We Begin at the End

by Chris Whitaker

  Walk swallowed. “I just wanted you all to be happy.”

  That laugh again, nothing about it was pitying.

  “I did see you,” he said. “Maybe a year after. At the mall in Clearwater Cove. I was with my mother, and you were standing in line outside the movie theater.”

  She was quiet before it came to her. “David Rowen. Just a boy. It didn’t mean anything.”

  “Oh, I know that. I didn’t mean because of that. I just, you looked happy, Martha. And I thought about that boy, and he didn’t know, right. He didn’t know what we all went through, and I thought that must’ve been alright. You could just … it wasn’t there between you. You didn’t have to share that thing. You could just … be.”

  She cried.

  He held her hand.

  26

  AS WINTER ARRIVED RADLEY LAND froze and the sky whitened with light snows.

  Robin lay flat on his back and watched it so long Duchess had to drag him in when his fingers turned white. The field work eased but the animals still needed tending. The gray and the black wore coats as they grazed. Duchess began to take the gray out each morning alone, saddling her at first light and following tracks she began to learn well. She took enjoyment from the Montana quiet, so thick it was as if God had laid down a blanket over the woodland and smothered all but the loudest chickadees.

  They watched out for Darke, Hal sitting till late each night, a deerstalker and blanket and the shotgun by his feet. Some nights Duchess woke and went to the window, saw him down there then promptly fell back into deep sleep. Other nights she went down and he fixed cocoa. They would sit, mostly in silence, but sometimes she allowed him to tell her stories of Billy Blue, so dazzling and detailed she wondered if the old man made them up himself. One night she fell asleep on his shoulder, then woke in her bed, the cover pulled up tight.

  She spent weekends with Thomas Noble and Robin, tramping white woods, giving them a head start then tracking their boot prints. The cold was crisp and fresh and brought clarity to her wandering mind. She thought less about Cape Haven and its unchanging seasons, and more about Montana and, occasionally, the future. She chose memories of her mother with great care, seeking only the diamonds amongst a mountain of coal.

  Her grades improved, she sat at the back and got on with her schoolwork, drafting Indians and settlers and making them live through her writing. She sent Walk a photo of Radley land, taken from the window in her bedroom the day they woke to thick snow. She went with Hal into town each Saturday morning, they did the grocery shopping then headed to Cherry’s to drink cocoa and eat donuts. Most days Dolly was there and they sat and talked with her. Bill’s health had worsened and beneath Dolly’s faultless face Duchess saw cracks beginning to snake in a show of prescient mourning that left her fretful after.

  They drove up to Hamby Lake, the water so deep it might’ve been an ocean. Hal rented a boat, cutting crystal water as they drifted and fished, the sun stealing the cold away for an afternoon as close to perfect as Duchess could allow herself to imagine. Robin pulled out a decent rainbow trout, then cried till Hal threw it back.

  Thomas Noble spoke of the winter dance often. Some days she merely told him to fuck off, others she accused him of plotting to spike the punch then do wicked things once she had passed out cold. She called him a sexual predator and he scratched his head and pushed his frames up his nose.

  The first day of December he brought her a bunch of bluebells he’d been saving. Long dead, a sorry sight but the sentiment was there. He biked the four miles through icy roads and up their carpeted driveway. By the time he arrived mild frostbite had set in and he was seeing stars. Hal sat him in front of the fire till he thawed.

  “I won’t dance with you,” she said as they watched the flames. “I won’t kiss you or hug you. I won’t hold your good hand. I won’t dress pretty and I may not even speak to you for most of the night.”

  “Okay,” he said, a slight chatter in his teeth.

  From the doorway she saw Hal and Robin smiling and she flipped them off.

  The next Sunday, after church, Hal drove them to the strip mall in Briarstown. Ten stores in a neat row, from Subway to Cash Advance. She found women’s clothing in a place called Cally’s. She rifled through rails of polyester, held a sequined gown to the light and saw it bald in at least five places. “It’s like being in Paris.”

