“There is a well,” she said. “So I don’t have to go traipsing out in my altogether to do my whatever.”

“You’re a natural poet,” I said.

The interior of the house was clean and modest, colorful. She asked that I remove my shoes at the door.

“I really like your house,” I told her. “It reminds me of you.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“I know a little,” I said.

“We’re having salad,” she said. “And corn.”

“Sounds good.”

“You can look at the house while I chop. That will take you all of thirty seconds.”

To be polite I made a sweep through the house. It was a home. A neat, clean home. I returned to the kitchen and was put to work chopping carrots and fennel.

“So, who died?” DeLois asked.

“A family member.”

DeLois dropped the corn into the boiling water and looked at me for a second. “Why are you here?”

“You invited me.”

“In New Mexico?”

“Looking for oil.”

She leaned back against the sink and stared at me.

“What do you want me to say?”

She continued to stare.

“I’m here because of the women on the bus.”

She was listening.

I knew that my retelling would be nothing but confusing, so I went for concision. “Those poor women are being held as slaves.”

“How do you know that?”

“I know it. They told me. How I know is complicated. I have to do something, but I don’t know what.”

“I told you not to fuck with those guys. They scare the shit out of me.”

“Me too.”

“Call the cops.”

“The story of how I know about the women is complicated and sounds crazy. And I’m not sure I can trust the police. I actually went to Ciudad Juárez and talked to the police. One of the women is from there. Her name is Rosalita Gonzalez.”

“You’re certain about all of this?” she said.

“I am.”

“So, what are you going to do?” I could hear the fear in her voice.

“I don’t know. Maybe nothing,” I said.

We ate our meal sitting on her maroon velour sofa. There was little relief from the heat until the sun was gone. The windows were all open. I was surprised to see bats in the darkening sky. I said as much.

“They get in here sometimes,” she said. “I just shoo them out. What’s a little rabies between friends?”

If I hadn’t liked DeLois before, I liked her now. Truth was, I had liked her from the beginning. At that moment, her smile reminded me of May’s smile. I recalled the slight nod and acknowledgment or approval or understanding that she had given me as I left the facility that night. DeLois’s smile, like May’s, didn’t so much offer optimism as it simply, merely offered. So we ate, the bats outside with the calls of chat-littles.