“You must have heard about the accident,” Eddie was saying as he wiped the back counter. Baptiste ignored him. Eddie Taylor always talked too much. “Hell of an explosion,” Eddie said. “Of course you’d know,” he said, and then fell silent. He glanced at Baptiste but Baptiste did not look at him.

Baptiste could see himself in the mirror above the liquor bottles and pigs’-feet jars. He had not looked at himself after the beating. He had never been good-looking but now his face was slashed with a puckering scar that looked to be healing his left eye to closing. His lower lip was still split. He put his tongue to the cut and tasted blood. His right eye sized him with a hard mean stare. He could not face the man he knew others saw.

He looked out the window to see a small group of people gathering in a line, a straggly gathering of people he recognized and most he knew. He watched as people stepped from the livery shop, the grocery store, and post office. People were lining up on the highway’s shoulder as if a parade was going to pass by. The feed store clerk was waiting, arching his neck and gawking down the road. Eddie Taylor was removing his bar apron and heading for the door.

“Baptiste,” Eddie said, “this might be something you’ll want to see.” And before Baptiste could answer him he was out the door. Baptiste downed his drink and slapped money on the bar. He didn’t want Eddie Taylor’s charity. He wanted to see what the commotion was. He wanted the distraction. He squinted into the sunlight. He saw a cowboy across the street pull off his hat and shift his gaze down the road. And Baptiste looked too. He looked down the long road and realized suddenly what he was waiting to see and the sight of it made his heart leap. The slow-moving procession appeared on the road curve. The Lake County sheriff preceded the hearse and as they moved through Dixon the sheriff’s red beam swirled in silence. A Sanders County sheriff flanked the rear of the hearse.

The small group fell to silence. The livery man removed his cap and clutched it to his chest. A white woman Baptiste knew as Mrs. Wing placed her hand over her heart. Even in the bright sunlight a swoop of solemnity had settled. The road gleamed with melting ice. Baptiste’s eyes watered. He saw Eddie Taylor cup his hands above his brow but he did not stop looking at the hearse. Baptiste had seen hearses before but this hearse was dazzling. Mirror chrome glinted and flashed. The black hearse was so shiny he could see the town and its people passing in its reflection.

Baptiste heard a woman he did not know whispering beside him but he did not turn to glimpse her. “A big shot,” she was saying.