So now, at the end of the day, she was looking into the smiling face of this girl who had greeted her and couldn’t remember her name. It was an odd feeling for Jessie, who was normally someone who never forgot anybody’s name, to not be able to recall the name of a girl who had been working for her as a housekeeper for the past three weeks, and was also one of the only two that still remained after the others left during the previous night.

“Yes,” Jessie smiled, not really even bothering to look up. “It is a pretty moon.” She nodded to the girl with the forgotten name. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Miss Jessie,” the girl chirped. “Have a good one.”

“Thank you.” She was already on her way again. “You, too.” Hillary? Hannah? Heather?

Jessie continued across the yard, and was almost to the porch steps when she finally noticed how bright everything was. She glanced around at the ranch, and even though it was close to 10:00 p.m., she could see every building, fence, bush and rock on the place. She looked out into the desert and could see the hills where she had taken Henry to see the mustangs off in the distance. The sky was a bright, grayish blue, and so was everything in sight. It was only then she looked up at the moon the girl with the forgotten name had pointed out to her.

My God, she thought to herself. Look at that.

Under that most perfect, fine full moon, Jessie’s thoughts turned to Henry. She missed him, she missed talking with him and she missed being with him. She hadn’t realized it before, but after that long day, and now, looking up at the moon that was lighting up the desert so brightly, she suddenly felt very empty. She wondered what Henry was doing at that very moment. Wrapping her arms around herself as a cool breeze passed over her, she let out a sigh and climbed the steps.

CHAPTER 45

Topher’s last cigarette butt was still smoldering in the ashtray in front of him as he lit up another. He took a long drag from the filterless Camel, its burning end glowing bright red in the dim light of the Silver Dollar Saloon, before blowing a long smooth stream of bluish smoke out his nose, the remainder pouring out his mouth as he began to talk. “Well,” he tapped the cigarette’s end on the edge of the ashtray, which already contained nearly an entire pack of his dead and smoldering butts. “Another year come and gone.” He picked up his beer glass with the same hand in which he held his cigarette, and sucked down half of its contents. “They sure all seem to run together after a while, don’t they, Lou?” He said, wiping his mouth with his sleeve, then letting out a long, low burp.

“Comes with age, I reckon, Toph.” Lou, the man behind the bar nodded while he put several newly washed glasses on a shelf next to the beer taps. Lou had once been a cowboy but it all came to an end for him when he was gored and trampled by a bull while working an outfit up in Montana. From the accounts of all the men who saw the wreck, it was a wonder Lou got out of it alive. It had apparently been so traumatic, even for those who saw it, that no one would ever go into any specifics about what happened. Even Lou kept the details to himself, and over the years, people just learned to steer clear of the subject. The deep scar he carried on his face, the missing fingers on his right hand and the ever-present limp from a leg that was now an inch-and-three-quarters shorter than the other said all that anyone really needed to know about the incident.