"Doingwell, can't complain. Good to see y'all. I don't get many visitors."
"We have bad news, Jesse," Paul said.
"I figured."
"Rake's dead.Passed away last night."
He lowered his chin until it touched his massive chest. From the waist up he seemed to shrink a little as the news hit him. "My mother wrote me and told me he was sick," he said with his eyes closed.
"It was cancer. Diagnosed about a year ago, but the end came pretty fast."
"Man oh man. I thought Rake would live forever."
"I think we all did," Neely said.
Ten years in prison had taught him to control whatever emotions ventured his way. He swallowed hard and opened his eyes. "Thanks for coming. You didn't have to."
"We wanted to see you, Jesse," Neely said. "I think about you all the time."
"The great Neely Crenshaw."
"A long time ago."
"Why don't you write me a letter? I got eighteen more years here."
"I'll do that, Jesse, I promise."
"Thanks."
Paul kicked the grass. "Look, Jesse, there's a memorial service tomorrow, at the field. Most of Rake's boys will be there, you know, to say good-bye. Mal thinks he might be able to pull some strings and get you a pass."
"No way, man."