Shane took my knapsack, hugged me, gave me a careful kiss on the cheek, looked to see who might’ve noticed. He ushered me into his car, closed the door, switched on the heated seats so I felt like I’d pissed myself. “It’s good for you to be met here by a man,” he said. “It’s good for them to see you’re friends with me. You can’t be too careful.”

“Sure,” I said. He pulled out of the Greyhound lot.

“I hate to say it, but these people are scum,” Shane said. “Trust me, it’s a fucking free-for-all.”

“You’ve been here all this time?” I asked. “Nearly ten years?”

“You kidding? I certainly haven’t been in this shithole the whole time,” he said. “At first the company sent me all over. Seriously, the industry’s spreading, even out to the coast. I loved the travel, but now more of the jobs are union.”

“Why not join the union?” I asked. “Better pay.”

“It’s who you know,” Shane said. “There’s a ten-year waiting list to get in. Anyway, I’m management now.”

“For rat crews,” I said.

“Call it what you want,” he said. “But I’ve learned a lot. This industry’s not so bad, no matter what all the greenies say. And I’m one, too, you know I am. Recycling, planting trees, solar power. I love all that stuff. But this is bridge fuel. It’s better than coal, that much I know. Management’s good money, I don’t have to get my hands quite so dirty, saves my back. Anyway you shouldn’t be talking union. If this was a union job you couldn’t just show up like this. No way. I’m doing you a favor. Glad to do it, too.”

“Thanks again,” I said, wondering how many more times I’d have to say it.

“When I started, things were more tame,” Shane said. “But now it’s big-time. I don’t even want to tell you what I’ve seen.”

“I’m pretty good at taking care of myself,” I said. We drove past mini-marts and motels, camper parks and more cornfields, diners and lots where large yellow pieces of equipment waited side by side. I counted the number of women that I saw, but hadn’t even got through the fingers of one hand before Shane looked at me quickly, then cut his eyes back to the road.

“How’s Helen?” he asked. There was no way I could match his bald chattiness. I was already tired. So I doubled down on my Greyhound setting. It had served me well this far. Why not leave it to Shane to do the sharing?

“Fine, I think,” I said.

“I looked her up a few years ago when I was out in Seattle,” he said. “Thought I’d buy her a beer, you know, for old times’ sake. But her aunt told me she’s still living on that damn twenty acres we bought.” He shook his head. I didn’t say, I’m living on that damn twenty acres, too. I didn’t say anything.