"Mr. Hansen, there are some people here to see you."

With a perplexed look, Sig craned his neck to see over the high back chair and watched as the pleasant dental assistant ushered his two brothers into the oral surgeon's examination room.

For most of the day, the oldest brother hadn't felt anxious about seeing the oral surgeon, that is, right up until the moment he walked through the fancy office's front door. The waiting room that greeted him was far more clinical and barren than the homey, welcoming waiting room of their old family dentist.

He'd been taken back to see the doctor almost immediately after filling out the required paperwork. No long wait with his family, no low lighting or funny cartoon drawings on the wall and no comfy sofas to make him feel at ease, Sig sensed he had been fooling himself into believing this was just another routine visit.

The surgeon happened to be a middle aged man with the bedside manner of a flea. Regardless of the man's demeanor, he seemed very thorough and professional. He examined Sig's mouth, took some notes and sent him down the hallway for a very detailed X-Ray of his mouth. The X-ray machine looked like something from the medieval times, resembling a partial Iron Maiden of modern machinery.

X-Ray completed, Sig was brought back to the dentist chair and left to wait for the results. It was while he was waiting alone that the oldest brother began to really get nervous. Shit, what's the worst that can happen? My wisdom tooth has to come out. How much will that hurt? Does it matter? Of course it does. I'm a little scared. Man, I wish Mom was here. She always had a way of making me feel better about this kind of stuff.

As if he had sent up a mental distress flare for help, Norman and Edgar strolled into the room, answering the unvoiced call.

Watching his brothers walk in, Sig hid a smile, "Norman, I said you didn't need to come." But I'm glad you did. I'm kind of freaked out at the moment.

With a dismissive wave of his hand, Norman sauntered by the left of the chair and sat down on the rolling stool reserved for the surgeon. "We were in the neighborhood," he smartly stated, sliding the stool around on the smooth tiled floor and inspecting the diplomas on the wall.

"Visiting, no doubt…" Sig said smugly, referring to Sunday night's 'impromptu' supper with the Winchester family, "…considering the hardware store is ten miles in the opposite direction from here to home. How the heck did you know where this place was?"

"I found Dr. Owen's business card in YOUR jeans pocket when I was doing the wash," Norman enlightened his brother, "You know, you should really clean out your pockets before your throw shit into the hamper." Grumbling under his breath, he added, "I found a fucking lighter, too."

"Watch your mouth!" Sig whispered forcefully, tilting his head in Edgar's direction and wondering where Norman's foul language was coming from.

"He's stressed out," Edgar said gently, coming to Norman's defense. Despite being the youngest, at times he felt like a buffer between his two older brothers, "He curses a lot when he's stressed."

The baby of the family cautiously approached Sig, standing next to him and studying his oldest brother's face with unusual curiosity. It seemed as if the young teen was attempting to use X-ray vision to check inside Sig's mouth. He was more than confused about why his brother had to come to this new place instead of the normal dentist. And why does Sig look helpless sitting in this cold room and that large chair? Does he feel helpless?

"I do not," Norman argued, "And I'm not stressed out."

"Yes, you do," Sig disagreed, noticing his younger brother's guarded look and rigid shoulders, "And yes you are. What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Norman muttered. I'm worried about you, asshole. This place is strange and far more formal and intimidating than I expected.

"What are they going to do to you?" Edgar asked Sig with trepidation, his voice held a faint tremor. He reached out and placed an un-bandaged hand on his brother's bare forearm.

"Right now, nothing," Sig reassured his youngest brother, his mind distracted by the healed hand resting on his arm. "Edgar…" he said gently, staring at the small hand. Sig moved his arm, sliding up along the arm rest and putting Edgar's hand in his. He turned it over, grasping the back of his brother's hand and examining the palm. With his left index finger, he touched the new skin, marveling at the healing powers of the body. Like shedding a bad sunburn, the old skin had flaked off and new, baby-soft skin had replaced the damaged epidermis.

As Norman had taken over bandage duty since the night of the poker tournament, Sig hadn't seen his brother's hands exposed in close to a week. The last time he'd seen them had been when the skin had been re-injured from the last time Edgar rode his motor bike.

"Norman took off the bandages at work today," Edgar proudly announced, glancing at his own hand in Sig's, noting how much it was dwarfed by the rough, callous hand of his oldest brother's.

"I probably could have taken them off on Tuesday but…" Norman started and then stopped, finishing his thought with a shrug. He recognized he was being overly vigilant with Edgar's hands but, despite feeling like a worrying old grandma, he figured both he and Sig were going to be overly watchful when it came to Edgar for a long, long time. Wounds heal…but the memories haven't faded.

"Does it still hurt?" Sig asked as he carefully inspected each and every inch of his youngest brother's hand. He elevated his other palm up, indicating he sought to inspect the other hand as well.

Edgar complied, offering his left hand out to be scrutinized, "No, just a little itchy, like poison ivy."

"Don't scratch at them," Sig stated automatically, still studying the hands in his.

"I won't," Edgar whispered, wishing his brother would give him back his hands and remove the look of worry on his face. "I'm fine, Sig…really," he assured his brother.

Shaking off the dazed feeling, Sig lifted his gaze and pushed his brother's hands back towards him. He gave Edgar a smile mixed with relief and genuine happiness for another human being. "I know, I know," he uttered, "I know you're fine. I'm just…I'm just glad you're OK…really glad."

"Are you…OK?" Edgar asked. You look nervous sitting in that big chair.

Now, Sig spotted the same concerned look on Edgar's face that had been on his own only moments before.

Although he promised to be honest with his brothers from now on, Sig was prepared to answer the question with a lie. Filing the dishonesty under the category of 'white lies parents tell children,' he started to explain that everything would be fine when the doctor entered the room.

"Mr. Hansen," Dr. Owen walked in, carrying a manila folder. He seemed slightly taken aback when he found three young males in the room instead of just one, a faint widening of his narrow eyes, and then ignored the younger boys' presence.

In Norman's vast opinions, to be ignored like that was considered very rude and something their mother would have never allowed them to get away with. The man should at least acknowledge Edgar. He's a kid, for Christ's sake. Doctors are supposed to be good with kids, offering them a lollipop or tongue depressor or something.

"You said you were in some pain. I think, looking at this…" the doctor walked over to the X-ray light box. He slipped out a film of plastic and attached it to the top of the box, hitting the light switch to illuminate the image. A panoramic view of Sig's mouth hung in front of the box, every tooth and jaw bone visible with incredible detail. "…you must be in a significant amount of pain."

