Chris Whitaker - We Begin at the End

“You can leave now.” She did not turn. “You don’t need to stay longer. I see everyone in there, watching the clock. Like Hal would’ve wanted them in his house anyhow.”

He stepped beneath the arched roof. “I’m sorry.”

She raised a hand, it’s alright, fuck off, he didn’t know which and it did not matter much.

“There’s a kid in there, he keeps looking out for you.”

“Thomas Noble. He doesn’t know me, not really.”

“It’s important to have friends, right?”

“He’s a normal kid. Two parents. Makes good grades. Six weeks at their vacation home in Myrtle Beach each summer. We breathe different air.”

“Are you eating alright?”

“Are you? You look different, Walk. Where’s that soft gone?”

She wore only her dress but did not shiver.

“That lady at the church with Robin—” he started.

“Mrs. Price. That’s what she likes us to call her. In case we forget how temporary our place is. She came to show face.”

Walk met her eye for a moment, then she looked away.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Fuck, Walk. Stop saying that. Hand we get dealt, right. Fate, resignation. There’s no difference.”

“They don’t teach that at church.”

“Free will is an illusion, sooner you accept the sooner you get on.”

“The farm?”

“I heard them talking. Hal had debts, it’ll go at auction and they’ll be cleared. Radley land. We’re all just caretakers.”

“And Robin?”

Sadness then, that only he could see, buried deep behind her eyes.

“He’s … he doesn’t speak now. He hasn’t said much but yes or no. They’ll try and place us, foster care till then. Mrs. Price, Mr. Price, they get paid to take us in. Feed us. Send us to bed at eight because they like their own time.”

“Christmas.” He regretted the word, like it had a place.

“Our case worker brought gifts. Mrs. Price, she didn’t leave nothing out for Robin.”

He swallowed.

She turned and patted the gray again. “She’ll get sold, unless someone wants her with the farm. I hope they don’t run her hard. She limps a little now, after that night.”

“She fell.”

“I fell,” she said, bitter. “It wasn’t on her. She’s a decent horse. She stayed with me, after, just there, beside me.”

The snow began to drift once again. He looked back at the farmhouse, the boy with glasses being led out by his mother, craning his neck to get a look at Duchess. He thought of Vincent and Star.

“Will you get to stay here, same school?”

“We have a woman, she works our case. That’s what we are now, Walk. A case. We are numbers and a file. A list of traits and mistakes.”

“You’re not a number. You’re an outlaw.”

“Maybe my father’s blood is so fucking weak it steals away the Radley. I’m not Star or Hal, Robin or Billy Blue. I am one night, one mistake, one reaction. I’m nothing more.”

“You can’t think that.”

She turned from him, like she was talking to the gray. “I’ll never know who I am.”

He looked across frozen land, the elk in numbers at the base of the mountain. “If you need me.”

“I know.”

“But still.”

“That old priest. He asked us the meaning of life one time, after service. The young kids, he asked us all in turn. Most talked about family and love.”

“And you?”

“I said nothing, because Robin was there.” She coughed. “But you know what Robin said?”

He shook his head.

“He said life means having somebody care enough to protect you.”

“He’s got you.”

“And look where we are.”

“But you know that’s not—”

She held up another fuck you hand.

“They think the man Hal shot is dead.”

“I know.”

“They won’t search for him anymore. It was Darke. They don’t believe me.”

Together they walked through snow toward the cruiser.

“I think of Vincent King.”

He wanted to make a link, Star to Darke. He could not.

“You know this isn’t on you.” He read her well.

“It is, Walk. This time it is on me.”

He turned and wanted to hug her but she stuck out a hand and he shook it.

“I don’t think I’ll see you again.”

“I’ll keep in touch.”

“Can you not?” The first shake in her voice, just slight but he saw her turn her head. “Just go and tell me to be good or something, like you used to. And then you get on and I’ll get on. Ours is a small story, Chief Walker. Sad enough, but small. Let’s not pretend different.”

They stood in a silence that rode over the trees and the Radley land.

“Alright,” he said.

“And?”

“Be good, Duchess.”

29

THEIR CASE WORKER WORE PURPLE lipstick, as close to somber as she ever got.

Shelly. Her hair was three kinds of color, none of which Duchess decided were natural. She was loving, soulful, she held their future with the kind of care warranted, and cried openly for the man she had never met.

They sat in the back of her rusting Volvo 740. Coke cans on the floor, ashtray spilling though she never smoked when they were in the car.

Duchess turned by the water and watched the farmhouse for the last time as they dipped beneath the praying trees.

“You kids alright back there?” Shelly crunched second and the car shuddered.

Duchess reached over and took her brother’s small hand. He did not fight her and did not squeeze back, just let it lie there, limp and dead to her.

Shelly smiled in the mirror. “It was a lovely service.”

They drove mile on mile of white, winter reaching so long they could not recall fall, air so chill Duchess was grateful. Let the world freeze over, let all the colors drain till the canvas was blank once more.

They arrived in the town of Sadler, lines of neat, shoveled driveways.

The Price house sat on a street of identical ten-year-old homes. Theirs was painted a shade of putty so bland it was as if the developer was ashamed to blight such beautiful land with it.

“Here we are. You alright with Mr. and Mrs. Price?” Shelly asked that often.

“Yes,” Robin said.

“And Henry and Mary Lou?”

The Price children, close enough in age but a world apart. Church polite in front of their parents, but Duchess heard them talking amongst themselves, about Hal and what happened, how they should not go near the girl because rumor had it she chased down a man and fired a shotgun at him. And what kind of girl does that.

Obviously too sheltered to know of outlaws.

“They’re fine,” Duchess said.

They said goodbyes and took hugs. Duchess led Robin up the Price path. Shelly waited till Mr. Price opened the door then waved again and deserted them.

Duchess went to help Robin with his smart shoes but he moved away from her and did it himself.

Mr. Price said nothing, did not ask after the funeral, just turned his back and left them to it. Duchess could not claim they were mistreated, just left far behind. Dinner on different plates, drinks in plastic beakers instead of glass. They were left with the television set in the playroom while the Prices sat in the den. Here but not.

Duchess followed Robin through to the kitchen, white units and marble, Henry’s report cards on the refrigerator, Mary Lou’s artwork framed and hung above the dining table. Robin stood at the doors and looked out. The yard. The snowman was large, Mr. Price and Henry rolled more and more.

Mrs. Price and Mary Lou crossed snow with sticks, broke them to the right length for arms. Henry said something and they laughed.

“You want to go out?” Duchess said.

At that moment Mrs. Price looked up, saw them, then turned and went back to her own. She placed an arm around Mary Lou, protective, defining.