My self-imposed exile isn’t going to last forever. Sooner, rather than later, la famiglia responsibilities will call me home. Long before I’m ready. I rest my forearms on the railing of the second floor deck of my estate and stare out across the vast expanse, down into the valley where the small town of Pinegrove, North Carolina lays. The harsh spring breeze penetrates the layers of my suit and undershirt to skate across my skin, and I breathe in the salt-tinged air. It’s quiet here. No horns honking. No police sirens. Just nature. A throat clears behind me. I briefly close my eyes, inhale one
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