Sig hung his head as the hard evidence proved him a liar on multiple occasions and with several different people. Although he'd been somewhat honest about the pain, he had been blowing off Norman and Edgar's concern for several days with 'it's not that bad' and 'I'm not worried about it.' He even tried to convince the doctor that the pain was mild, although he should have known the man was going to call him out on it eventually. Maybe I was just trying to convince myself. Does it count as a lie if you really believe it at the time?

Norman and Edgar glanced at each other, a knowing look passing between them that they'd been lulled into a false sense of security.

"This wisdom tooth here…" the doctor circled the lower right part of Sig's jaw and gums with a pencil, "…is impacted. It is pressing against your established teeth because it has no room to come in and it's going to keep pushing, shifting your back molars and ruining the alignment of your teeth. The others…" the man circled the other three hidden wisdom teeth, two on the right and left top and the left on the bottom, "…are going to cause the same predicament sooner or later when they erupt."

"So all his wisdom teeth have to be removed," Norman deduced from the explanation.

Dr. Owen turned around, studying the bulky young man rolling around in HIS chair. Hiding his annoyance with the interruption, he glanced over at Sig, "The lower right tooth needs to come out immediately. I recommend taking them all out at the same time and avoiding problems down the road. Now, I have a cancellation first thing tomorrow morning. I've had the office assistant fit you in…"

"WHAT exactly are you going to do tomorrow?" Norman asked, not bothering to hide his own annoyance with the less than affable doctor.

Dr. Owen frowned. "Are you related to Mr. Hansen, young man?" the doctor asked with a curt voice.

"I'm his brother," Norman stated defensively, coming off downright cocky, "Now can you tell him what's going to happen tomorrow?" He's scared…can't you see that… and you're being a dick.

"Norman…" Sig scolded, flashing his younger brother an embarrassed glare regarding his blatant disrespect towards the doctor.

"As I was going to explain…" the doctor continued in a huff, turning attention back to Sig, "…we'll give you general anesthesia so you'll have to refrain from eating from now until after the surgery. Water only from now on. Once you're completely under, I'll make an incision into your gums…"

After the word incision, Sig stopped listening. It was clear that Norman had taken over collecting and analyzing the information, staring a hole into the doctor's face with an intense gaze and giving the man his avid, undivided attention.

After the word surgery, Edgar started intently listening, his face losing some of its color.

When the doctor was done with his explanation, Sig only asked one question, "Do I really have to have this done tomorrow? I'm not trying to be rude. I appreciate you squeezing me into the schedule on such short notice but I have to work tomorrow and…" I don't have the money for this.

"Mr. Hansen, it's not going to get any better. In fact, it will only get worse. You are extremely lucky I have an opening at all for the rest of this month. It's tomorrow or you can opt to come back in late July but I have to warn you that the longer that tooth pushes against your other teeth, the more you run the risk of causing permanent damage," the doctor lifted his hands, palms up, "It's your choice. Personally, I would not want to deal with this much pain for another month when it can be over by this time tomorrow."

"He'll take the appointment," Norman stated with finality, standing up and getting ready to leave. He shot Sig a look the oldest brother had seen many times in his life, yet it had been on a different person's face; his father's. Norman's expression made him look exactly like their father, Sverre, only a much younger, funnier version.

Even Edgar, to whom the look was not directed, squirmed uncomfortably.

The doctor glanced at Sig, waiting for the official confirmation.

For Sig, this was all happening too fast. He'd just come for a consultation never expecting he'd walk out knowing he was scheduled for minor surgery tomorrow. During the long pause of consideration, the doctor and Norman seemed to be losing their patience as they shifted their body weight and glared at Sig as if willing him to make up his mind.

Edgar was the only one to offer his oldest brother a half-hearted smile. "Looks like it's time to take your medicine," he quipped softly.

Sig good-naturedly nodded his head and broke into a smile. I love this kid brother of mine, always knows when to use my words to back me into a corner. At least I know he's paying attention to what I say.

"Huh?" Norman questioned, missing the inside joke.

"Alright," Sig gave in, "Tomorrow."

"Fine, Mr. Hansen," the doctor turned on his heels, "The nurse will have some instructions for you when you check out. Please follow them. And you'll need a ride home tomorrow." Pausing on his way out the door, the doctor added, "You made the right decision."

Sig sighed, running his hands through his hair. I can only hope so.


The Trans Am pulled into the driveway, followed closely by the Ford F150 pick-up. Considering there was a police cruiser already parked in the Hansen's driveway, Norman had to park the truck on the grass.

As the older boys emerged from their respective vehicles, Norman looked over the roof of the truck and said to his oldest brother, "IT WAS NOT ME!" in reference to the police presence at their home.

Edgar hesitated getting out of the truck, shooting Sig a look of panic through the glass windshield.

Sig held out his hand in a calming, reassuring gesture to Edgar and mouthed, "It's OK." He slammed the driver's side door shut, focused on controlling his breathing and willing his heart to stop pounding so fast. Walking around the police cruiser, Sig approached the porch and found Officer Markley knocking on their back door.

Seeing the curvy blond police woman with the long blond hair made Sig's heart start racing for different reasons. Along with his heart, other parts of his anatomy seemed to wake up and come to life.

Daisy was barking up a storm inside the house, bouncing up high enough that she could look out the door window. From outside, she looked like a deranged jack-in-the-box.

"Ma'am?" Sig asked as he came up behind the woman, raising the volume of his voice over the barking coming from the other side of the door.

Startled, Officer Markley quickly turned around, her hand on the holster of her firearm.

"Whoa, Miss," Sig reached out, stepping closer and touching the officer lightly on the arm. "It's just me," he crooned softly, looking down and gazing into her frightened eyes. Regardless of the fact he'd almost had a loaded weapon drawn on him, Sig could only focus on his callous hand on the lady's arm, the silky softness of her bare skin.

Patricia stared up into the memorizing cobalt blue eyes of the blond, handsome man. All 6'2 feet of him, he towered over her, making her feel small. Recovering from the startle, she softened her gaze and took her hand off her sidearm. "Sorry," she croaked out, finding her voice, "Force of habit." My God, he's gorgeous. Everything about him oozes sexiness. And why does my voice sound so strange? Get a hold of yourself, girl. He's barely legal and you're here on business. You're not one to swoon at men's feet…but this isn't just any man. This man is too beautiful for his own good. And those eyes…those freaking blue eyes…

"I'm the one who should be sorry," Sig smiled, ever the gentleman, "I shouldn't have snuck up on you like that." He left his hand linger on her arm longer than necessary, loathing to pull it away. Finally, he pushed the touch just past the point of awkwardness and regretfully retracted his hand.

