“Well, thanks, I guess. I didn’t ask for this and I’m not sure I want the responsibility.”
“Get used to it, Keith. You’re the odds-on favorite to get this job in two years. There are at least four death row cases coming down the pike.”
“More like five.”
“Whatever. My point is that the next governor will have his hands full.”
“I’m not exactly an unbiased player here, Governor.”
“So, you’ve made your decision? If you say no clemency, then Malco will get the gas.”
“Let me think about it.”
“You do that. And it’s our secret, okay?”
“Can I tell my family?”
“Of course you can. I’ll do what you and your family want and no one will ever know about it. Deal?”
“Do I really have a choice?”
The governor flashed a rare smile and said, “No.”
Chapter 59
The governor generously offered the state’s Learjet and the attorney general immediately accepted. When the last appeal was denied shortly after 8 p.m., Keith left his office in Jackson and flew to Clarksdale, the nearest town with a runway long enough. He was met by two state troopers who walked him to their patrol car. As soon as they left the airport, Keith asked them to turn off the flashing blue lights and slow down. He was in no hurry and in no mood for conversation.
Alone in the rear seat, he watched the endless flat fields of the Delta, so far away from the ocean.
They are twelve years old.
It is the most glorious week of the year: summer camp on Ship Island with thirty other Scouts. The disappointing end to the baseball season is long forgotten as the boys camp, fish, crab, cook, swim, sail, hike, kayak, sail, and spend endless hours in the shallow water around the island. Home is only thirteen miles away but it’s in another world. School starts in a week and they try not to think about it.
Keith and Hugh are inseparable. As all-stars they are greatly admired. As patrol leaders they are respected.
They are alone in a fourteen-foot catamaran with the island in sight, a mile away. The sun is beginning to fall in the west; another long lazy day on the water is coming to an end. Their week is half gone and they want it to last forever.
Keith has the tiller and is tacking slowly against a gentle breeze. Hugh is sprawled on the deck, his bare feet hanging off the bow. He says, “I read a story in Boys’ Life about these three guys who grew up together near the beach, North Carolina I think, and when they were fifteen they got this wild idea to fix up an old sailboat and take it across the Atlantic when they finished high school. And they did. They worked on it all the time, restored it, saved their money for parts and supplies, stuff like that, and the day after they graduated they set sail. Their mothers cried, their families thought they were nuts, but they didn’t care.”
“What happened to them?”
“Everything. Storms. Sharks. No radio for a week. Got lost a few times. Took ’em forty-seven days to get to Europe, landed in Portugal. All in one piece. They were broke, so they sold their beloved boat to buy tickets home.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“One guy wrote the story ten years later. The three met at the same dock for a reunion. Said it was the greatest adventure of their lives.”
“I’d love to be on the open sea for a few days, wouldn’t you?”
“Sure. Days, weeks, months,” Hugh says. “Not a care in the world, something new every day.”
“We should do it, you know?”
“You serious?”