Sunday morning, she ate a light breakfast of coffee, orange juice, whole wheat toast, and strawberry jam and scanned the newspaper Christmas ads for an inexpensive gift that might appeal to Merlin. If worst came to worst, she could always buy him a gift card for gas, though she couldn’t afford enough to entirely fill the tank of his big-ass truck. And there it was—her long letter pleading the benefits of restoring the recycling program in Ste. Jeanne d’Arc Parish and asking for public support. Right below it taking up precious editorial space ran a full-color ad of a gorgeous swamp scene she recognized as the work of a talented local photographer. It promoted the same message and purported to be paid for by Falcon Enterprises. An ad like that cost plenty. Merlin was not cheap, nor did he lie. He’d closed on the sale of his townhouse the previous Thursday and gotten back the title of his big-ass truck the same day. While the ad dazzled her, the townhouse transaction relieved Jane of the worry that her problems would result in his financial ruin.