"And I probably should have called first," Patricia explained, shaking off the personal feelings and getting down to the matter at hand, "I've brought some things for you…some things that got left in the Shack's safe the other night…as well as something else. Can we talk for a minute?"

Sweetheart, I could talk to you all day. I love my brothers to death, don't get me wrong, but I sincerely miss having a girl to talk to. "Sure," Sig nodded, hearing his younger brothers coming up behind him and secretly wishing they'd get lost for a while...a long while.

Norman was practically dragging Edgar behind him by the arm. Once the younger teen recognized the pretty police officer, he relaxed somewhat.

"Edgar," Patricia spotted the boy hiding behind his muscular brother.

"Ma'am," Edgar gave the woman a tentative nod.

"And you must be Norman," Patricia announced, turning her gaze to the middle brother standing at the bottom of the porch steps, "I'm Officer Markley."

I could have figured that one out on my own. Holy shit, I can see why Sig dreams about you at night. The blond officer was wearing her long hair in a high ponytail that draped over her shoulder, making her appear younger than her age. The cut of her summer uniform hugged every curve of her figure and the buttons of her shirt were being stretched to capacity across her bosom. "Hello," Norman stated politely, watching Sig watching her every move and inwardly snickering.

"The officer is here to drop off some things," Sig said, throwing a pointed look over at Edgar.

Edgar went back to hiding behind Norman, this time to avoid Sig's reproachable gaze.

"Would you like to come in?" Sig asked, fumbling for the keys he had shoved into his back pocket.

"Just for a minute," the officer explained, holding a large envelope in her left hand, "I don't want to disturb your evening."

"Believe me, miss," Norman said as he walked up the steps, "It's not any inconvenience."

As soon as the door opened, Daisy and all her pent up energy came bursting through. She was thrilled to see her boys and curious about this stranger. The stranger had all kinds of new smells on her. One in particular caught Daisy interest. A male dog…a big male dog…German Sheppard, perhaps?

The boys managed to restrain Daisy long enough for them all to get in the door.

Patricia turned to Edgar, a brilliant smile on her face, "Ed, I see you finally got a dog."

"She's a stray," Sig explained, "We're trying to find her owners but it's been four days and no one has called yet. Do you like dogs?"

"Love 'em," she answered cheerfully, "But I couldn't bring home another dog. Russ would have a fit."

Sig's face fell. "You're married, then?" he asked before he could stop the intrusive question.

"Married?" Patricia looked confused, finally realizing the misunderstanding, "No, no, Russ is my dog. He's a retired K-9 officer. I live alone." Now why the hell did I tell him THAT?

"Oh," Sig shrugged with indifference, doing a terrific job of masking the elation he felt in finding out the lady was single.

"We're not giving her away," Edgar clarified, "We're going to keep her…" Spotting Sig cocking his eyebrow over the announcement, the youngest brother amended his statement, "…if our dad allows it."

"Edgar," Norman grabbed the leash off the hook beside him, "How about you and me take Daisy for a walk? I'm sure she needs to get out for a while." And I'm sure Sig would like us to get out of the house for a while, too.

Yes, please take the dog and yourselves for a walk. Sig smiled over at Edgar, communicating that this was a fabulous idea for everyone, Daisy included.

Edgar got the picture. The adults want to talk and they don't want the little kid around when they do. I'm getting kind of sick of that. How much longer till I'm old enough to be included in the grown-up conversation?

A few moments later, Norman, Edgar and Daisy proceeded out the back door, leaving the beautiful blond people alone in the kitchen.

Sig gestured to the kitchen table with his hand, "Sit, please. Can I get you something to drink?"

"No, thank you," Patricia sat down, placing the envelope on the table, "Please sit down yourself, Mr. Hansen."

"Sig," he corrected her, "Please call me Sig."

"Alright," she smiled, "There are some things we have to go over…Sig"

OK, that has to be the sweetest sounding thing I've heard in a long time. You saying my name makes me feel a little weak in the knees. "Please tell me it isn't bad news," he said sincerely, "I've had enough of bad news today. And my kid brother is still recovering from everything that happened. I'd hate to dig it all up again now."

"No, Edgar has no reason to be afraid," she stated firmly, "Although I can only hope he'll make better decisions in the future about where and with whom he hangs out. But the case was officially closed this morning so that ends the investigation. That's part of the reason I'm here. Maybe it would be better if I'd just explain."

Sig simply nodded, giving the woman his attention, which wasn't a difficult task.

Patricia opened the large envelope and deposited the contents on the kitchen table. The pink slip to the motor bike, the keys for the bike and another, business-size, white envelope fell onto the table. "These, I believe, belong to your father," she said, sliding over the bike's ownership papers and keys across the table.

Sig glanced down at his dad's signature on the document. Seeing the old paperwork gave him a weird feeling he couldn't identify but he suspected it was something close to nostalgia. "Yes, this is to Edgar's bike. Thank you for bringing it over." You could have called and told me this stuff was ready to be picked up but you made the effort to come by and drop them off personally. Should I take that as some kind of sign or am I reading too much into it? He slipped both items off to the side and concentrated in the mysterious white envelope.

"And this…" Patricia pushed the white envelope across the table, "…belongs to you."

Sig squinted his eyes in confusion. I didn't leave anything at the Shack.

"Mr. Hansen…Sig…just open it," Patricia said patiently, "I'll fill in the holes after you're done."

"You know what's in here?" he asked as he picked up the envelope, tearing the seal open.

"Yes, I'm afraid I do. The police chief gave me specific instructions to bring this to you and to answer any questions you might have," a fleeting glimpse of frustration crossed her face. Like I'm the man's personal courier.

So much for thinking she came on her own to see me. Sig opened the envelope and removed the contents. A large, three-folded document was the first thing he came across. When he began unfolding the document, a car key and a note slipped out into his hand. Immediately, the key was the first thing to capture his interest. Clearly, it belonged to an automobile and had a silver mustang imprinted on its black bow.

Fingering the key in his hand, he studied the document. It was the title to a 1984 Ford Mustang GT. On the back, it had been signed over to one Sigurd Hansen.

Sig dropped the key, letting it ping off the kitchen table and fall to the floor. There has to be some kind of explanation for this. Spying the note, he unfolded the little white piece of paper and read the beautiful, Catholic schoolboy handwriting.

Mr. Hansen,

Don't ask questions. Just sell it. Pay off your bills. The rest should go into a trust fund for the kid. He earned it.

J.

J.? Who the hell is J.? Junior? The old guy from the Shack? Sig lifted his head and gazed at the police officer across the table, "What the hell is going on here?"

