We Begin at the End

by Chris Whitaker

  The whole time she watched and worried, Robin taking Peter’s hand and clutching it tight, then petting Jet and smiling too wide. When Lucy mentioned they kept chickens Duchess hoped and prayed Peter didn’t tell Robin the same thing.

  Ten minutes later Robin turned and mouthed chickens to her. Duchess gave him a smile and Robin clapped his hands.

  They kept to a safe limit, no talk of the past though Lucy said she was sorry about Hal, about everything. She told how her own mother passed when she was small.

  When it was time, Robin hugged Peter so long Duchess had to intervene.

  Robin talked the journey back, not stopping for air. He said Peter mentioned meeting again, how he’d let him hold Jet’s leash next time. Shelly told him he did good, that Peter and Lucy said how much they liked meeting them.

  “And?” Robin said.

  “We’ll see. But I’ve got that good feeling again,” Shelly said.

  Robin clapped his hands, then he jumped from the car and ran up the path to the Price house. Mrs. Price met him at the door and smiled for Shelly.

  “You shouldn’t say shit like that. Not till you know.”

  “It’s important to stay positive,” Shelly said.

  Duchess rubbed her eyes, the year long, the uncertainty draining.

  She was not sure if she believed in God, but that night she prayed.

  34

  WALK FOUND HER AT THE church.

  He stood by the door, rested a hand on the old clapboard and looked to the water, the flowers on graves.

  Martha sat alone on the front bench, her eyes on the stained glass and the pulpit, the same seat she used to take each Sunday morning when her father was minister. Walk took his seat at the back, silent, not wanting to disturb her. He had spent the morning on the phone, first to Boyd, to fill him in on Milton. He told him about the link to Darke, that they went hunting together and that Milton was seen entering and leaving Darke’s place. He could not mention the blood, but Boyd said he would work on it, get a warrant.

  And then he’d called a trial lawyer over in Clearlake, a guy named Carter, one of Martha’s contacts. Carter wanted a meet with Vincent King, Walk could not make that happen. It was looming, weeks away, not long enough for anyone to prepare.

  “I need you,” he said, and the old church carried his words, causing her to stop, lift her head but not turn. She finished speaking whatever silent words she had chosen.

  He walked down, together they sat before the old cross and the sainted neighbors.

  “I need you. For the trial.”

  “I know.”

  He looked down at his tie, gold clip, starred collar, he had never felt so weak, or maybe he always had, but did not realize it till then. He had seen Kendrick again, upped the dose. There was no way to stop what would come.

  “I’ll make mistakes. And they will matter.”

  “I know it’s unfair.”

  “It’s more than that. It’s life and death. I once wanted to stand up front and help people that way. A port of call when times were good and bad. He took that from me. My father.”

  “You could have still—”

  She cut him off with eyes full of tears. “I didn’t want to live a lie.”

  “Milton is dead. The butcher. I think Darke killed him. I think Darke killed Hal to get to the children.”

  “He’s worried the boy will remember.”

  Walk nodded. “Darke can’t come back here now. He owes money to people, bad people.” He’d run the plates, this time got a hit. The sedan was registered to a construction company in Riverside, one of the directors was linked to a known crime family. Darke’s problems would not go away.

  She looked at him then. “Take it to Boyd. They need protecting.”

  “I have. He still doesn’t buy it.”

  “Because Vincent King is in the way.”

  “But if he were innocent. If we can get him off …”

  “Shit, Walk. The best trial lawyer in the country couldn’t get him off.”

  “If Vincent is innocent then Darke is coming for Robin Radley, not Duchess.” Walk closed his eyes to the tremors, rubbed his neck, the muscles so stiff it hurt to turn his head.

  “You want to tell me what’s wrong now, Walk? You think I haven’t noticed all this time. You look tired. You’ve lost a lot of weight.”

  “It’s just the stress.”

  “Say that enough and you’ll start to believe it.”

  “I won’t.”

