“I’m not going anywhere,” Louise said. She did not raise her voice. She imagined Mr. Bradlock pressing his ear to the door and listening. Knocking. Listening again. Her grandmother had wanted her to flee the house but she had refused. Grandma and her sister would be up the hill by now. Their breath would rise from them in the darkness. They would not come home again until they saw Mr. Bradlock drive away.

Louise opened the door to Mr. Bradlock. She had thought about this moment for a long time. She was no longer afraid. She did not feel the dense thud of her heart. She did not feel a weakness in her neck. She was ready to face him. He stood at the door and then turned slightly. “You can’t run again,” he told her. She saw that he was looking at the bruises on her arms, not knowing she had been in a car accident. “Come on now,” he said.

“I’m not going,” Louise said. “I’m not going with you ever again.”

She saw Mr. Bradlock trace his hairline with his fingertips as if he thought he would enjoy this fight. She stepped back from him and he grabbed her arms. She felt the blood squeeze of his stubby fingers but she refused to let him know he had hurt her.

“I’m not going,” she said.

Mr. Bradlock rubbed his chin and she could hear the whisper of stubble on his cheeks. Louise leaned forward, close to his face and looked him in the eyes. He scattered his attention, looking at the cookstove, looking at the cattail bed on the floor, looking at her eyes and then away again. Louise spoke low to Mr. Bradlock. “I’m getting married,” she told him. He dipped his ear to his shoulder as if the puff of her breath had tickled him. Then he looked up at her, meeting her eyes, a hard grin lifting his face, his temples, his fleshy forehead green in the shadowy kitchen light. He looked at her like he knew he had caught her in a lie that would embarrass her. He rested his hands on his hips, half smiling, half laughing. Louise waited.

“Who’d marry you?” he finally said. “Who’d have you?”

Louise felt the anger rise in her throat but she felt she had him. She smiled at him, the slow, lazy smile she gave to men at the Dixon bar when she wanted them to buy her a drink. Mr. Bradlock put his hands in his pockets but he continued to watch her. “I’m ready to go here, Louise,” he said.