Patricia sighed, knowing enough about the Hansen family from Edgar's interview to sense that Sig's morals were similar to her own. She tried to clarify in an effort to set his conscience at ease. "The Mustang was a company car used, with permission, by Mr. Neese and his associates as long as he worked for the company. Now that the company, a trucking business out of New Jersey that owned the Shack and its surrounding land, is selling the property, everything is being liquidated. The car is part of that liquidation."

"OK," Sig shook his head, "But how does all that come down to this…?" holding up the car title in his hand.

"The owners of the company…" Patricia began, "…have signed over the car to you. It's yours now, free and clear. All you have to do is register the title in your name and get your signature on the back notarized."

"This CANNOT be legal."

"It is. There's nothing illegal about it."

Sig was stunned. "I can't take this." He placed the car title on the table like the paper was burning his hand. "This doesn't feel right to me."

"I understand how you must feel," the pretty office sympathized with the oldest brother, "But I can assure you there is nothing criminal about it. It's a gift, plain and simple."

"It's a pretty outrageous God damn gift," Sig groused, "Excuse me, I don't mean to cuss or sound ungrateful but this is just….crazy. I'm sure you know that the owners of this company have…shady…business dealings, among other things. That means this car, at some point, was purchased with dirty money."

"You don't know that for sure. Who knows how the car came to be but, however it came to you, if and when you sell it, the money will be clean," she gave Sig a half-hearted smile, "I'm not sure what you are planning on doing but the car is sitting in the impound lot at the station and someone's going to have to claim it soon or it will be auctioned off as an abandoned vehicle."

"So I don't have to take it?"

"No," Patricia explained, "No one is forcing you. You could shred that document and pretend this never happened but…I think the meaning behind the gift comes from a genuine place. Look, Mr. Hansen, I'm a good cop…" she paused, smiling, "…or at least I try to be. And although I haven't being out of the academy that long, I've seen some things already that would make your blood run cold. I've seen people battered, bruised, taken advantage of and financially ruined and, even with the court system on their side, very few get the justice their looking for. Most come away with nothing.

Your brother suffered…and I mean, really suffered…because of what those men did to him. And your family has suffered right along with him. Beyond the pain and suffering, there were medical bills incurred because of his injuries. And there may be more medical bills related to this crime in the future and money will need to be encumbered in that event. This," she gestured to the car title, "doesn't happen very often. Victims seldom get the compensation they truly deserve.

If it helps you make your decision, let me share this with you. One of my co-workers, recently divorced from his wife and going through some kind of mid-life crisis, has been drooling over the car since it showed up. He's already stated several times he loved to buy it. His name is Officer Shea O'Reilly.

You can sell it to him and never once have to actually touch the car. He'd offer you a fair market value, which in case you don't know, is about $16,000. That's a lot of money, Mr. Hansen, a lot of money that could do some real good after a lot of bad."

Patricia was tempted to mention the reason Edgar had come to play poker in the first place. Having no knowledge about the ring, she had only heard through police gossip the kid was trying to win money to help his family's financial struggles. But she sensed that Sig, like most men, would be too proud to admit that the family was in debt.

Sig kept shaking his head, trying to make sense of reality. A relative stranger, with a seedy background, was giving him an extremely expensive gift with no strings attached. A gift that could pay for two hospital bills, an oral surgeon, a therapist for Edgar, a trip or two to the veterinarian, and still have some left over for both Norman and Edgar's college fund.

But there were a few things getting in Sig's way, keeping him from celebrating. One of those things was his rigid moral compass; the others were pride and the fear of being in a gangster's debt. Perhaps the gangster is the one who felt in debt - Edgar's debt. "This is overwhelming," he finally stated, "I need some time to think."

"Understandable," Patricia nodded, standing up to leave, "Take a few days to think over your decision. When you've decided, would you do me the courtesy of calling and letting me know? Until I hear from you, we'll keep the car safe at the station." From her hip pocket, she slipped out a small card with her direct extension imprinted on the front.

"I'll give you a call as soon as possible," Sig stood and retrieved the key off the floor. He gathered all the paperwork, keys and business card and placed all the items back in the large envelope. Keeping the envelope in his tight grip, he saw the lady the few steps to the back door.

"Again, thank you for coming all this way," Sig said softly, suddenly feeling awkward. There were about a hundred different things he wanted to say, most of which went something like - Can I take you out sometime?

Patricia smiled, "It was no trouble. Good day to you, Mr. Hansen…Sig."

As she opened the back door, Sig took a step forward, "Can I ask…is it too forward of me to ask what your name is? I mean…" the oldest brother's face grew warm with nervousness, "…your name tag take just says Officer Markley. What's your first name?" Holy hell, this shit was so much easier in high school. I'd just slip you a note in study hall asking if you wanted to hang out with me sometime. Why does adult dating seem so much more complicated?

"It's Patricia," she answered softly, offering him a different kind of smile than before. It wasn't a polite cop's smile but a woman's smile and the police uniform and all its trappings seemed to fade away.

I want to kiss those lips soooo badly. Instead, Sig just smiled back and watched her walk out the door.

On autopilot, Sig shut the door behind her and made several phone calls before his brothers returned. One was to his boss, calling off for tomorrow and the other went to Phil Harris for a ride to and from the oral surgeon in the morning.

Then he pulled his car into the garage since he wouldn't be using it tomorrow.

Finally, he took the envelope upstairs and hid it in his nightstand drawer.

After all the immediate needs were accomplished, Sig had a moment to think clearly. He sat down on his bed and tried to wrap his head around the last few hours of his life. I find out I'm having surgery tomorrow and then I came home to find a cop car in my driveway and the hot policewoman knocking on my back door with a gift that's worth more than I could make working at the docks for the next three summers. What a freaking roller coaster! Next twist on the ride-telling Norman I have the title to his dream car or keeping this information all to myself.


Sig was still in his room when his brothers and Daisy returned from their walk. He could hear them downstairs, making a quick dinner for themselves. Hungry, the eighteen-year-old decided he couldn't tolerate watching his brothers eat while he had to fast so he stayed in his room and studied the title to the Mustang. Having recently experienced purchasing a vehicle, Sig couldn't find any fault with the document, even comparing it to the one for the Trans Am still kept in his lockbox.

Hearing Edgar excitedly announce that he was going to take the longest shower of his life, Sig laughed out loud. That kid has been wanting to get a shower for the longest time. The heartfelt announcement, as simple as it was, made Sig think about all the pain and suffering his youngest brother had endured over the last week and a half.