  He watched an old lady pass the door, a kneel and cross before she went on. Maybe she slept better after.

  “You’re all purpose, Walk. I used to look at you and see everything inside.”

  “I want to be that man again. I just … it’s all changing. I’m losing myself. I feel it, every day. I used to think everything was changing around me. I drove past Toller land. Hard to imagine, all those homes.”

  “People need to live somewhere, Walk.”

  “Second homes. They’ll push the town further away.”

  “You like things how they are. I’ve seen your house. Your office. You cling hard enough to the past.”

  “There was a time when things were better. When we were kids, don’t you remember that? I saw my life fixed, cop in the town I grew up in, wife and kids, Little League, camping out.”

  “And Vincent across the street, maybe your wives are friends. You vacation together. You barbeque, watch your kids in the surf.”

  “I still see that moment, thirty years and it’s clear. It’s so … I can touch it. But I can’t change it.”

  “Tell me about the Vincent you remember.”

  “There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for me. That kind of blind loyalty. He had girls, but Star was the one for him. He was quick with his fists, but never started the fight. He could go quiet, sometimes for days, and I knew his father was on him. And he was funny. He was everything to me. He was my brother. He is my brother.”

  He could not read her eyes then. Outside the sun shone, the birds sang. “I thought I’d marry you, Martha. You know that?”

  “I know that.”

  “You’re on my mind. First thing in the morning. And when I lie in bed at night.”

  “Masturbation is a sin.”

  “Don’t say masturbation in church.”

  “You like me because I’m safe, Walk. I’m the mirror of you. I don’t change, no surprises. Simple and dependable, till our idyllic childhood was shattered.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “It is. But there’s nothing wrong with that. We help people, Walk. I can think of no better way to live a life.”

  “So you’ll do it.”

  She did not answer.

  “You think we’d have been together in another life?”

  “This one ain’t over yet, Chief.” She reached across and calmed the shake of his hand with the warmth of hers.

  * * *

  Peter and Lucy picked them up from the Price house.

  Shelly sat with them in the SUV, on the rear bench busying herself with paperwork as they drove.

  Peter and Robin talked endlessly during the ride, about Jet and how he was afraid of birds, about a patient Peter saw who had hiccups a full year.

  “Did you try scaring him?” Robin said.

  “Pete’s face is enough to scare anyone.” Lucy winked at Duchess in the mirror. For her part Duchess smiled back, though she could not manage a laugh. That morning Mary Lou told her there wasn’t a chance some nice doctor and his wife would want a troubled girl in their house, not a girl that makes shitty grades and likes playing with guns. Duchess had taken it, eaten her cornflakes in silence while Mary Lou walked over and yanked the power cable from the back of the television they were watching.

  They pulled over short of anywhere, idling at the side of the road while Peter and Lucy turned in their seats. Peter read from a guidebook.

  “Going to the Sun Road. You ready?”

  “Ready,” Robin said.

  Pe
ter looked at Duchess and smiled.

  Beside her Robin squeezed her hand tight. “Ready.”

  Going to the Sun Road spanned fifty miles of towering rock. Light met them at the east tunnel, two mountains parting like the opening of a show.

  They crawled along sheer drops, the road twisting to nothing ahead, a rollercoaster ride so beautiful Duchess closed her eyes.

  They traversed valleys, waterfalls loud beside, wildflower so many colors. Cliffside trails fell to limpid lakes, tall pines leaned with the hill, like they were trying not to fall.

  Lucy pulled out a Nikon and snapped off shot after shot. Behind, Shelly leaned forward and placed a hand on Duchess’s shoulder, gave it a squeeze like she knew the girl needed it.

  They pulled off at Jackson Glacier. Lucy took a hamper from the trunk and laid a blanket on the grass. Robin sat with Peter and they ate sandwiches and potato chips, drank juice boxes and watched waving shadows over the lagoon.

  “Grandpa would like it here,” Robin said.

