Her father was the eldest of two sons who’d been raised by farmers outside of Hartwell, Georgia. When he’d graduated high school, there’d been no discussion of higher education. There’d only been the necessity of working the family land. He’d done just that until the age of twenty-four, when he’d been drafted into the Vietnam War. After serving two years, he returned home in the late sixties and went to work for the railroad.
The profession suited him. He’d lived nomadically, traveling across the country, chasing new horizons, saving the lion’s share of his earnings. He rose to the role of engine driver. Read book after book. Romanced women both single and married. Played his guitar. Penned the occasional poem. Whittled wood. Sketched. Protested for causes he believed in. He’d fancied himself to be a renaissance man, a freethinker who didn’t subscribe to anyone’s code but his own.
He only ever splurged on one thing: electronics. He’d been reading issues ofPopular Mechanicsfrom cover to cover since he was a boy. Though he’d remained loyal to the record player all his life, he loved to purchase the newest gadgets in every other category. During her childhood, he’d been the first person she knew to adopt the DVD player, the use of flash drives, the Blackberry, the Kindle, the Wii, and the iPhone.
Thanks to his fascination with tech, he did something in the eighties that no financial planner would have advised. Ed Sutherland funneled every penny of his savings into the IPO of a single stock.
For a little-known company named Apple.
Much later, when she’d asked him why he’d taken such a risk, he’d shrugged and said, “I could tell you that I’d been following the market or that I’d done quite a bit of research. Those thingsare true. But that’s not why I did it. I invested in Apple because I had a gut feeling. I knew they were going to be a success.”
Quickly, his shares escalated in value. Content with his rambling life, he hadn’t parted with a single one.
It wasn’t until he was in his early fifties that his life had taken a dramatic turn. He’d had an affair with a married woman named Jade, whose military husband had been deployed at the time. Jade hadn’t wanted to keep her husband. Or her baby. Or—as it turned out—Ed. She and Ed struck a bargain. Jade would have the baby if he’d agree to become the baby’s sole parent. Her commitment took nine months. His, the rest of his life.
Every time Finley had talked to her father about Jade, he’d told Finley it was the best bargain he’d ever made and that he’d make it again a hundred times over.
Since he’d recognized that he couldn’t raise a baby on a pair of railroad tracks, he’d retired and sold just enough stock to purchase a mid-century modern house on a big piece of land near his hometown. He’d gone to work crafting model train cars in his home studio and raising Finley much like he’d been raised—with freedom, space for adventures, and animals.
Her dad loved her. And she loved her dad.
Yes, he got grumpy when he had to pay taxes, when he disagreed with politicians, or when she didn’t do what he asked. But he never lost his temper. He volunteered with the PTA, brought food to class parties, and clapped for her at every school performance. He’d parted ways with organized religion, but he’d never lost the faith in God that his mother had instilled in him. He’d sent Finley to church with his brother, Robbie, and Robbie’s wife, June, every time the sanctuary doors were thrown open. They were thrown open a lot. Finley’s relationship with God had grown in the soil of that small-town church and ended up changing her life.
Her junior year of college she’d been horribly blindsided when her father—the man who’d been such a reliable source of security for her—had been arrested for manslaughter. By then, he was in hisseventies. After his arrest, she’d come home on weekends and school vacations. However, he’d ordered her to remain at college the rest of the time as he dealt with lawyers, hearings, and eventually, his trial.
She’d been significantly more naïve then than she was now. Maybe she’d been in denial, too, because she’d believed there was no possible way her father could be guilty. She’d trusted that he’d be acquitted and that her happy life could continue unfettered.
Instead, he’d been found guilty, sentenced, and sent away. Certain that the legal system had betrayed her father, she’d pursued appeals, all of which had gone nowhere. As a girl, she’d gone to him when scared or angry or sad, and he’d made everything better. She’d been powerless to make his conviction better.
He’d tried to salvage the situation for her by liquidating his remaining stock, placing it in a trust for her, and appointing his brother as the trustee.
Robbie, an accountant, had advised her. She’d used some of the money to purchase this cabin. They’d invested the rest in a portfolio. She hadn’t dipped into that portfolio until she’d been sure that Furry Tails was a viable non-profit. Only then had she used another portion of the money to help bankroll Furry Tails’ new building.
Other than his land and his house, her father hadn’t owned anything of great value. From his parents, he’d inherited a couple of antiques. He’d driven used trucks for their utility. He’d happened upon a few small historic finds—coins, a metal vase, arrowheads—during metal detector expeditions with Robbie. He’d acquired three well-made guitars and some quality art supplies.
But, to her knowledge, none of those items came with the type of price tag that would stir the interest of dangerous people.
Breakfast finished, she ran her fingertip over the shallow dips and ledges of the writing on the front of the envelope.
For Finley.
While her father hadn’t spent his wealth on exorbitant things,he had proven his willingness to give her extremely generous gifts through the trust he’d arranged for her.
Was that what he was doing via this treasure hunt? Giving her another extremely generous gift? If so, why? He’d already done so much to ensure her financial stability.
A scuffling sound from the floor drew her attention. Sally (twelve-year-old pug, snores loudly) shifted from lying down to sitting up. She peered at Finley with sweet round eyes. Sally’s frequent sidekick, Dudley (four-year-old hedgehog, loves apples) stood beside her, tiny nose twitching.
“Should I go ahead and open it?” Finley asked them.
Dudley gave her a poker face, but Sally panted happily.
Finley took that as a yes. She turned the envelope and slid her thumb between the flap and the backing.
Nostalgia curled tentacles around her. She’d experienced this same wistful squeeze whenever things she’d valued had begun to reach their conclusion. When her best childhood friend had been about to move away. When her high school years had wound down. During the waning days before Dad left to serve his sentence. When her years at Furry Tails’ first location had drawn to a close.
This was the beginning of another end. Once she reached the treasure—ifshe reached the treasure—she’d receive no more communication from her father. Not for the rest of her life.
Don’t be ridiculous, Finley! Change is the drumbeat of life. You know this.
