Shane picked me up at the end of the day, bringing me a burrito wrapped in foil. Marie threw her hard hat into the back of the truck, tossed Jay the keys, climbed in next to Lawrence. I thought I could feel her watching me as I closed the door of Shane’s SUV, I thought I could feel her wondering, but maybe it was my own eyes I felt. Maybe I’d become the watcher of myself, finally split in two.

That night, I went to the campfire. I don’t know why. It was clear I wasn’t wanted, but there was something about Shane—the word Helen would use was obsequious—Rudy would say fucking sycophant—that tainted my loneliness. I couldn’t tell what he wanted from me, approval, verification, but I was struggling under the burden of whatever it was. I told myself I could take anything for twenty-five bucks an hour, but when I counted how many times I’d already said thank you, how many more thank-yous might be in my future, I felt like sleeping under the bed instead of in it.

So, without thinking what I would say when I got there, I walked empty-handed into the circle of light. Lawrence and Marie wrapped gloved hands around beer cans, Jay sipped a Mountain Dew. They’d been laughing, but when I stepped from the shadows, they stopped. Then Jay laughed again. “Foreman,” he said. “Thought you’d be tired of staring at us by now.”

“Pretty cold to be standing around outside,” I said, what an opener.

“If you don’t like it, you could always go back to watching us through the window,” Jay said, crunching on ice. “Or did you come here to point at us again? One, two, three little Indians.” He thrust his can forward, big exaggerated smile, a perfect Shane. Marie laughed, her can hiding her mouth, but Lawrence passed a beer my way.

“Where are you coming from?” he asked.

“From down in the foothills,” I said. “Local.”

“You ain’t local,” Jay said.

“More local than the Louisianans,” I said. “The West Virginians. The Texans. At least I’m in-state.”

“In-state? What’s a state? Don’t know that word,” Jay said. “Must be something white people invented.”

“Don’t mind him,” Lawrence said. “That’s one of the ways he has fun.”

“Fuck you, Lawrence,” Jay said. “You don’t want to see me have fun. Only locals around here are the Miami and the Shawnee, and most of them are in fucking Oklahoma.”

“Shane told me you were Shawnee,” I said.

“He probably did tell you that, didn’t he?” Jay said.

“We’re from farther north,” Lawrence said. “Great Lakes.”