In spite of everything, it felt a bit like butchering old pets. I chose the sofa snake and the woodstove snake, the boldest, the easiest ones to catch. Helen held the sofa snake by its tail. It arced and sent musk, crimped up. She lowered it, and as its head neared the floor, the snake thrust itself horizontal and offered its neck. I swung the butcher knife. Then we did it again.

I took one headless snake, and Helen took the other. She showed me where to find the vent and we sliced up from there. We worked our paring blades to separate the threads of muscle tissue and peel back the skin. Six inches down, Helen gripped her snake’s body, and pulled off the rest of the skin like rolling down a sleeve. She nodded to me and I unsheathed mine the same way. I found clothespins, and we hung the gleaming skins in the windows to dry. We scooped out the neat tube of guts, and dropped them in a bucket next to the heads. While Helen rinsed the bodies, I brought down the big mixing bowl and poured salt into water, watched the small storm it made, the cloud dissolving. We added the snakes, pale pink as quartz. We left them to brine.

It was a fine evening, clear, with rain on the horizon. The ramps blushed deep green on the banks of the creek. I built a fire outside and filled the canning pot. Helen and I sat out in camping chairs, watching the pot boil, which you’re not supposed to do, but she still wasn’t as talkative as usual. I tried to ask her about Aldi, but she just shook her head. “There won’t be another one like him,” was all she could say. I offered to make dinner, but she grimaced.

The water was just beginning to steam when, over by their shed, the ducks set up their watchdog chatter, and Helen and I turned to see Karen come home.

She came down the path, long and tall as ever, hands stuffed in her Carhartt pockets, a rolled-up newspaper sticking out of her knapsack, loose braid fraying, hat pulled low to make it clear she wasn’t betting on what kind of welcome she’d get.

When she saw us, she stopped, and it helps when you haven’t seen your someone in ages, it helps when they catch you unawares, it helps when you haven’t been rehearsing. It gives your body a chance to be the smart one.

From underneath her hat, she said, “I didn’t make all the money. I made most of it. I made enough to get started. But in the end I fell short.”

“You idiot,” I said. “It doesn’t matter about the money. Don’t you have anything else to report?”