Chris Whitaker - We Begin at the End

Walk’s mind ran to Star, three ribs snapped like that. He thanked Yuto and hung up.

He swallowed, tasted the whisky still, his throat drying up, heart beginning to race away. He stood, left the station and made the walk, night now, nothing to see but distant light riding the waves, the steady pull of boats crossing the bay.

He breathed salt wind, moved slow enough, tried collecting his thoughts but they ran and formed pictures he did not want to see. Along Brycewood Avenue, neighbors he knew from the summers before, when the town was his.

He stopped at the end of Sunset when he saw Vincent across the street, back to him, moving fast, dark jeans and shirt. He thought of calling out, instead followed, far enough back. He wondered how the man felt, death to life.

Along the street and up, two minutes and Vincent climbed over the gray wall, dry-laid stone, jagged against soft streetlight. He walked up to the wishing tree, not breaking stride, just bent quick, and then he was up, glancing back and around.

A car at the top of the street, falling headlights up and over the hill. Walk moved into the shadow, Vincent, spooked, moved on, at pace, away from the beams, into the night.

Walk watched the car pass, and then he climbed the wall and dropped to long grass. At the tree he felt around blind, then took out his cell and lit the base.

The hole, close to the dirt, small enough to miss.

He knelt, reached a hand in, and pulled out a gun.

40

“THOSE FOOTPRINTS ON THE MOON,” Thomas Noble said. “The Apollo astronauts made them and they’ll stay there for at least ten million years.”

She saw sky no longer endless. She knew about souls and the prophetic, about divine reunion and a world to come. She tried not to think of Robin, if he woke that morning frightened, she swallowed a lump of such bitter shame she almost cried out.

“Where will you go?”

“I have business to attend to.”

“You could stay here.”

“No.”

“I could come with you.”

“No.”

“I’m brave. I took a blue eye for you.”

“For that I will always be grateful.”

They lay at the end of his yard, the woodland behind made shadows of them.

“What you’ve been through,” he said. “It isn’t fair.”

“You sound like a child. The notion of fair.” She closed her eyes.

“You know nothing good will come of any of this.”

A star bled from the sky. She did not make a wish. Wishing on stars was for children, and Duchess knew she was no longer one of those. She wondered if she ever had been.

“All these people,” Duchess said. “They spend a lifetime looking to the sky and asking questions. Does God intervene, if he doesn’t, why do they still pray?”

“Faith. The hope that he will.”

“Because otherwise life is too small.”

He spoke again quietly. “I worry you won’t find a way back.”

Duchess watched the moon.

“I used to ask God about my hand. Why? That kind of thing. I used to pray I’d wake up normal. You know what, those were wasted prayers.”

“Maybe they’re all wasted.”

“Stay here with me. I’ll hide you.”

“I have to do something.”

“I want to help you.”

“You can’t.”

“You want me to just let you go alone. Is that brave?”

She took his good hand and they linked fingers. She wondered what it would be like to be him, his troubles so slight, his mother in the house sleeping, his future so unblemished, so wide open like that.

“They’ll look for you.”

“Not all that hard. Another Welfare runaway.”

“You deserve to be found. And what about Robin?”

“Please,” she said, so close to the edge. “They might come see you. Cops. They might come ask you where I am and where I’m going. You’ll think about telling, that you know what’s best.”

“And if I do.”

“You don’t.”

She lay till morning. His mother left early, dressed in workout gear, her Lexus creeping silent from the driveway as Thomas Noble opened the back door.

Duchess went into the Noble house, washed up and ate cereal.

There was a safe, Thomas Noble took fifty dollars and handed it to her. She fought to say no, he stuffed the bills into her hand.

“I’ll pay you back.”

She filled her bag with a couple of cans, beans and soup. She moved fast, saw Shelly was moving faster because the telephone rang and the machine picked it up.

They listened.

“She sounds worried.”

“She has a thousand more like me.”

At the door she saw bags ready to be packed. Thomas Noble would go on vacation in a few days. He would forget her. His life would go on, she smiled at that thought.

Outside the street woke, garbage truck at one end, mailman at the other.

Thomas Noble wheeled out his bicycle and leaned it against the gate. “Take it.”

She went to say no but he placed a hand on her shoulder. “Just take it. You’ll get further before they pick you up.”

“I’ll be a ghost. I already am.”

“Will I see you?”

“Yeah.” They both knew it was a lie, he let it go, leaned forward and kissed her cheek.

She got on the bike, bag over her shoulder, all she had in the world.

“Later, Thomas Noble.”

He raised his good hand as she rode down his driveway and into the street. Then she pedaled hard, not looking back, wind streaking her face as she left the light roads behind and sought out the dark.

An hour and she was on Main Street. She left the bike out front of Jackson Hollis Funeral Parlor and stepped inside, the central air hitting her so hard her skin pricked.

“Duchess,” Magda said with a smile. “Nice to see you again.”

Magda ran the place with her husband, Kurt, a man that shared pallor with his clientele. He must have been with someone because the drape was pulled, the coffins hid.

“I wanted to collect my grandfather’s ashes.”

“I wondered when you’d come. Shelly said she’d bring you one day.”

“She’s in the car.” Duchess nodded toward a Nissan across the street, parked at an angle that blocked the view.

Magda headed out back and returned a minute later with a small urn.

Duchess took it, turned to leave as the drapes parted and Dolly came out, Kurt behind. Duchess slipped out and onto the sidewalk, made it almost to Cherry’s before Dolly caught up with her.

“Duchess.”

Dolly led her inside and sat her down in the corner. She went to the counter and ordered for them.

Dolly had aged, makeup not quite so perfect, hair not curled so neat. She still wore the names, Chanel bag and shoes.

“I’d say it’s nice to see you back here.”

“But.”

Dolly smiled.

“I’m sorry about Bill. I didn’t know.”

“He was ready. Turned out I was not.”

Duchess’s bag lay open, the clothes, the cans. She pulled it closed and zipped it.

Dolly looked at her with sadness.

“What will you do now?” Duchess asked.

“Bury my husband. Beyond that I haven’t given it much thought. There were trips, places we wanted to see. I don’t know if I’ll do it alone. But he had a good life, that’s all we can ask, right?”

“Thomas Noble talks about fair.”

Dolly smiled. “I get that.”

“Fair means someone is in control.”

“I heard about the man. It was on the news. I thought of you, and of Robin. Maybe that’s what Thomas Noble meant. About how someone goes through life causing pain to others, and some people just try and get on. The two always seem to collide.”

Duchess thought of Dolly, her life, her father, impression cast. “Hal said that man was the cancer of our family. His reach is far, to me and Robin. To my brother. I can’t …”