Their first stop was the Piggly Wiggly. Jake needed Honey Buns for their breakfast, Cokes for him, and Dr Peppers for Katy. Marshmallows, Cheetos, and a bag of ice rounded out the shopping list. Katy pushed an empty buggy around the store as Jake loaded up on junk food to eat-nothing healthy like Brussels sprouts and asparagus for these hunters.

The hour-and-a-half drive to Sumter County, Alabama, passed quickly. Sumter was a typical rural Alabama county, where legitimate commerce revolved around forestry, agriculture, and hunting. The biggest city, Livingston, with its three red lights, was home to a small, quaint college. Jake called to check on his mother and then dialed in the new classic country station. It reminded him of high school. Willie Nelson, Don Williams, Alabama, each classic song brought back a flood of good memories. When Conway Twitty came on singing “That’s My Job,” commonly called “The Daddy Song,” he made Katy stop reading her book to listen to the words. Jake loved that old song.

During the last few miles of the drive, as Katy read by Book-light, he thought about how lucky he was to be in this hunting club. Supposedly, the land had not been turkey-hunted in ten years. Supposedly. The eight members only deer-hunted. Jake’s friend Mick Johnson had talked the club president into letting them have the turkey hunting rights. Jake thought his share of the rights was a bargain at two grand a year. Morgan would have a stroke if she knew. But she didn’t and wouldn’t. He always had a few secret side projects that financed his hunting habit.

To say that the camp’s clubhouse was a work in progress was generous. It had started out as an old farmhouse but had so many rooms added on that he really couldn’t tell what was what. Neon beer signs hung on every wall. An old pool table sat in the center of the main room. The half dozen deer heads were cluttered with hats. Jake hated that; he thought the deer deserved more respect. But they weren’t his, so he kept his opinions to himself. It was a classic Southern camp, complete with a fully stocked bar, satellite dish, and every Playmate and Sports Illustrated swimsuit calendar since 1987.