Page 21 of Their Stormy Reunion

“I don’t aim to.”

Dad passed me back the platter, and in the process knocked over a stack of papers onto the floor.

“I’ll get them,” I said.

“No,” Dad said sharply. “I’ll get them.”

I was already bent down and scooping them up. That was when I saw a handwritten note addressed to Dad. Not a normal note, but something written in big letters with a black Sharpie. I pulled that out of the papers as I stacked up all the rest.

Rankin,

You son of a bitch.

You think your so much better

then all of us because your rich.

Your not.

Your going to pay for what you did.

“What in the hell is this, Dad?” My voice was sharp.

“It’s nothing.”

I looked at the jagged writing and shuddered. “You told me that you’ve gotten threats before, but I thought since you retired that those threats had stopped. When did you get this?”

“Yesterday.”

“Have you called Nash?” referring to our town sheriff.

“For this? It’s just some nut job,” my dad scoffed.

“What are you talking about? How did you receive it?”

“The bank forwarded it to me. If it had come to our house that would have been a whole other ball of wax.”

I relaxed. Dad hadn’t worked for the bank in over three years. Whatever asshole had sent this didn’t know squat about what Dad was doing these days.

“Do you think it has something to do with your days as the bank president?”

“Yep.” Dad nodded. “I’d get threats now and again from people we were forced to foreclose on. We would always do our best not to have to do that. That was what your great-grandfather always wanted when he founded Rankin Savings and Loan. He wanted it to be a bank that would always help people here in Jasper Creek.”

“You still need to call Nash.”

Dad sighed. “You’re right. I will.”

I relaxed even more. “Do you think that the Bucs have a chance this year?” I asked, referring to the East Tennessee State Buccaneers.

“I’m liking the new offensive coordinator they brought in. I was thrilled when they stole him from Ohio State.”

I grinned. “Same.”

We both sat back and started culling through the Bucs’ roster, the letter forgotten.

Chapter Six

I stared at the latest lab results and doctor’s notes from Dad’s patient portal at the UT Medical Center. Mom had been more than happy to hand this over to me, claiming it was like trying to read another language. Even when she’d brought the printouts to appointments or called the nurses, the explanations only left her more confused.