Read The Perk for Free Online Page B

all color. Life
became black-and-white, J.B. became hard, and Beck became angry—at God, at the
world, at his father. By his senior year, the anger was as much a part of Beck
Hardin as the color of his eyes or the speed of his legs. He took the anger
with him onto the football field; he played with a fury that even he did not
understand, a fury that often frightened him. He knew the anger would
eventually kill him or he would kill someone—and he almost had; so he left this
land and these people and his father. He ran away, as far as his athletic
ability would take him. Notre Dame, Indiana, was thirteen hundred miles from Fredericksburg, Texas.
    Beck had not spoken to his father in twenty-four years.
    "Why didn't you call ahead?" J.B. said.
    "Wasn't sure I wouldn't turn around."
    Across Main Street from the courthouse was a park where Beck
had often played baseball; they were now sitting at a picnic table where second
base had been. The baseball diamond was gone, replaced by a covered open-air
arena called Adelsverein Halle. Meggie was eating a corn dog, Luke a
sausage-on-a-stick, and Beck barbecue. J.B. was sipping a soda.
    Playing where home plate had been was the "Sentimental
Journey Orchestra," a big band made up of old guys wearing World War Two khaki
uniforms. A trio of middle-aged women called the "Memphis Belles"
was singing "Boogie-Woogie Bugle Boy from Company B." They were
good. Old white-haired folks were dancing, young blond kids wearing bead
necklaces and red, white, and blue tiaras were bopping around as if dancing,
and their sunburned parents were drinking Weissbier and Bitburger. Germans
here were raised on beer and bratwurst, like the French were on wine and
cheese. The soldiers from the parade mingled with the locals and were greeted
like celebrities; no soldier had ever been spit on in Fredericksburg, Texas. An old-timer in a plaid shirt walked by, slapped J.B. on the shoulder, and said, "Hell
of a shirt, J.B."
    After the man had walked out of earshot, J.B. said,
"Ned don't got the sense of adventure God gave a turtle."
    Beck stood and stretched and smelled beef being barbecued
and cotton candy being spun. The rural park with a baseball field had been
transformed into a manicured Marktplatz, a European-style town square. The
white octagonal Vereins Kirche museum stood in the center of the square. Behind
it was the Pioneer Memorial Garden with bronze statues of Baron von Meusebach,
the town founder, and a Comanche war chief smoking a peace pipe. A Maibaum
depicting the town's history stood tall over the square. World War Two-era music,
ranchers, farmers, and soldiers in uniform, old folks and young kids, everyone happy
and alive on the Fourth of July in small-town America. It all seemed so
perfect.
    "She was a special woman," J.B. said. "Annie."
    Except that. Beck looked down at his father.
    "How would you know?"
    His words had come out harsh, and Beck saw the hurt on his
father's face. J.B. gathered himself.
    "Annie and me, we've been emailing for the better part
of two years. About every day her last six months."
    " Annie emailed
you? "
    J.B. nodded, and Beck sat back down. Another secret.
    Beck said, "You've got a computer?"
    J.B. nodded again. "Down at the winery."
    "You've got a winery?"
    "That's how Annie found me, buying wine on the
website."
    "You've got a website?"
    "Yep."
    "Why?"
    "For online sales. We ship wine all across the
country—"
    "No. Why did Annie email you?"
    "Oh. To get me ready."
    "For what?"
    "For today—when you and the kids came home."

THREE
    Home was eight hundred acres of land on
the Pedernales River three miles south of town.
    Beck drove through a black iron gate with a hand-painted
sign that read: I SIC THE PIT BULLS ON ALL REAL ESTATE BROKERS DAMN FOOL
ENOUGH TO TRESPASS ON THIS LAND. He accelerated up the white caliche road that
meandered through oak trees fifty feet tall and two hundred years old, leaving
a cloud of white dust in his wake. He steered hard