It was a long drive home and Louise began to think about Harvey Stoner. He acted like he had other places to go, better places, places where she knew she would never get to. Sometimes he talked to her about how the Rio Grande in Texas was no bigger than Pistol Creek or how the mountains in Italy looked like the Mission Mountains. She liked his distance. She didn’t want him to be close to her. She wanted him to go away at the end of the evening. To leave her alone.

Maybe it was the long crawl into winter. Maybe it was seeing her once-powerful husband without power that made her want to understand her own intentions. She tried to figure out why she was interested in Harvey. He fed her. He was always good for a two-dollar meal in Plains and a warm night at the Syme’s Hotel in Hot Springs. He’d buy her little things too. He bought her a rhinestone ankle bracelet and a pair of Mary Jane shoes with straps. A dress. Not much of anything she couldn’t live without. The gifts he gave her didn’t matter to her. But he had power. She knew, because any time she was with him, Charlie Kicking Woman would leave her alone.

She could stand up at the bar and swig bourbon from the bottle and Charlie would look right at her and not do a damn thing. She felt safe with Harvey Stoner. He could go anywhere and be welcome. He could pay for a room with solid doors and chain locks. If his car broke down he could get it fixed anywhere. If he couldn’t get it fixed he could buy a new one. He could write a check and have enough sudden cash to pay for a month of good groceries. He would never go hungry.

But Louise had begun learning that power ran two ways. She had started turning down Harvey Stoner. As long as the Indian summer had held she liked saying no to his car ride offers. She liked lifting her thigh up between his legs and saying no when he rubbed against her. He had everything. And she had heard he wanted more. More land, more women. It didn’t make sense to her. He had lost himself to his desire. He had become an object himself.

All she could remember of him when he drove away was the rough smell of his smooth leather seats, the pinklit panel of his car in the darkness. She remembered wood-sweet oil and lavender shampoo, not him. She remembered the black silk stockings, not that he had put them on her. She remembered the purr of his big car driving dirt roads so fast her stomach dropped. She never thought of Harvey behind the wheel. She thought that being with Harvey Stoner was like trying to love every small thing that could be bought. He was tiring.