Baptiste Yellow Knife stood before her, the husband she no longer recognized. He was so thin, thinner than she had remembered. His pants revealed his leanness. He had lost his soft summer belly. “I need some help from you here,” Baptiste said, just to her. Louise stepped back from Baptiste and was surprised to find she held no anger toward him. He weaved slightly but not from drink. He seemed feverish. The bartender had come up behind her.

“You know this character?” the bartender asked her, his eyes on Baptiste. Louise remained mute. “You read the sign?” he said, this time to Baptiste alone.

Louise stepped back and hoped the man would not see how she twisted her hands behind her back. Louise could see Baptiste as she thought these men saw him. She recognized the pink ringworm curl, his scalp worn in places. She knew he was hungry. And that he had had trouble with the woman from Yakima, trouble he had brought on himself like a hail of bricks. He had struck the woman maybe or had looked too long at another woman. Every day there could be a hundred reasons to leave Baptiste Yellow Knife. Louise imagined Baptiste pissing by the side of the road, the woman’s black car roaring off in a stinging wind.

“Hey, fella,” the bartender said to Baptiste, “time to go.”

Baptiste stood by the jukebox. He placed his hands on his hips and tried to hitch his pants. Christmas lights glowed through his sparse hair. She had not caused his problems, she told herself, but in that moment she could not deny him. The bartender had grabbed onto Baptiste’s arm. Harvey opened the door. It was so cold Louise felt an aching heaviness in her knees.

“Read the sign,” the man kept saying to Baptiste.

“Read the sign.”

“Come on, Louise,” Baptiste said. He lifted his hand to her. Louise heard the jukebox sift the record stack and pull her song.

“Make her read the sign?” Baptiste asked.

The bartender turned toward Louise and looked her over. She wondered how she appeared to him, if he could see the Indian in her.

“You know this joker?” the bartender said to her. He seemed ready to toss her out with Baptiste. She saw the long road back home winding all the way through the sleeping woods, the ice-edged lake. Her shoes were so thin she curled her toes to warm them and looked down at her feet.