  Hal pointed to a yellow dress and she asked him what the fuck he knew about fashion. She pointed to his boots and faded jeans, his plaid shirt and wide hat and declared him a scarecrow.

  They circled the store three times. Robin brought over gaudy finds, beaming as he held them against her then running off when she asked him if he wanted his sister to dress like an eighties streetwalker.

  Cally herself came out, read the mood and retreated to the counter. She wore a beehive and platforms and hid twenty surplus pounds beneath a wide belt. Hal smiled at her and she returned a smile in sympathy.

  Duchess found it at the back, stopped still and stared. Then, slowly, she reached out and picked it up. She placed the hat on her head and felt her stomach flip, her mind on Billy Blue, her blood. Her place.

  It was a thing of beauty, leather studs, brim just right, the kind of hat an outlaw would kill for.

  Hal appeared behind. “Suits you.”

  She took it off and checked the tag. “Jesus.”

  “Stetson,” Hal said, like that explained the eye-watering price.

  She would not ask for it. It was too fancy, but still, she glanced back longingly as she walked back to the dresses.

  “It’ll have to be this piece of shit then.” She snatched the yellow dress from the rail.

  Hal made to speak, to tell her that was the very dress he’d picked out near an hour ago. She glared and he thought better of it.

  * * *

  Cuddy set up the meet. A burger joint just south of Bitterwater, Bill’s, all fading red paint and air of going out of business, handwritten signs told of three-dollar specials. It was empty, Walk rolled down the window as he headed to the drive-thru.

  The guy was old, Hispanic, hairnet and apron and furrowed brow, the kind of old man that took shit from punk kids then picked up their trash like a tip. Walk checked the name tag, “Luis.”

  Luis clocked Walk, then pointed to the lot.

  Walk drove over and parked, got out and sat on the hood. Ten minutes till he came, stooped walk, shuffling feet.

  “I only got five minutes break,” Luis said.

  “Thank you for meeting me.”

  “Any friend of Cuddy.”

  Luis had occupied the cell beside Vincent’s for eight years. Armed robbery, the last in a long line of crimes. Tattoos on his arm spoke of affiliation, Walk guessed he was long past all that now.

  “You ask and I answer. And then I get on. The boss man, he doesn’t like cops around his joint.”

  “Fair enough. Tell me about Vincent King.”

  Luis lit a cigarette, kept his back to the windows and fanned the smoke as he blew it. “The only guy I ever met who didn’t say he was set up.”

  Walk laughed.

  “Serious. He didn’t say much of anything.”

  “He didn’t have friends in there.”

  “No. Not Vincent. He didn’t even take his yard time, man. And the pudding cups.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Pudding. The food is dog shit, the pudding isn’t. I seen a man get stabbed for his pudding cup. Vincent gave me his every day.”

  Walk wondered what to do with that one.

  “You don’t get it, cop. He ate just enough. He said just enough. Shit, he breathed just enough.”

  “Enough to what?”

  “Stay alive. No existence beyond the fundamental. He stayed alive to serve his time. And he made fucking sure it was the worst time he could serve. No TV, radio. No nothing. Would’ve spent his time in solitary if Cuddy had let him.”

  Luis held the smoke deep.

  “He had trouble in there,”
Walk said.

  “Everyone does at some point. He had a girl, right? Outside. Others talked about her, maybe that was his weakness. Maybe thinking of her with someone else. Jealousy, I tell you, inside it’ll drive a man crazy. He dealt with it well enough, made sure others left him be after.”

  “But they still came for him. I’ve seen the scars.”

  “The only enemy that guy had was himself.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “He asked me to get him a blade. No big deal. I figured he wanted to settle up with someone.”

  “He didn’t?”

  “Same day I gave it to him I heard the guards hollering. Ain’t unusual, but this was Vincent’s cell so I went up to see.”

  “And?”

  Walk watched his color drain.

