Mr. Walker smiled at Thelma, who smiled back. “We drank our first beers together, remember? The Moose is our place. Ours. Hell, Donna, you guys got married there.”

Donna glanced at her husband, smiled uncertainly.

“Here’s the thing. It’s time we fixed the old girl up. We deserve a place where we can gather and talk and have fun without smelling like burnt wood and having soot all down ourselves when we leave. It will take a lot of work, though.” Mr. Walker paused, his gaze moving from face to face. “And a lot of workers. I can hire people from Homer, pay them the four bucks an hour to rebuild the place, but I’d rather keep my money here, in town, with my friends and neighbors. We all know how nice it is to have some change in our jeans come winter.”

“Four bucks an hour? That’s high,” Ted said, shooting Thelma a look.

“I want to be more than fair,” Mr. Walker said.

“Ha!” Dad said. “He’s trying to manipulate you. Buy you. Don’t listen to him. We know what’s good for our town. And it isn’t his money.”

Thelma shot Dad an irritated look. “How long will the job last, Tom?”

He shrugged. “Gotta be done before the weather turns, Thelma.”

“And how many workers do you need?”

“As many as I can get.”

Thelma stepped back, turned to Ted, whispered something to him.

“Earl?” Dad said. “You’re not going to let him do this?”

Mad Earl’s pale, wrinkled face squelched up, looked like one of those dried-apple carvings. “Jobs is scarce up here, Ernt.”

Leni saw the effect those few words had on her father.

“I’ll take a job,” Clyde said.

Mr. Walker smiled triumphantly. Leni saw his gaze cut to Dad, stay there. “Great. Anyone else?”

When Clyde had come forward, Dad made a sound like a tire blowing and grabbed Mama by the arm and pulled her across the compound. Leni had to run through the mud to keep up. They all climbed into the truck.

Dad hit the gas too hard and the tires spun through the mud before finding traction. He shoved the pickup into reverse, lurched back, spun around, and hurtled through the open gates.

Mama reached over and held Leni’s hand. They both knew better than to say anything as he started muttering to himself, thumping his palm hard on the steering wheel to punctuate his thoughts.

Damn idiots … letting him win … g-damn rich men think they own the world.

At the cabin, he skidded to a stop and rammed the gearshift in park.

Leni and Mama sat there, afraid to breathe too loudly.

He didn’t move, just stared through the dirty, mosquito-splattered windshield at the shadowy smokehouse and the stand of black trees beyond. The sky was a deep purple-brown, strewn with pinprick stars.

“Go,” he said, his teeth gritted. “I need to think.”