  Duchess ate her sandwich, thanked Lucy and tried to smile. At times she felt so far from a place she had never been, like home was somewhere out there and calling, she just did not know how to find it. She wiped her eyes on her sleeve, felt Lucy watching her and maybe wondering, how fucked up is this kid? Do I really want her in my life for now and always?

  “Are you okay, Duchess?” Lucy said.

  “Yes. Thank you.” She wanted it to sound sincere but didn’t know how. She wanted to convey it, that she could live quietly in their life, not disrupt, not impact at all so long as they loved her brother and cared for him.

  She stood and walked to the fencing, leaned over and watched shallow water and blue stone beneath, purple flowers that bled with bright, a sweep of lodgepole serried.

  Lucy joined her, said nothing and Duchess was grateful.

  On the ride back they slowed for mountain goat and bighorn sheep.

  “What if they fall?” Robin said.

  “Don’t worry,” Peter said. “I’m a doctor.”

  Lucy rolled her eyes.

  Duchess studied Peter, the way he drove so cautiously, how natural his smile was. She imagined a life ordered, where everything fit just right. There was a calm to him, unhurried, people would pass him by and he didn’t notice or care. She thought he’d make a decent father for Robin.

  When they got back she watched Robin hug Peter, arms locked tight around his waist. And she saw the look that passed between them, Peter and Lucy.

  Duchess knew it with some certainty.

  They had found their new home.

  35

  THEY WORKED LONG INTO THE night, Martha making coffee at midnight then again at two.

  They’d spent the afternoon in Fairmount County, with Vincent. Martha had recorded, tried to coach and prompt but there was no way Vincent would take to the stand so he’d said nothing. It was an exercise in futility, but Walk had hoped maybe seeing that Martha believed in him would give Vincent the excuse he needed to finally unload everything that had happened that night.

  It was on the way in that Cuddy had caught up with him, handed him an envelope.

  “What is this?” Walk asked.

  “Vincent. He got mail. Doesn’t say much of anything. Thought you might want to take a look.”

  Walk had waited till he was alone in the waiting room before he’d unfolded the paper. A letter, typed but no doubt it was from Darke. Funds are hard to come by but I haven’t given up. I know I’m letting you down, so I’ve found a way to make things right. Good luck at trial, sometimes wishes do come true.

  He’d read it a dozen times, looked for something that was not there, something he didn’t already know. Darke had a conscience, maybe. It no longer mattered.

  When he handed the letter over, Vincent had shoved it straight into his pocket, turned back to Martha and changed the subject. A line was drawn, and Walk was clearly on the other side of it.

  With the trial on the horizon, Martha spent her days prepping, calling in favors, even driving down to see her old professor who lived in Cameron County.

  She and Walk set up an office in his basement, covered every wall with papers and photos and maps. She read trial transcripts, practiced her opening statement so many times Walk knew every word of it. Martha knew the D.A. by reputation, and knew she’d have been prepping for months. The facts were cogent: Vincent King knew the victim and was found in her house covered in her blood.

  There was talk of subpoenaing Dickie Darke, but they could not find him. The D.A. already had his statement. There was nothing tying him to the scene, and doing so would see Dee Lane called to the stand, and Walk would not do that to her children. No doubt he would be called as a state witness.

  They mapped out local lives and where they intersected. The D.A. would claim Vincent had dumped the gun in the water. Martha could prove that was not possible in the time he had. It was a small win. They needed it.

  At nine Walk sat on a chair and felt the tremor first in his left hand, then his right leg. He closed his eyes like he could will it away. He slowed his breathing and cursed his body for such betrayal at so crucial a time.

  “Are you okay, Walk?”

  He went to speak but felt it in his face, his jaw and lips. A tingling, then the same tremble of his body. It would pass, but not in time. He felt tears, hot and shameful. He tried to raise a hand to wipe them back, before she saw, but his hand would not move.

  He closed his eyes and willed himself from that room and that town and maybe that life. He thought back to being ten years old, riding his bike with Vincent, the two of them crossing each other and smiling the open way only children can.