  “Messy, man. Cut himself to ribbons. Deep, serious cuts. He didn’t hit the arteries. He didn’t want to die, just to suffer.”

  Walk let that sit a while, found himself unable to speak, throat tight like he could barely breathe.

  “We done?”

  “I need a character reference for him.”

  “You won’t find no one. Because no one knows Vincent.” Luis dropped his cigarette, stubbed it out then bent and picked up the butt. He winked at Walk, extended a hand and tutted when Walk went to shake it.

  Finally, Walk pulled out a twenty and Luis took it.

  27

  DOLLY SHOWED AT THEIR DOOR, laden with a big box. She was there to collect Robin, he would spend the night at her place as Hal said he’d keep free in case Mrs. Noble couldn’t collect them after the dance. Always looking out, worrying.

  She led Duchess up to the bedroom and opened the box to a startling array of makeup and perfumes.

  “Don’t make me look like a whore.”

  “I can’t make any promises, sweetheart.”

  Duchess smiled at that.

  An hour later and she walked down the stairs, her hair expertly curled and her lips shining pink. She wore a new bow and new shoes that Cally had helped pick out. She’d gained a little more weight, no longer so skeletal, her muscles tight from the work.

  She saw Hal wearing something like pride on his face so she told him to shut the fuck up before he could say a word.

  “Beautiful,” Robin marveled. “You look just like Mom.”

  * * *

  They tailed Dolly and Robin till they turned off at Avoca. Snow fell lightly but the roads were salted. Dolly’s place was big, fancy and lit with warm window light. She’d asked after Bill. Dolly said he didn’t have the good sense to give up.

  They passed a sign blinking, DRIVE SLOW.

  “You nervous?” Hal said.

  “About getting pregnant tonight? Nah, what will be will be.”

  They turned onto Carlton.

  “I’m worried about Robin,” she said.

  He glanced over.

  “What he knows about that night. It’s … it’s not back but, I don’t know. He dreams about it. I think maybe he heard it all.”

  “Then we’ll deal with it.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Yes. That sound alright?”

  She nodded.

  They made the turn onto Highwood Drive.

  “Shit.”

  “What?” And then he saw, and he tried not to smile but lost the battle fully.

  The path to the Noble house, swept of snow but lined with rose petals.

  “Fucking shoot me now.”

  At the window she saw him, face pressed to the glass like Robin waiting on Christmas.

  “He’s wearing a fucking bowtie. He looks like a magician.”

  Hal brought the truck to a stop. The street door opened and Mrs. Noble stood there, camera in hand. Behind her was Mr. Noble, and he held a video camera, so big it mounted on his shoulder and threw out a blinding spotlight.

  “Turn back. No way I’m walking into that freakshow.”

  “It’s alright. Maybe do it for them, just once.”

  “A selfless act.”

  “I’ll be waiting up. You call me if there’s a problem.”

  She took a deep breath, then reached for the mirror and fussed with her bow.

  “You have a good time tonight.”

  “I won’t.”

  She opened the door and the cold met her. “My dress is plain. Not like the other girls.”

  “Since when do you want to be like them? You’re an outlaw.”

  “I’m an outlaw.” She stepped into the snow.

  He fired the engine and as she moved to shut the door she called, “Hal.”

  “Yes, Duchess.”

  She met his eye, he looked old then, capable but she knew the toll and its cost. She thought of her mother, of Sissy.

  “I’m not sorry, for everything I’ve said to you.” She swallowed. “I just …”

  “It’s alright.”

  “It’s not. But I think one day it might be.”

  “You go on now. Try and have fun. Smile for the cameras. Both of them.”

  She flipped him off but added a smile to it.

  The glitter ball spun and Duchess watched light shards over the crowd. The theme was Wonderland and she stared at the cotton snow and frosted flowers. Above them balloons hung in white and blue, painted stars and cardboard trees circled a dancefloor made to look like ice.

  She fiddled with her corsage. “It itches. Did you find it in a Dumpster?”

  “My mother picked it up.”

