“We’re on foot,” said Joseph. “I parked a mile back that way.”

Coot looked at the old man who was catching his breath, doubled over. “Can you make it a mile?”

“I made it this far, didn’t I? I’m a big boy. I can do it.”

“This was one big mistake, Joseph. I never shoulda . . .”

“Guilt won’t do you no good now. Right now we walk or we get the ax.”

Joseph coughed. His cough turned into hacking. Coot pressed a hand over Joseph’s mouth. But there was no stopping the cough. It lasted for a few minutes until Joseph wore a red face and was out of breath.

“C’mon,” said Coot. “Now let’s hurry before anyone—”

Coot heard a clicking noise behind his ear.

He heard E. P.’s voice. “You going somewhere, son?”

Seventy-One
Puppies for Sale

The painted sunset was made of many colors that hung above the world, indifferent to it all. The colors never changed, and neither did anything else. Life kept going, even after death. And it seemed so cruel, somehow, that things should continue as if it were business as usual.

Ruth watched Pete load the bloodhounds into the chicken wire crate at the rear of the truck. They were quiet animals, easy to handle and tranquil. They didn’t fuss; they only looked at Pete with heavy eyes that seemed to sag clear to the ground. She sat on the truck bumper, watching him with a sadness hanging over her.

“I don’t know how you can sell them,” said Ruth, on the verge of more tears. “I just don’t think you should do it.”

Pete wiped his forehead with a hankie and sat against the bumper beside her. Stringbean sat beside his feet.

“Paul’s the one who arranged this buyer, Ruth, and for a lotta money too. It’s what he woulda wanted.”

“But can’t you just wait a few days? I’m not ready to say goodbye.”

“Can’t. It’s been planned for weeks. Fella wants them now, and he’s gonna pay top dollar if I can get them to Mobile on time.”

“Can’t you just give it a few days?”

Pete hung his head. “I would if I could.”

Ruth started to lose composure. She’d hoped she was finished with all her crying. She’d put in enough hours of sobbing to last a lifetime. “Oh, what’re we gonna do without Paul?”

She had spent the entire morning staring at the newspaper clipping she’d found in Paul’s cigar box. The faded clipping had turned brown with age. In the photograph, he was not a young man, but he looked younger than she had ever known him. He looked happy.

“Paul woulda wanted me to hold up my end of the bargain,” said Pete.