A shower is a one of life's tiny pleasures. It shouldn't be a big deal that Edgar was denied that tiny pleasure for so long, yet, for me, it is. Someone took that pleasure away from him and put pain in its place. How much pain has my brother endured, how difficult was it for him to lose the ability of his hands? Even now that he'd healed, Edgar is going to bear those cigarette scars on his arms forever. And he still has nightmares every night. Some nights are worse than others, but each and every night, he cries.

Closing his eyes, Sig vividly remembered carrying his brother out of the Shack in his arms, his hands bleeding, his face swollen and bruised. With that image in mind, Sig made his decision about the car.

He folded the title and placed it back in the envelope, adding it to the Trans Am paperwork in the lockbox.

"Edgar?" Sig called out as he heard his youngest brother's light footfalls coming up the steps. A few seconds later, a shaggy haired kid showed up in the doorway.

"We didn't think you were home," Edgar said as he stopped just outside his brother's room.

Sig frowned, "Where else would I be?"

Edgar shrugged, "Norman said maybe you went for a drive with the police officer in her car. He said you wanted to know what kind of engine she has under her hood."

Sig's frown turned to disbelief, "And you believed him?" And apparently the sexual innuendo went right over your head.

Edgar shrugged again, this time adding his hands, palms up, in reply. Why wouldn't I? He's my brother.

Suddenly the muffled sounds of hammering coming from the garage could be heard resonating throughout the house.

"What's Norman doing now?" Sig asked.

Edgar smiled with a gleam in his eyes, "He's building a dog house."

Sig sighed, lifting his eyes to the ceiling. No matter how many times he said it, his brothers just didn't seem to get the fact that the dog may not be staying with them. It was as if his words fell on deaf ears. In his heart, he couldn't blame them. As far as Norman and Edgar were concerned, 'just till we find his/her owners' was code for 'the dog is staying.' For eight years, Mom had uttered that phrase every time Dad complained about Jack.

"Are you going to get a shower?" Sig asked.

"Yeah," Edgar replied, "Unless you want to get in there first. I can wait."

"No, no," Sig protested, "You enjoy your shower. I just wanted to talk to you for a minute."

Edgar hesitated in the doorway, his smile fading, "This is about the police officer, isn't it? Am I in trouble?"

"No, nothing like that," Sig patted the space next to him on the edge of the bed, indicating Edgar should come in instead of hovering in the doorway.

Feeling as if he was being invited to the big kid's table, Edgar walked into his oldest brother's room and sat down next to him. So often he'd been denied access to this room as a little boy that, even now, it felt like he was finally being accepted.

"Officer Markley returned the paperwork and keys to the bike. I put the paperwork back in Dad's desk and I'll be…" Sig swallowed, still finding it difficult to be firm with his brother's punishment, "…holding onto the keys until the end of the summer." I despise spanking him but at least that's over and done in a matter of minutes. I can force myself to be a hard ass for those few minutes but these long-term punishments, like grounding him and taking the bike away, are draining on my resolve.

"OK," Edgar acknowledged the information, unsure of what else he could or should say. I'm relieved we got those things back but I'm uncertain if Sig would be happy to know I was relieved.

"The officer said the case is closed so you don't have to worry about anything," Sig assured his brother, "You're not in any trouble with the police."

"OK." Just with you. And I have to earn back your trust but I don't know how. I want you to trust me again more than anything in the world, more than the bike or my own independence.

As he glanced over in his brother's direction, Edgar noticed that Sig seemed to be struggling with what he wanted to say next.

Sig mulled over telling Edgar about the Mustang, deciding on the spur of the moment to take the long way around to get the information he was seeking, "Kid, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," Edgar inched ever so slightly towards his brother, clueing him in that he was ready for any question with a 100% honest answer. Trust, trust, trust…and no more lies.

Sig paused, not so much for dramatic effect but because he hated to bring it up, "If you had taken that money…the money from the poker game, I mean…what would you have done with it?"

Hmmm, easy question. "I would have given it to you."

Sig looked down and hid a smile, "OK, what did you want ME to do with it?"

"Dunno," Edgar shrugged, the 'teenage shrug' fast becoming one of his favorite gestures, "Pay the hospital bills, I guess."

"Hypothetically," Sig glanced down at the floor, "If there had been money left over after the bills were paid, what would you have want me to do with the extra?"

Edgar had to think hard about the question, never considering there would be money left over after the bills were paid. He racked his brain and thought about how the hypothetical money could have best helped his family. Dad could have used the money for the boat…but I doubt he would have taken it without a full explanation about where the money came from…which reminds me… "Sig…"

"Yeah?"

"Are you gonna tell Dad about…you know…everything?" Edgar's voice trembled as he asked the question.

Although he knew the question was going to come eventually, Sig got blindsided with it. He would love to forget about the Shack entirely and never mention it to his father or anyone else ever again. But Dad already knew about the first two incidents, first where Edgar wrecked his bike and second where he'd been beaten. Would telling his father about the third and final incident really make a difference? The lie by omission was a tempting thought, one he'd like to give into very much.

Dad would never understand Edgar's reasons for going back there and getting involved in an illegal poker game. The man could care less about a stupid ring. Then again, there's a box in his desk right now that contains a second ring and I don't know how it got here…was it Dad or Mom's doing? So maybe he would understand…Oh, who the hell am I kidding?

"I don't know," Sig told his youngest brother, feeling his heart clench when the teenager's face crumbled. He put his arm around Edgar's shoulders and pulled him close to his side.

Edgar huddled up against his big brother, resting his head in the crook of Sig's neck. I shouldn't have to ask. I shouldn't even imply it. I cannot ask Sig to lie for me so why would I assume he would? I'm just really scared about Dad finding out about what I did. My Old Man is going to flip out when he hears I went back there, gambled my bike and almost got shot. Dad may make the lickin' I got from Sig feel like a mosquito bite. But worse than that, he will be so disappointed with me, more than ever before. I've messed up but never like this, never this bad. Guess I never considered Dad at all when I came up with that plan. I only thought about how Sig was going to react.

"Sig, it's OK," the young teen whispered, "I'm sorry I asked. You have to tell Dad what happened."

I DON'T HAVE TO TELL HIM JACK SHIT! For the first time, Sig seriously considered throwing his summer promises out the window. Fuck the honesty and leading by example. The kid messed up. He got punished for it. I'm confident, albeit a shaky, hope-filled confidence, that the kid learned his lesson and will never do something so dangerous again. How is telling my father about it going to benefit anyone?

