Black Lightening rounds on me. Black-bead eyes—narrowed, fearless. He huffs. Charges. My finger’s on the trigger, but I don’t shoot. He goes a few feet, then stops. A bluff. He drops his head, snuffles through leaves. One shot. Through the chest. Won’t feel a thing. I remember him staring into the trees and wonder if he was waiting on someone. I lower the shotgun. Mama’s at her window when I get home. “Saw a bear today,” she says. “Believe that? Ain’t seen one of those since before your Daddy left. You think it means something?” Maybe nothing. Maybe everything.