Read Online Heat and Light by Jennifer Haigh - Free Book Online

rehab—not once but twice—at the clinic where Darren still works.
    It would have been better for everyone—for Darren especially—if he’d simply given Rich the land.
    An exit strategy, a plan for the future. Not now, but soon.
    He is patient by nature, which is both a strength and a weakness. As a boy he studied the Sears catalog in the weeks before Christmas, making extensive lists of the toys he coveted: the Evel Knievel action figure with its collection of motorcycles, precise replicas of the bikes Evel rode in real life. Now, in the same spirit, he trawls online message boards. All his research points to the Honiger 4000, a state-of-the-art milking system—to his adult self, the equivalent of Evel Knievel’s chopper. Lesser systems would kill you with repair costs and lost milking days, but the Honiger is a miracle of Swiss engineering, reliable as the sun. A brand-new system, installed, runs a hundred thousand; but with a little research, used components can be had. At this very moment, a dairy farmer in Somerset County is about to retire. He’s looking to sell his Honiger, only eight years old. Rich can swing a wrench as well as the next guy, and his dad knows a plumber who’ll work for cheap. Not including animals, he could be up and running for fifty grand. For a guy at his pay grade, it’s still a lot of cake; but all that can change in an instant. Can and will, once his wells go in.
    Two summers ago, he’d driven home from work on a Monday morning, dead tired after an all-night lockdown, to find a strange pickup parked in his driveway. His first thought would later shame him: his wife, alone all night, had been entertaining a visitor, another man in his bed. Flooded with adrenaline, he circled the truck. The out-of-state plate seemed, at the time, exotic. He’d known Texans in the navy. Never once had he encountered one in Bakerton.
    He rushed into the house and found Shelby in her bathrobe, drinking orange juice with two strange men. She didn’t look guiltyor even nervous; she seemed excited, as though she’d been given a surprise gift. The guy put Rich at ease right away—the folksy drawl, maybe, or the way he was dressed: khaki pants, a denim shirt rolled to the elbows. He looked like a guy who worked with his hands.
    He signed the contract immediately, stunned at his good fortune. Suddenly all things seemed possible. He called Saxon Savings and refinanced his mortgage. The reward was immediate, a year and a half of lower payments. By the time the balloon payments kicked in, his wells would be producing, and he’d have cash to spare.
    He hadn’t counted on the waiting. In that time he’d learned a few things. The gas company’s offer, which had seemed simple and generous, was neither. He’d been a fool to fall for their opening gambit—twenty-five bucks an acre, plus 12.5 percent of the profits, the minimum allowed by law. You played me, he imagined telling Bobby Frame, the slick salesman who’d taken advantage of his ignorance. But Bobby Frame was long gone.
    Then, four months ago, Rich’s balloon payments kicked in, and his monthly tab nearly doubled. With no other options, he borrowed ten grand from his dad—who, after years of paying suppliers with his own Black Lung checks, finally had a little cash to spare.
    I’m good for it, Rich promised. I signed a gas lease. It was all he could think to say. He was nearly mute with shame.
    Now he takes the Post-it note from his pocket. Beth at Saxon Savings. Call her back asap. His current payment is three weeks late. His dad’s check will take two more days to clear.
    Tonight he will dream of digging.
    As a boy he’d been haunted by the story of the Number Twelve collapse, eight miners crushed after a freak methane explosion. For an entire summer, in dreams, Richie Devlin led the search team digging through the rubble, uncovering bodies piece by piece—a