I watched Yellow Knife tip those small glasses to the ceiling. I watched the single rise and fall of his Adam’s apple as he plied them down. Louise was close to falling and Baptiste was making a poor attempt to hold her up. I stepped forward, slamming the screen door behind me, and saw Baptiste Yellow Knife set his last drink on the bar.

“About time you got here, Kicking Woman,” Sheila said.

Yellow Knife braced Louise and helped her to stand. Then he scooped her up in his arms and I found myself stupidly thinking about Aida’s romance novels, the dizzy covers of men rescuing women. I was stunned by the sight of her pale throat as her head tipped back and her red hair caught the light. Even her dusty bare feet looked pretty. I felt powerless again. Warm blood pulsed in my knees. “Out of my way,” Yellow Knife said. The tattoo on his dark hand spelled out her name. I felt the tickling sweep of Louise’s dress, the brief softness of her hair on my hands as he carried her out the door.

Sheila Owens leaned down hard on the bar top, staring at me. Harvey Stoner held a glass halfway to his lips and swirled the ice in his drink, looking at me too. “Hell of a lot of good you are,” Sheila said, her red mouth frowning. I couldn’t deny that I was of no use. The only good thing I could do now was leave too. As I was walking out the door I heard Sheila Owens say, “Damn Indians.” Harvey Stoner only snorted and I wished the bastard would snort his drink down the wrong gullet.

I got in the cruiser and drove, heading toward Flathead Lake. The clouds lit the high moon. It was starting to turn toward winter. Cold lined the seats of the car and I could see my breath. Summer seemed distant. I started thinking about my wife, about Louise and Yellow Knife, the way the world seems to spin us dizzy. I wondered why I had ended up with a lonesome wife and an unhealthy hankering for a woman I could never have. Aida likes to say we get what we deserve. And I didn’t want to think about Aida and what she had gotten from me. I thought about fishing Dog Lake in lazy circles and the sky above me pink with dusk, knowing I deserved only the dream of fish and sometimes that was enough. Now I wondered what would satisfy me. What would be enough to settle me. It seemed to me I was changing like a familiar place inching toward strangeness, because I was seeing myself differently. And I had the creeping feeling I should jump beneath a table or look out the window to see what was coming.