I saw a sudden light strike the wall behind me, and I knew someone was driving up my road, traveling too fast. Light bounced on the walls. Trouble. No one brings good news to a country house past midnight.

I pulled my rubber boots on over my socks and stepped out on the porch. I held my arm up to shade my sight. Slivers of snow rode the silvery light. A man got out of the car and stood beside it. Harvey Stoner. He cupped his hands and I saw the red tip of his cigarette.

“Stoner?” I called. “What the hell’s going on?” I saw the smoke of his breath. He rubbed his chin and squinted at me through the roiling light. I walked a few steps closer, but not too close. I imagined he’d been drinking.

“I’m looking for Louise,” he said. His voice needled me. He looked at me without looking away. I realized I was the last-ditch effort of his search. I felt a small wince of pleasure at his predicament, but I remained guarded.

“She’s a grown woman,” I said. I’d had enough of this conversation. I wasn’t interested in this man’s woes. He threw his cigarette to the ground and blew breath into the pocket of his hands. His eyes were watering and I realized that even a rich man broken could be pitiful.

“I think she’s in trouble,” he said, trying to bait me. I wasn’t up for it. I turned back to the house.

“I guess you don’t care what happens to her.” He had raised his voice to catch me. “She’s looking for Yellow Knife,” he said. “He’s going to beat the tar out of her again.” His voice was accusing.

“So what makes you think you’d find her here?” I said, stopping to face him again.

He folded his arms over his chest and glanced away but not before I saw the smirk on his face. “You’re not fooling me,” he said. I felt the rise of sudden heat in my chest, the muscles in my back pulling tight. If I had been closer to him I would have thrown a wild punch at him, a haymaker slam that would have rattled his gold teeth. I didn’t have time to put up with this asshole, not in my driveway, not on my night off. I went inside, leaving him.

I closed my door tight to Stoner and sighed. I heard his car start up. His headlamps flooded the room, a wash of light that illuminated the walls, the cracked linoleum floors, and Louise standing still beside the window. She was breathing hard, her hand pressed to her belly as if she’d just stopped running. Stoner was gone. The room settled gray. The stove glowed red. “You want to tell me what’s going on?” I said.