When he entered the house he saw his mother dabbing a steaming cloth to Champagne’s wounds but the horse did not flinch. He told her he had to go into town, but she was too busy with her task to hear him.

He went out to the field where the old farm truck had stood neglected since September. He wondered if it would start. He turned his attention to the small details of living, the feel of the cold wheel burning in his hands, the strain of seeing in the bright sunlight. He heard the low grind of gears, the high whirring spin of the engine turning, and then turning over. He did not brush the snow from his windshield. He was driving to Perma. The sun lit the white fields so bright he squinted through the ice-sparkled windshield. He drove as fast as the truck could drive, dipping over scoured-ice roads, crunching over potholes. He had to scrape a peek hole with his fingernail but he did not slow down. He was determined to see Louise again but the day chipped at his resolve. He had been desperate to see her and now the day had found him weak and pitiful, ashamed. The silver-blue sky told him Louise was alive and well. He wanted to see her and he would, he told himself. He would find her in Dixon if he waited in the bar. He knew this was a story a drinking man would tell himself to defend his drinking, but he wanted a drink. He needed one, he told himself. If he just had one drink he could face Louise. He would find her well and probably still angry with him. He could have another chance if he didn’t rush it. He drove to Dixon blinded with the idea that he could find some strength in one drink. He was driving so fast over the whirring ice, he had to pump his breaks to stop.

He entered the dim bar and found he had to take in the room slowly, allow his eyes to adjust. He smelled Purex and piss. He could see that Eddie Taylor had placed his hands on his hips and was eyeing him. Everything seemed the same. He believed the familiar could hold him in place, secure him. He longed for everything to remain the same, but knew the world was always changing. He wished he could tell himself the stories he could tell others, that he could find peace in his heart the way he had the night before. Baptiste braced his knees beneath the bar and refused to look back at Eddie. If he was stubborn he knew a drink would come, but he was still surprised when Eddie Taylor placed a double ditch in front of him without being asked.

“On the house,” Eddie said.

Baptiste took a gulp of the drink, but the burning draw did not make him feel better.