“Ale-8.” Rafe’s aunt lived with her husband and horses outside Lexington, Kentucky, and this was their local swill, as she called it. He’d spent every spring break with her as a kid, took Jeremy with him that one year they were best friends, and they’d drunk the stuff all week like water and wine. “Remember when we drank so much of it that spring break, your aunt made us start buying our own?” Jeremy asked. Not an offering then, but a bribe—the chance to taste being fourteen again.