  They hung at the back. She saw girls in fancy dresses and heels, teetering. She said a silent prayer they would fall.

  Thomas Noble wore a dinner suit, a size too big so his bad hand withdrew into the cuff. Draped behind was a silk cape, so fantastically bizarre she could not tear her eyes from it.

  “My father said a gentleman always sports a cape to a formal event.”

  “Your father is a hundred and fifty years old.”

  “He’s still got moves. I have to go in the backyard when they make love because the noise is deafening.”

  She stared at him, suitably horrified.

  The music started up and Duchess watched a group of girls run at the dancefloor.

  Thomas Noble fetched them a juice and they found seats at a table by a heart-shaped stage and photographer.

  “Thanks for coming with me.”

  “You already said that eighteen times.”

  “You want cake?”

  “No.”

  “How about some potato chips?”

  “No.”

  They played something fast. Jacob Liston cleared a space and broke out his best moves while the girl he was with clapped awkwardly.

  Duchess frowned. “I think he might be having a fit.”

  The song switched to something slow, the floor thinned.

  “You want to—”

  “Don’t make me say it again.”

  “Nice suit, Thomas Noble.” Billy Ryle and Chuck Sullivan. “At least it hides his cripple hand.” Laughter.

  Thomas Noble sipped his juice and kept his eyes on the dancefloor.

  She reached over and took his bad hand. “Dance with me.”

  As they passed she leaned over and said something to Billy. He moved away quick.

  “Keep your hands away from my ass,” she said, as they reached the floor.

  “What did you say to Billy?”

  “I told him you had a ten-inch cock.”

  He shrugged. “That’s a quarter-truth.”

  She laughed, so much and so hard she’d forgotten how good it felt.

  She held him. “Shit, Thomas Noble. I can feel every rib.”

  “And that’s in clothes. You wouldn’t want to see me topless.”

  “I can imagine. I once saw a documentary about famine.”

  “I’m glad you came here.”

  “You wore me down with relentless pressure. Your father would be proud.”

  They bumped into Jacob Liston and his date. Jacob was wriggling like he needed to piss. Duchess sho
t his date a compassionate smile.

  “I mean here. Montana. I’m glad you came to stay.”

  “Why?”

  “I just—” He stopped moving and for a wretched moment she thought he might try and kiss her. “I just never met an outlaw before.”

  She stepped a little closer and moved with him.

  * * *

  Walk sat in his office, blinds drawn but town lights cut the dark. He cradled the phone on his shoulder, made notes as he spoke to Hal. He rested his feet on a stack of papers, saw his tray fit to burst. He’d get to it all, the mess bothered everyone but him.

  He checked in each week, same time on a Friday night.

  It was usually quick, a catchup about how the boy was doing alright, still seeing the shrink. And then on to the girl. Sometimes they’d speak five minutes, just long enough for Hal to tell of something bad she’d done, and how he’d had to check his laughter till he was done being pissed. Walk knew that act well.

  “It’s slow,” Hal said. “With Duchess it’s slow, but she’s getting better. It’s getting better.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Tonight she’s at the school dance.”

  “Wait a minute. Duchess is at a dance?”

  “It’s the winter formal. They go all out. The whole of Evergreen Middle is lit up, you can see the spotlight from Cold Creek.”

  Walk allowed himself a smile. The girl was doing alright. Against the odds, and they were stacked, she was living a life.

  “And Robin. I think he’s starting to remember.”

  Walk dropped his feet down again and pressed the receiver so tight he could hear the old man breathing.

  “Nothing concrete.”

  “Did he mention any names? Darke?”

  Hal must have heard the desperation there because he spoke the next lines softly. “Nothing concrete, Walk. I think he’s slowly opening himself to the fact that he might have been there when his mother was murdered. The shrink is good, she doesn’t ask or pry or try and guide him anyplace at all.”

  “Part of me hopes he doesn’t remember.”

  “I said that to her. She told me there was a decent chance he never would.”