When It Falls Apart (The D'Angelos, #1)(48)

No sooner had she said that than the air guy asked them to follow him to the control panel for the thermostat.

“I was looking for a plug and thought you might want to see this,” he said as he pointed at the bottom of a hall closet.

Brooke glanced inside. “I emptied it out.”

“Not all of it, lady. Look at the bottom.”

She dropped to her knees and gasped.

Luca leaned down beside her as she reached into a dark space and pulled out a jar of coins.

Not just a jar, but a restaurant-size peanut jar that was an effort to lift.

“What the hell, Dad.” She scooted the jar out, reached back in.

“There’s more?” Luca asked.

The air guy laughed and walked away.

Brooke handed Luca the next jar and reached in again. “You would think”—she grabbed another—“that my dad would have told me about these.”

“Maybe he forgot.”

She reached back in, and by the time she was done, they counted fifteen jars in various sizes. All filled with coins of every denomination.

Brooke looked at the money. “I guess I can’t throw things away without looking at them first.”

“This is insane.”

She wiggled to sit up from her cramped position on the floor.

Luca reached out to give her a hand.

He didn’t let go right away, and she looked up.

He rubbed his thumb on her palm.

“I found the problem with the air conditioner,” the repair guy interrupted them.

Brooke broke free and walked away.

By three, the hired workers were gone, the problems fixed. And even though the inside of the condo was cool, they were out in the garage working up a sweat.

Luca had piled the junk in the driveway and waited for the man he hired to come and take it all away.

The only things left in the house were those that required two people to get out. Even though Brooke said she could do it, it was against Luca’s fiber to let her when he knew a man was coming soon. Some might consider that sexist, but he thought of it as chivalrous. He knew she could, he just didn’t want her to.

Back in the garage, he lifted a dusty box onto the now empty workbench and opened it. “More papers,” he announced.

Brooke groaned. “Just start sifting through them. At this point the only thing I’m interested in is a possible funeral plot, death benefit, or forgotten letter from a rich aunt I never knew about.” She laughed. “Everything else gets thrown away.”

She was exhausted, he could see it in her eyes. “Why don’t you take a break?”

“I will when we’re done. We’re almost there.”

He pulled out the first yellowed folder and opened it. Old bank statements. “Who is Gilroy?”

“My grandfather. He’s been dead for over twenty years. Throw it away.”

In the trash it went.

Gilroy dominated the top of the box. “All this has his social security number on them.”

“He’s dead.”

“True.” In the trash . . .

Luca dug more, found an old black-and-white picture. “Do you know who these people are?”

Brooke glanced at it, shook her head. “Trash.”

A pile of old holiday cards was the next to find the garbage bin.

He found a letter, pulled it from the opened envelope. It was addressed to Brooke’s father. Luca flipped through the pages to the end, read the name of the sender out loud. “Do you know who Elaine is?”

Brooke’s chin shot up. “My mother.”

Luca handed the letter to Brooke and watched her for a moment.

Her eyes scanned it until she backed up and sat in the only chair in the garage.

He wanted to ask what the letter said, but instead he picked up another letter. This one was also addressed to Mr. Turner, only it started out . . .

Dear Dad,

Luca flipped to the back, saw Brooke’s name in flamboyant letters like teenage girls did.

He turned it back around and read the first few lines.

Hi . . . remember me? How was your Christmas? New Year’s? My birthday was great, thank you so much for asking. Wait . . . you didn’t ask. In fact, I haven’t heard a thing from you. I thought you promised that after we met you were going to stick around. I guess my last letter when I asked your advice on what to do with Mom’s new boyfriend hitting on me made you nervous. Maybe you thought I’d ask to move in with you. I know your wife doesn’t like me. I don’t need to go to a whole new state and not be welcome. But you could have at least sent a letter.

I figured it out. The thing with Bill. I moved in with my girlfriend and her parents. I only have six months before I finish high school. I’m not going to let Mom fuck that up.

Here is my new address, if you care.

I’m not asking you for money. I just need a dad.

Please write back.

Brooke

Luca didn’t mean to read the whole thing.

His heart broke in his chest for the young lady writing that letter.

He looked up at the woman, still reading the pages of the letter her mother sent to her dad.

In the box, more letters in Brooke’s teenage hand were addressed to her father.

Read them.

Read them all!

He didn’t.

No matter what his mind screamed.