Yet, something deep inside took over and forced Sig not to make up his mind about this just yet. Perhaps it was that he already felt like he was compromising his morals with accepting the Mustang. Perhaps it was the Mustang itself and how else he would explain to his father that the hospital bills got paid. Or it could have been Edgar's trusting nature in him that he'd always do the right thing…whatever it was?

"Edgar, I don't know what's going to happen when Dad gets home," Sig gave the narrow, boney shoulders a squeeze, "But, just like I told you before, you're not getting punished for the same thing twice. I won't allow it. Trust me?" When he felt Edgar nod against his shoulder, Sig took the opportunity to steer the conversation back on course, "So, you didn't answer the question. What would you do with the money?"

"I guess put it in the bank," Edgar replied. It's what Mom would have made me do. She always made us put part of our birthday and Christmas money in our saving account.

Sig grinned, ruffling the back of Edgar's hair, "You mean you wouldn't have bought anything for yourself with it?"

"Never thought about it before," Edgar leaned back, catching his brother's eye and growing suspicious, "What's with all the questions about the poker money? Do you think I should have kept it?"

"Absolutely not," Sig stated firmly. So why do I think it's OK to accept the Mustang? "You did the right thing, Edgar. Please don't ever think I believe otherwise, OK? I was just daydreaming, that's all. The police officer just brought back a lot of memories."

"I think she looks like mom," Edgar shared innocently, "Don't you?"

Sig visibly shuddered at the thought. "No, not at all." Am I attracted to a woman that looks like my mother? What the hell was that dude's name from my psych class Senior year…Freud…didn't he have a theory on that? Ick! He was a cocaine addict anyway.

"She has the same color hair and she wears it long, like mom and…"

"Go get your shower," Sig stood up, not wanting to hear anything more on the comparison, "Just try not to use up all the hot water. I need one, too. I doubt I'll have time in the morning."

Because of your teeth. With the police showing up, I forgot about that. "Are you scared…" Edgar asked, "…of getting your teeth operated on tomorrow?"

"Yes and no," Sig openly revealed, "I'm scared that they're gonna put me under but, the pain in my jaw is so bad, I'm just ready for it to be over."

A strained look crossed Edgar's face. Inside, he was starting to feel the panic every child experiences when the person they rely on to take care of them is in pain or danger. The fear of losing that one dependable person is overwhelming and it was a fear Edgar knew all too well.

For the first time in weeks, Edgar's hand drifted to his face and he started absentmindedly rubbing at his cheek.

"Hey," Sig said softly, spotting the old tell of nervousness, "It will be fine. I'll be fine." I hope.

Sig's choice of phrase did little to sooth Edgar's fear. You've been saying that for days but now you're having surgery tomorrow. So will it really be fine? Of course, I've told you the same exact thing when I was very far from fine. Lots of times, I was scared or my hands hurt bad but I told you I was fine just because I didn't want you to be upset or worried about me. I know what it's like to want to protect someone from the truth.

Feigning acceptance of the reassurance, Edgar nodded and got up to leave. He had to walk passed his brother to get out of the room and ended up getting pulled into an unexpected hug when he was in arm's reach.

Edgar returned the hug, wrapping his arms around Sig's waist and placing the flat of his palms up against Sig's upper back. "After your surgery, maybe I can take care of you for a change," he mumbled into Sig's chest.

Laughing into his little brother's hair, Sig answered, "I'd rather have you taking care of me than Norman."

"Awww, Sig, he'll do a good job taking care of you."

"Oh, I know he will. I'm just not looking forward to the sarcastic comments and smartass jokes he's going to throw my way while he's doing it," Sig explained, "But I don't think I'm going to need either one of you. This procedure is minor, nothing like what Norman went through with his appendix. I should be back to normal by tomorrow night." Here's to wishful thinking.


"It's for you, you know," Norman grumbled, "You could at least stay out of the way."

But I'm helping. What is this, anyway? Daisy nosed around the tools and wooden planks scattered on the garage floor, knocking over several containers of bolts and braces with her wagging tail. Considering she had exclusive access to Norman's face as he knelt on the floor, when she was not investigating the scene, she was licking his stubbly cheeks.

"Seriously," Norman gently pushed her off, "Please stay out of the way. Go lay down!"

Lay down? Lay down! I was laying down all day. Fine, but I'd really like to play that game with the ball again when you're done. Daisy found a clear spot on the garage floor and laid down, Sphinx-like, to watch Norman at work. Finding the cool concrete floor against her belly a wonderful pleasure on a hot day, she settled in as the construction supervisor.

"I see you have help," Sig quipped as he entered the garage.

Norman didn't look up. He continued assembling the A-frame for the doghouse. "I'd rather have her looking over my shoulder than my boss. You know," he added disgustedly, "I get an employee discount on anything I buy from the store but you would think I was robbing the boss's pockets with the way he looked at me when I purchased this lumber. It's not like I take advantage of the privilege."

Sig glanced around the garage and took silent note of all the tools Norman had purchased since working at Pete's Hardware. It's like having a kid working in a candy store. I'll bet he doesn't even realize all the stuff he's bought, half of which he'll probably never use. "Hmmm," Sig hummed, "Then where'd all this stuff come from?"

Norman looked up at his brother, shooting him a look of indignation, "I need this stuff, as you call it, to fix the shit that breaks around here. I don't hear you complaining when I've changed the oil on your piece of shit car or when you have hot water for your shower."

"My car is NOT a piece of shit and you damn well know it," Sig fired back, "And as far as the hot water goes, by the time Edgar gets out of the shower, NOBODY'S gonna have hot water for their shower tonight."

"The kid deserves it," Norman sighed.

"I know," Sig conferred, lowering his voice, "The kid deserves a lot more than just a shower." Then he leaned against the hood of the Trans, folded his arms against his chest and told Norman about the visit from the police officer, including the Mustang and cryptic note with instructions on what to do with it.

Norman listened intently, mid-way through Sig's speech setting his hammer down and sitting on his gluteus maximus before he fell over.

Sig finished recounting the story with the question, "So, what do you think I should do with the car?"

Norman said without hesitation, "Give it to me."

"C'mon," Sig slapped his thigh in frustration, "Be serious for once."

"I am," Norman protested, looking up at his brother with his best puppy dog eyes, "I'll…I'll find a way…take out a loan…I could get a second job…"

"Knock it off," Sig slid his backside down the side of the Trans Am and took a seat on the hard concrete floor. Daisy took this as an invitation, quickly rushing over to Sig's side and nudging her nose against his rough hand.

Absentmindedly petting the soft fur, he crushed Norman's dream of owning the Mustang, "Between the two of us, we don't need three cars, two of which are sports cars that insurance companies just love to use as an excuse to jack up my premium."

