’s body, I was glad I didn’t get a vote in the end.

During the examination, the medical examiner discovered something abnormal. On the back of our mother’s neck was a small, but noticeable and suspicious bruise that raised more questions, along with some red flags. The medical examiner’s report said the bruise occurred prior to her death and was actually an injection site.

Why the hell would my mother have an injection site on the back of her neck of all places? I can’t even imagine a plausible answer, but that hasn’t stopped my imagination. I don’t think Bridget did drugs, but what did I really know of my mother, other than she was married to an asshole and loved her booze more than her children? I know that if she were pushed into a corner, she could turn vicious and mean, which also made her unpredictable, so really, anything was possible when it came to her.

Except, apparently, her getting sober and putting in even minimal effort to have relationships with her children during her lifetime.

I shake my head as I step out of the shower, happy to be able to move a little easier without such intentional focus on babying my right side. Without having appointments today, I also get to let my hair air dry, which is a treat for both me and my curls. They just don’t look the same when they are diffused, but people that don’t have curly hair don’t understand. I apply a minimal amount of makeup before slipping on some yoga pants and one of Jack’s T-shirts. I love stealing his T-shirts and I think he loves seeing me in his clothes.

What a caveman.

I love it.

I smile, walking into the kitchen to make some much needed coffee. Glancing at my vibrating cell on the counter, I see Daphne Cromwell’s name on the screen. It’s not usually a great sign when your attorney calls you at nine in the morning.

“Good morning, Daphne, how are you today?” I greet her as I put the call on speaker so I can move around and make my iced brown sugar oat milk shaken espresso. I don’t avoid dairy; I just love this drink ever since Cami introduced me to it. She taught me how to make it here in Jack’s kitchen, but she still makes it better. Alas, she’s at work, so I have to make it myself … at least until I can get Thor to walk with me to Java Jive later.

“Hi, Tinsley. I’m well, thank you. How are you, darling?” Her British accent almost always makes me smile. As I’ve gotten to know Pippa better over the last few weeks, I heard the stories of how she and the British expat met in college and have been best friends ever since. But Daphne doesn’t come off stiff and cold, quite the opposite, actually. I absolutely see how she and Pippa connected all those years ago.

“I’m good, just making some coffee, which makes everything better, but I doubt you’re calling just to chat with me on a Wednesday morning. Although that would be okay if you were!”

“That’s kind of you to say, and I will take you up on that some time, especially when I’m in Forrest Falls. I’m sure we will cross paths quite often once those sweet babies arrive.”

The thought makes me smile. Fiona’s babies will have an amazing extended family, and that is nothing short of what they deserve.

And it’s what Fiona would have wanted—especially with how abundantly clear Pippa and David have made it that they want Dahlia to be as involved as she wants to be in the babies’ lives. They have already accepted her into their family and want it to look however she wants it too, which is really incredible considering the delicate situation. I think having a plan for the babies has allowed both Dahlia and I to exhale in a way we haven’t been able to since the accident. Of course, we still miss and are grieving Fiona, but the babies were coming regardless of if we had a plan in place, and we all feel more comfortable now that this specific unknown has an answer. It was a massive weight looming over us that we didn’t know what to do with, and with it resolved, we can start to unpack the colossal tragedy of losing Fiona.

I hum in agreement. “Yes, that will be lovely.”

“Alas, that is not the purpose of my call this morning. Do you have a moment to chat with me?” I know enough to know that’s lawyer talk for is it okay to discuss sensitive information right now.

“Yeah, I’m alone in the penthouse.” I don’t want to call it Jack’s penthouse anymore because it feels more like my home than … well, anywhere else ever has before.

“Okay, darling. This may sound odd, but I would like for you to take a seat if you’re able. Can you do that for me?”

Well, fuckity fuck, this really isn’t going to be good.

I pick up my freshly made coffee and move around the island to take the seat Jack usually sits in at the head of the dining table off the kitchen, with my back to the butler’s pantry. I usually sit to the left of this seat so I can look out the windows, but something tells me I’m going to want to be as close to Jack as I can be right now. “Okay … you’re kind of freaking me out here, Daphne, but I’m sitting down now.”

“I’m sorry, Tinsley. I want you to be safe though, and what I’m going to tell you will likely bring a shock, and I don’t want you to stumble or lose your footing.”