Michael Malone - Weebly

porticos. In Astor Heights he awaited the evacuees, his
gas lampposts already flickering their old-fashioned
welcome across yet unseeded lawns.
But he was sixty. Realistically it was unlikely he
would live long enough to self-make all his plans. Look
at what had happened to AIf, his younger brother. So
Marco wanted to find someone who had wasted no
time making himself, to finish things in his stead. But the
only male of his four children had proved unsatisfactory;
his brothers would give him no nephews. He'd even
briefly considered making Cecil Hedgerow his partner.
But unless his own blood gathered his harvest, why had
he labored? Why had he scrounged to grab his share if
there was no one of his own to share it with? Besides,
Hedgerow had been a Madder boy himself, his mother
had sewn other women's clothes. Marco wanted
someone above such memories. And so his thoughts
pictured Lance Abernathy soaring high over the
northern arc of Lake Pissinowno in a white Piper Cub.
Marco remembered the boy as a five-year-old kinetic
blur through the shining kitchen on Elizabeth Circle,
where, just starting out in the business, he had himself