I drove slow over the road, which was slick with caterpillar guts.

“Shit, that stinks,” Fellis said.

The place smelled of bait, of something chewed up and spit out or even shit out, and when the wind blew just right the smell moved about the rez. Fellis and I covered our noses.

I parked Einhell next to Beth’s house along the road. When we got inside, the landline phone was ringing. Neither of us answered it. We passed through the living room and into the kitchen, and we poured some iced tea. With our sweaty glasses we went out back of the house and sat in rusty fold-out chairs in the cool shadow cast by an oak tree.

I fell asleep in the fold-out chair for a few minutes, but was awakened by the phone ringing again.

Fellis leaned forward for his iced tea and took a sip. His chair squeaked when he set the sweaty glass back in the sparse dirt-grass at his feet.

The wind blew, bringing with it the smell of bait.

“Jesus,” Fellis said. “I’d rather you hold me down and pigadee in my face for an hour than have to smell that smell.”

Fellis leaned back in the chair and farted. He closed his eyes and put his hands on his head. “What time do we have to get going?” he asked.

I reached for Fellis’s smokes and took one. “Get going where?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Didn’t we have to go somewhere?”

I was going to tell him his memory was still shit, was going to tell him where we had to go, but the phone rang again. Fellis got up and walked to the back sliding door. I brought my wet glass of iced tea to my lips, and a burnt blade of grass floated in the murky tea. I set the glass down.

In the blue sky clouds rolled through and grayed the sun. A wind blew again, and with it came the smell of bait.

The glass door slid open and again screeched shut. Fellis walked back over.

“I remember what we have to do,” he said.

The phone rang again.

“For fuck’s sake,” Fellis said. He went back in the house, and he wasn’t gone too long.

“It’s your girl,” Fellis said. He left the door open.

“Isn’t she supposed to be at work?” I said, and then I remembered: today was her day off. There was something else, though.

“How the fuck would I know?” Fellis said.

“Tell her I’ll call her back. Tell her I’m in the bathroom.”

“I already told her you were outside.”

“Well tell her you were wrong, that I wasn’t outside but in the bathroom.”

Fellis went and told her, and when he came back out I got up and headed to the house.

“You’re calling her back now?” Fellis said.

“I need some water.”

I went inside. On the kitchen table Fellis had scribbled some notes, fragments of sentences, on a piece of paper. He’d written addies and blood presure and DVD, then below he had new stuff: gabage and wash dishs. At the very bottom he wrote, Call Tabittha.