Page 142 of One Last Promise

“He left you money?”

“Yeah. Dad had numerous investment accounts. He left one to me and another to Mom and . . . a few charities. And of course the endowment to Air One Rescue and all the properties in Alaska to you. He was a good man.” He sighed. “After he and Mom got divorced, he changed. He was gone a lot when I was a kid, but suddenly he started hanging around. Going to church, and sometimes he tried to drag me along. I was almost relieved when I moved away with her so that he couldn’t bug me.” He sighed. “I wish I could get that back. Especially now that . . . well, I met my wife, and she finally talked me into attendingchurch. And then I realized what had changed my dad. Salvation.” He met Moose’s eyes, then Tillie’s. “I wish I’d figured out how to forgive him and asked him to forgive me before he left this earth.”

“He sent you a letter.” Moose pulled the folded letter from his back pocket. “It came back, and he carried it in his Bible. Tillie found it.” He glanced at her as he held out the letter.

Fisher took it. Took a breath. Then he looked up at Moose. “This was sent around the time of my birthday.” He turned it over and opened it with his thumb. Reached in and pulled out a card.

Something fluttered out of it, but Fisher seemed not to notice. Tillie picked it up. A picture of a kid, maybe aged ten or twelve, holding a stringer of fish with his father, who was holding a pole, both of them grinning into the camera.

Fisher opened the card, read it, his hand to his mouth. His eyes glazed, and he nodded. Looked up. “It’s, uh . . . he . . .”

Moose held up his hand. “It’s okay, Fisher. But you should know that he talked about you over those three days while we tried to make it to safety. He definitely loved you, and more, he forgave you. He made me promise to find you and tell you that.”

Fisher nodded. “Yeah.” He looked away, blinking, closing the card.

Tillie held out the picture. “Seems like he had some good memories.”

He took the photo, and a smile slowly swept over his face. “This was taken near his cabin. We used to fly in to go fishing.” He ran his thumb over the picture. “I wish, sometimes, that he knew that I turned out okay. Good job. Wife, kid . . . and I found Jesus.”

A car pulled up outside, and Fisher looked up.

Tillie turned, too, and through the door came a boy about ten, a towel around his neck, wearing flip-flops and board shorts, his hair wet.

“Dad! The waves are amazing—” He stopped and looked at Mooseand Tillie. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay. PJ, this is my friend Moose Mulligan and his friend?—”

“Tillie Young.”

“Hi.” PJ raised a hand.

“Take a jump in the pool and then shower off. You have soccer practice in an hour.”

PJ went out through the sliding door, dropped his towel, and jumped into the pool.

A woman had come in behind them too, pretty, long brown hair, wearing a sundress. “Hey there.” She set beach gear down in the entryway.

“Lana, this is Moose Mulligan and his friend Tillie.”

Her mouth made a rounded Oas she came over to stand by Fisher. “Really? It’s nice to finally meet you, Moose. And you, Tillie.” She shook their hands, then turned to Moose. “What are you doing in Florida?”

“It’s a long story,” Tillie said. “We’re . . . sort of in the middle of a . . .”

“Wait,” Moose said. “Do you run an internet security company?”

Fisher raised an eyebrow. Nodded.

“Do you know anything about encryption?”

“Of?”

“Security footage.”

Tillie frowned at Moose. The security footage from the Fight Factory? They’d found it?

“I can take a look,” Fisher said.

Moose pulled out his phone, and she guessed he was texting Axel.

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