Yours,
Randy
* * * *
The series of missives that followed painted pictures of both men’s lives. Randy talked about his work at a large office of family practitioners and some old car he was restoring, while Tate’s father told stories that echoed familiar, like the night he spent in the ER when Tate fell off a kitchen chair and split open his chin. Tate rubbed at the faded scar, smiling as he blinked away his tears. How many times had he heard that one? The way his mother told it, it was hours of worry and panic, but in his father’s version, all that mattered was how brave Tate had been, how he never made a sound as he got his stitches. The tale Randy heard was a combination of the two.
Tate doubted anybody else had ever been witness to his father’s true feelings. Until now, anyway.
Th