  And then he felt hands on his, not firm but there, warm. He opened his eyes and saw Martha on her knees before him. Her beautiful eyes, even filled with tears.

  “It’s alright.”

  He shook his head, it was not alright and would not be alright again. It had been a dozen years since he cried. But right then, when he looked around at the perfect mess his life had become, he sobbed like he was fifteen and Vincent had been sent away all over again.

  “Why do you carry Vincent with you?”

  “It’s on me. That night, after I found Sissy. I went to his place and saw the car. I knew right off it was him.”

  “I know. You told me.”

  “But I could have woken him. He would have handed himself in. It would have looked better, to that judge and jury. The judge would’ve been lenient. Instead I took it to Chief Dubois. Who does that? Who the fuck does that to their friend?”

  Martha took his face in her hands. “You did what was right, Walk. You always have done. The way you looked out for Star even when I know she would’ve pushed you away, it’s something special, to do that is something special.”

  “We endure, right. That’s what we do for those we love.”

  “The world would be a better place with more people like you in it.” She spoke so sincerely he could’ve believed her. But instead he looked over her shoulder at the board and his friend. They did not have time left for any of this.

  He kissed her, suddenly, without thinking.

  He started to apologize but then her lips found his, and there was something frantic in the way she kissed him, like she’d been waiting thirty years. She pushed him back, and then pulled him to his feet, took his hand and led him up to the bedroom. He wanted to stop her, to tell her she was making another mistake, that she was better than him in every way. But when she kissed him, he felt it. Fifteen all over again.

  The news came in late, Walk’s cell dragging him from the deepest sleep he’d had in a long time. He sat up, Martha stirred beside him.

  He listened in silence, then cut the call and lay back.

  “What?”

  He stared at the ceiling. “The autopsy on Milton. He drowned. Nothing else, no other injuries. He just drowned.”

  Martha got to her feet quick, despite the dark sky. “This is it, Walk.”

 
“What?”

  “The gamechanger we’ve been waiting for.”

  * * *

  That night Robin woke crying, the sheets wet through, the nightmare that gripped him so vivid he could not speak for the first moments Duchess held him.

  “It was Mom. I was locked in my bedroom and I heard Mom and she was screaming. I want Peter and Lucy. I want Mom. And Grandpa. I want to go back and for this to be the nightmare.”

  She hushed him and kissed his head.

  After she helped him wash she pulled plastic sheeting from the other bed and they settled in there. She left the drapes open and they watched a night sky of plentiful stars and the fullest moon.

  “It’ll be okay, you know.”

  “You think they’ll take us to Wyoming?”

  “Your future isn’t written yet, Robin. You can be anything. You’re a prince.”

  “I want to be a doctor like Peter.”

  “You’d make a good doctor.”

  After he fell asleep she sat down by the window and took out her schoolbook. She did her history paper as best she could. She was struggling again.

  She looked over at her brother and knew without doubt he was the color to her shade.

  The next day as they walked toward school Mary Lou took turns leaning in to the other kids’ ears and whispering something that made them wrinkle their noses tight and laugh.

  “What is it?” Robin said to Duchess.

  “Nothing. Probably something dumb she saw on TV.”

  It continued the whole walk, along Hickory and into Grove Street. They collected four more kids, the Wilson twins, Emma Brown and her brother Adam. Each time Mary Lou did that same thing, brought them close and whispered, watching in delight as they recoiled then laughed.

  “Ewww, gross,” Emma said.

  Robin looked up at Duchess again. “Henry didn’t want me walking with the big kids today.”

  “Henry’s an asshole.”

  Duchess stared at them as they walked, at Mary Lou who kept looking back and smirking, and Kelly and Emma and fucking Henry and his cunt friends. She felt that cold lead in her veins begin to melt and turn molten as they reached the school gates and Mary Lou took her whispers to a cluster of kids from her class. They all turned. Giggles turned to open laughs, faces pulled in disgust.