Beginning Read Online Free Page A

in the most vested interest of both him and the region. Explained that if he did not accept the offer before a certain date, then he would stand to lose all property rights if such a thing as regional realignment were to occur. The letters had his dirty fingerprints on the edges, were wavy from the moisture, had been read again and again. They had threatened to draw the Line, showed signs that they were drawing the Line. And now they had. He looked at the date on the final letter. Then he found the sentence that told him the deadline for accepting the offer. He had less than a week left.
    He picked up the stadium cup and drank. Out across the road trees were bent and twisted as if trying to create some natural artistic exhibit and the flatlands of the acreage surrounding the house had become marshes. Scattered raindrops from the approaching storm smacked in the water like tiny explosions. Cohen took a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. Twirled the white gold wedding band around his ring finger. Looked out into the slate-colored sky and wondered if he should even bother loading anything else onto the flatbed trailer though he had done only a halfass job. A few pieces of furniture and a couple of garbage bags filled with clothes, towels, blankets. A couple of air compressors and nail guns and miter saws were strapped down on the back end. He didn’t know where he was going or what he was going to do when he got there.
    Another set of shots. Closer, he thought.
    The letters flapped in his hand. He lit a cigarette and stood up from the chair, taking the drink and shoving the letters in his back pocket. He splashed around to the back of the house, turned up the bourbon and Coke that was warm and burned but he stayed with it and when he was done he tossed the cup and the stiff wind sent it tumbling across the high grass.
    You said today was the day so go, he thought. Just go get in the damn Jeep and drive off. You got all you need in your pockets, in that duffel bag sitting on the kitchen counter. You said today was the day now go. There’s not another choice. You know what it’s like down here. Know it’s gonna get worse. Go.
    He walked around to the carport. A generator was running and he turned it off. Unplugged the extension cord that ran from it and up through the kitchen window. He hoisted the generator and carried it to the trailer and grunted and heaved it up. Then he went back to the carport and pulled the cord from the window and rolled it and hung it over his shoulder. He picked up a couple of five-gallon gas cans and he carried it all to the trailer. After he slid the load around and had everything tied and secured he stepped back and huffed. Looked around and tried to figure out if he was missing anything.
    He was missing plenty.
    He was missing the woman that he had loved since they were teenagers and the way that she stood in the open doorway in the mornings and drank her coffee and stared out into the Gulf sky as if it held something new on each horizon. He was missing the green pastures of spring and the first turn of the tractor engine and bushhogging with his shirt off and the first sunburn. He was missing coming home at the end of a good day of hard work and the dried sweat on his face and arms and sitting outside and drinking a couple of beers and talking to her about how many miles she had run after she had gotten off work or if she wanted him to toss steaks or shrimp or both on the grill. He was missing the sunshine. The goddamn sunshine and its glow seemed like a foreign thing, like something he had once seen in a movie or in a dream and he was missing the daughter that he had never known, that never had a chance to be born or to be held because of all of this. Because of whatever this world had become and he was missing having someone to love and he was missing the idea of tomorrow.
    Thunder echoed and this time the gunfire came in a smattering and Cohen raised his head and looked