I was headed home, and as I turned off Highway 200 I saw Stoner parked just off the road. Louise was in the car with him, not even two weeks married. I saw him lean toward her as she opened the door. She turned her cheek from him but not before I saw the kiss. She was pushing the passenger door, straining from Stoner. In my estimation she seemed bored with him but when the door swung open I saw her bare, bronze legs and then he pulled her back against him. Her throat arched, his mouth clenched over hers. I looked so intently at their kiss I felt my own lips pucker. They kissed for so long he pocketed her hair in his hands, so long I felt the mean loss of her in my groin. I watched his big, yellow Buick pull back onto the highway, polished so smooth dust floated behind him. Louise looked down the road after him. I watched him leaving, with a feeling in me like jealousy. Now it seemed Harvey Stoner had everything.

I always suspected I’d catch this guy in the act but I thought it would be a jailing offense, not just another infidelity. It’s strange how money will make any man attractive, because Stoner wasn’t a pretty man. But Stoner had a reputation for being clean and fastidious. I had heard men in the barber shop discussing the hair oil he used, a spice-sweet oil, as if a man’s grooming was a topic of conversation. I heard Stoner himself telling Mr. Malick that the secret of his boot shine was a woman, and they laughed like they shared something. I never trusted Stoner. For a white man he smiled too much, like he had a great time all by himself. I only felt good enough around him in my uniform, because he would pay attention to me then. He’d look at me with his squint-eyed grin, his handshake milking, and I’d know he wanted something from me but I couldn’t be sure what. He only paid attention to Indians who could give him something.