"Then sell the Trans," Norman stated as if that would easily solve the problem of having three cars.

Sig just shook his head, "Norm, the Trans isn't worth as much as the Mustang." Besides, I like my car.

"For good reason," Norman's eyes grew wide, "Because Pontiac doesn't know the first thing about making sports cars. Ford, on the other hand, makes real cars with power. Jesus, Sig, this is your chance to own a real car for once."

"With you bugging me every day to borrow it while I get stuck with the truck," Sig rolled his eyes, "No thanks."

Norman's mind raced for another plausible idea that ended up with the Mustang staying in the family, "Then I'll sell the truck."

"YOU are still paying OFF the truck," Sig reached his long leg out and lightly kicked his brother, perhaps giving the kick a little more 'oomph' then he intended to. "C'mon, please, be realistic about this. What do you think I should do?"

"Why?" Norman blurted out. "Why are you asking me? I know you," he picked up the hammer and pointed it in Sig's direction, "I know you've made up your mind already. So why bother me about it?"

"Because I value your opinion, dumbass," Sig felt the hairs on the back of his neck start to prickle with annoyance, "I thought…I'd sell it…pay off the hospital and other bills and…take care of Edgar…you know, with the therapist thing. Do you think that's the right thing to do…considering where the car came from and all?"

Yes, it sounds like the right thing to do. So why does it piss me off so much? "Do whatever you want with it," Norman focused his attention on the soon to be doghouse, "I don't care."

Sig ended up looking at the top of his brother's head and listening to the next nail being hammered into the wood. He felt the anger welling up inside him, coming rapidly to the surface. "You are acting like a God damn brat right now. And the same goes for the way you treated the doctor."

"I didn't like his attitude," Norman explained haughtily without looking up. He continued on with his hammering.

For Sig, the hammering noise was getting irritating and he wanted nothing more than to rip the hammer out of Norman's hand and throw it out into the street via the open garage door. "I don't care about the man's attitude so long as he knows what the hell he's doing inside my fucking mouth." Which hurts really, really fucking bad right now and you being an asshole isn't helping!

Norman paused, hammer held in the air. Shit, Sig's in pain and I forgot. "I'll take you tomorrow…for your surger…"

"Don't worry about it," Sig brushed off the gesture, "Phil Harris is taking me. I already called him while you and Edgar were out walking the dog. I called off of work, too." And I don't want you missing work to take me.

Norman took the rejection personally, something in the past he'd warned his older brother about doing with Edgar. You'd rather have your friend take you than your own brother. Shit, that hurts. This was my chance to make up for the whole appendix thing; you take care of me, I take care of you. What the hell happened to that?

Distractedly, Norman slammed the next nail down with the hammer so forcefully, it splintered the wood and ruined the piece of lumber. "God Dammit!" he yelled, suddenly furious over so many things in such a short time. OK, I AM acting like a brat but, dammit, I'm sick and tired of having to work for every little thing in my life. Other kids get cars like a Mustang GT handed to them on their sixteenth birthday. I've had to work my ass off just to get this truck, which I love, but why can't we keep the Mustang and find another way to pay for all that other stuff.

A strong sense of teenage entitlement raised its ugly head inside Norman's heart. Envy, rejection, guilt, embarrassment for acting selfish, stress from his brother's upcoming surgery: Norman felt them all and lost his temper.

As if Sig got his wish, Norman turned and threw the hammer out the garage door in frustration. As the tool hit the asphalt of the driveway, Daisy jumped up and chased after the hammer. A new game?

The boys watched the dog sniff around the hammer in silence. After a few seconds of quiet between them, Sig asked, "What the hell has gotten into you?"

"Nothing," Norman closed off his emotions, putting up the wall, "I'm going for a drive." He got up and brushed the sawdust off his jeans.

Sig was on his feet in under a second. He grabbed Norman's arm as he tried to pass, "No, you're not. Not like this."

"Get off me!" Norman tried to pull his arm away without success, "I'm leaving."

"Nope," Sig refused to let go, tightly squeezing his brother's muscular arm, "Not until you calm down and tell me what the hell is wrong."

"I don't want to talk to you!" LET ME GO! YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!

"Fine," Sig held on, "You don't have to talk to me but I'm not letting you drive angry. Go for a walk if you need to."

Much like restraining an angry bull, Norman only became more hostile and frustrated that he could not escape. "Go to hell," the vicious words slipped out before Norman could stop them, regretting them the instant they left his lips. He cringed, expecting Sig to knock his block off with a blow to the head.

"OK, now you can go to your room," Sig said with authority, clenching the fabric of his work slacks to prevent himself from striking his brother in anger.

It was not the blow Norman was expecting. "You can't be serious," he said in disbelief.

Sig squeezed his brother's arm hard, adding a slight twist and getting in Norman's face, nose to nose, "Wanna try me?"

"What's wrong, guys?" Edgar asked timidly from the doorway between kitchen and the garage. His long hair was dripping wet and he had a towel around his waist. Coming out of the shower, he had heard his older brothers' muffled argument and came to investigate, or snoop, however you wanted to look at it. When the normal arguing on Norman's part turned nasty, he went against his usual method of staying out his older brothers' fights and intervened.

"Nothing, baby," Sig couldn't explain why he used the offensive word but it seemed like a good way to remind Norman that their little brother was just a kid that didn't need to see his family in this state. His gaze remained laser-locked on Norman's face, his eyes narrowing to communicate just how dangerous the ground would get if Norman continued on his present course. Then he let go and left Norman to decide his own fate.

Immediately rubbing his freed left arm with his right hand, Norman had to come to a decision right quick. With both brothers looking on, the younger one in particular, Norman bowed his head and left the garage in a sulk. He slid passed Edgar without looking at him and proceeded into the house. Only when Sig heard the heavy footsteps going up the stairs and a bedroom door slam shut did he breathe a partial sigh of relief.

"He's worried about you," Edgar stated, his eyes trailing over to the frame of the doghouse.

"He has a funny way of showing it," Sig muttered, forcing a smile for Edgar's benefit. He tried to change the subject, "How was your shower?"

"Good," Edgar was not so easily distracted, "What were you guys fighting about? I've never heard Norman talk to you like that before."

"Pontiac vs. Ford," Sig figured it was enough of the truth.

Edgar cocked on eyebrow, the expression either heredity or a learned behavior from watching his oldest brother do it.

