I dug down to tough rocky soil. I ignored the shrill scrape of metal on rock and frozen ground. I churned up dirt with the same urgency I used to save a man because I was saving a man, I was saving myself and all I had worked for, for the good I believed in. I was working to save Louise.

I worked so hard the calluses that claimed my hands chipped off and stung with blood again. If it had been summer I would have scrubbed my hands with lye soap and salt until they bled clean to hide my own guilt from the rattlers. I realized this was a crazy thought because I couldn’t escape. The story was set now. I had to stop myself from saying this is what comes of deceit and treachery, because I was already bloating, filling up with poison. Choking bile. When I had covered up Baptiste’s blood with dirt I shoveled fresh snow over it. I shoveled enough earth and enough snow to create a new hill. But it was the hard work of a fool. Blood seeped through the snow again.

The death of Yellow Knife came with the death of what I had long wanted. I had looked to the day when I would be able to tell Louise she was free of Yellow Knife and his fists, that Yellow Knife had met his end in a barroom brawl, or a tight curve on a hard drinking night. I hadn’t planned for this. I ran stories through my head, plausible stories of Yellow Knife’s death that didn’t include me in the scenario. But in the end I was faced with the simple hard task of telling Louise her husband was dead. That was the beginning and end of my story.

I could see the lights of my house and I counted the miles with sighs. Louise met me at the door, and she seemed so glad to see me I considered not telling her. I went to the kitchen sink for a glass of water. I could see Louise at the corner of my eye, waiting. I drank another glass of water, a full one this time. I drank slowly and listened to the hard gulps catch in my throat. I looked out the kitchen window in my avoidance. Late afternoon was clear now over the valley. I could see in the distance small trails of fog lifting to sky, clouds. I felt the leaving. An ache in my ribs. There was a part of me that just wanted to sit in my kitchen and remember better times.