"C'mon," Sig walked up and put an arm on Edgar's shoulder, turning him around to face the kitchen, "Let's let Norman pout by himself for a while." He looked back and whistled for Daisy. Surprisingly, she answered, bounding into the garage and passed the both of them on her way to the kitchen…hammer handle in her mouth like a stick.


For the remainder of the evening, Norman kept to his room, door firmly shut. When it was time to go to bed, Sig volunteered to sleep in Edgar's room. Edgar declined the offer, insisting he had to try to get used to sleeping alone before Dad came home. And, he reminded his oldest brother, Sig need a good night's sleep for tomorrow.

With a ruffle of the kid's hair, Sig wished him a good night and went back downstairs for his last cigarette of the night and to let Daisy out one more time. By the time he locked up and came back upstairs, Edgar was sound asleep. Daisy had already curled up next to him, looking up at Sig with liquid brown eyes as he came in to check on his youngest brother. "You got this?" Sig whispered to the dog.

Not a problem. This was what I was born to do. Daisy rested her head on Edgar's back and closed her eyes.

Sig gave her head a pat and left the room, leaving the bathroom light on like Edgar preferred.

As he walked passed Norman's room, Sig gave serious consideration to knocking on the door and trying to talk things out with his other little brother. But he didn't want to start another argument this late at night, not that he felt he started the first one, and kept on walking down the hallway to his room.

Little did Sig know, the person on the other side of the bedroom door heard the footsteps stop and prayed he'd hear a knock. Since being sent to his room, Norman had been alternating between dark brooding, self-pity, reading, and trying to ignore the awful feeling in the pit of stomach. When the footsteps continued on, he shut out his light. Convinced he ruined his relationship with his older brother, he curling up under the covers and silently cried himself to sleep.


With the pain in his jaw nearing the excruciating mark, Sig found sleeping to be nearly impossible. He tossed and turned for an hour, worried about tomorrow's surgery. To keep his mind off of it, he thought how he was going to tell Edgar about the appointment he scheduled for him with the therapist.

The appointment was scheduled for the week after the 4th of July holiday so Sig figured he had some time to come up with an explanation. It's not going to matter what I say, Edgar still going to take my decision the wrong way, no doubting automatically assuming I think there is something wrong with him. Then he thought about the Mustang and bizarre course of events that led to him potentially owning a Ford, even for a brief time before he sold it. At the beginning of the summer, if someone had told me I was going to get handed a free, brand new sports car by a known gangster, I would have told them to get lost.

Eventually, Sig's free association led him back to Norman's hateful words.

He told me to go to hell. Wow, he'd told me to 'F' off more times than I can count, along with some other choice vocabulary, but he's never said THAT to me before. I probably shouldn't have restrained him but I was serious about not letting him drive angry. And what the hell was he so angry about anyway? The Mustang? Does he realize how selfish that sounds?

So now what? Does being sent to your room for telling your 'guardian' to go to hell qualify as an appropriate punishment? Although I promised myself I wasn't going to get caught up in the comparisons, what would I have done if Edgar told me the same thing?

Oh, Norman didn't mean what he said. Brothers say terrible things to each other when they're mad and that's how I'm looking at this; as a brother and not as some make-shift guardian. Still, I think I should at least get an apology...that is, if I don't die tomorrow in a freak dental surgery gone wrong.


Sig must have fallen asleep at some point because he woke up to his alarm going off at 6:00 AM. Dressing quickly, he hurried downstairs and out the back door before Phil Harris pulled up in the driveway. Phil had a habit of blaring loud music from his convertible Corvette and Sig was concerned he'd wake the otherwise quiet neighborhood if he had to wait too long.

On time, Phil showed up and Sig gladly hopped into the car.

"Thanks for doing this," Sig said as he buckled his seatbelt.

Phil flipped his long hair back and put on his sunglasses at the sun rose in the sky. "What the hell else was I gonna do today?" he asked with a smile. As he pulled out of the driveway, he chattered away, "You know, my dad once tried to pull out my tooth was a pair of pliers."

"Really?" Sig asked, although he completely believed the story. Not all of Phil's stories could be believed but Sig knew Mr. Harris well enough to know this story was likely true.

"Yeah," Phil waved his hand around the car, "But I grabbed those pliers from him and took the damn thing out myself. I don't like people rooting around in my mouth, whether I'm related to them or not."

"I know the feeling," Sig inwardly winced.

"How's your little brother?"

"Much better," Sig paused, debating on telling Phil the entire story. Unlike blabbermouth Keith, Phil had come to be a trusted friend who knew how to keep a secret. So Sig shared all the details on the ride to the surgeon's office, finishing with the police visit and getting handed the title to the Mustang.

"What do you think?" he asked his friend, "Should I sell it or forget the whole thing ever happened?" OK, I'm just looking for validation now.

"Jesus Fucking Christ, Sig," Phil could be pretty loud when he wanted to be, "You sell the damn thing! How could you not? Do you know how much that car is worth?"

Sig opened his mouth to answer but Phil classically answered his own question, "At least $16, or 17,000. Don't sell it for less than $15. That's a lot of fucking money, you know. I could work all season and not make that much. Damn, you could take your brothers on a vacation to Hawaii with that kinda dough."

"I'm taking them on a trip," Sig laughed, "To the lake house for 4th of July."

Phil's ears perked up, "Big party at Elbow Lake, huh? You and me and a few girls had some fun up there a few years ago. Remember?"

"Vaguely…" Sig grimaced, remembering he woke up with a massive hangover and a girlfriend who lost her panties and shorts in the thick woods. He had driven Sara home with a towel wrapped around her waist and had to stop off at JCPenney's to purchase her a new pair of shorts so her parents wouldn't wonder why their daughter was coming home half naked. That was utterly humiliating, a sixteen year old guy in the Young Miss section of a big department store.

"Hmmm," Phil said with a suspicious gleam in his eye, leaving it at that.

In an instant, Sig knew he made a mistake by telling Phil about 4th of July. Yet, the big man was doing him a huge favor this morning and he wasn't about to accuse Phil of plotting to crash the picnic. Picnic…Shit, if Phil shows up, he'll bring the Hillstrands with him…and if that happens, this may turn out to be party after all.


The ride to the doctor's office was short, the wait painfully long. Phil kept Sig occupied with tales from his fishing adventures, half of which Sig knew better than to believe. Still, listening to Phil was like watching TV, you knew it wasn't real but it was plenty entertaining.

Despite the wait, all too quickly Sig was being taken back and prepped for surgery. Before the nurse shoved the needle into his vein, he sent up a quick prayer to his mother. Then, just like that, he was out. And, less than an hour later, one Hansen brother was minus four wisdom teeth…no pliers required.

~tbc