We Begin at the End(11)

“Not anymore.”

“He’s still got his father’s Mustang.”

“I remember the day his old man got it. Half the street gathered.”

“You wanted to steal it.”

Vincent laughed. “Borrow it, Walk. Just borrow it.”

“He loves that car. I think he sees it, you know. A better time in his life. The hair, the clothes, the guy still lives in seventy-eight. You see, he hasn’t changed, Vin. None of us have, not really.”

Vincent stripped the label from his beer but still did not drink. “And Martha May? Has she changed much?”

Walk stalled at the mention of her name, just for a second. “She’s a lawyer over in Bitterwater. She handles breakups and family stuff mostly.”

“I always thought she was it for you. I know we were young, but the way you looked at her.”

“Kind of like the way you looked at Star.”

The receiver fumbled and the ball bounced its way toward the stand. Brandon was up quick and moved fast considering the limp. He scooped up the ball but instead of passing it to the receiver he sent it forty yards to the quarterback, who plucked it out of the air.

“He’s still got the arm,” Walk said.

“Makes it worse, I guess.”

“Will you go and see Star?”

“She told you she didn’t want me there.”

Walk frowned and Vincent smiled. “I can always read you, Walk. When you said you think she needs a little time … shit, hasn’t it been long enough? But then I was thinking she’s right. Sometimes there’s just too much history there. But you and Martha.”

“She … we don’t speak anymore.”

“You want to tell me?”

Walk opened another beer. “That night, after the verdict. We were together. She fell pregnant.”

Vincent stared at the field.

“And her father. What with him being a minister and all.”

“Shit, Walk.”

“Yeah.”

“And she wanted to be a minister too, follow in his sacred steps.”

Walk cleared his throat. “He made her … abortion. I mean, it was for the … we were kids. But you can’t come back from something like that. And it wasn’t just the way he looked at me, it was the way she did. Like she saw a mistake.”

“And you looked at her and saw—”

“Everything. I saw it all. Like my parents, they were together fifty-three years. House and kid and life.”

“Did she marry?”

Walk shrugged. “I sent her a letter. About six years back, it was Christmas and I had the old photos out and, you know. She didn’t reply.”

“It’s not too late to fix things.”

“I could say the same to you.”

Vincent stood. “I’m thirty years too late to fix things.”

*

The bar was in San Luis, which wasn’t more than a wide stretch of highway that carved fallow fields and sloped its way toward the Altanon Valley.

Star had borrowed the old Comanche from Milton across the street. The aircon didn’t work so Duchess and Robin leaned their heads out the window like a pair of dogs, both tired but this was how it went at least once every month.

Duchess had brought her project with her, and she clutched the papers tight as Star led them across the lot, squeezing between two pickups and through a back door. Star carried a beat-up guitar case, wore denim cutoffs high on her ass and a top cut low on her chest.

“You shouldn’t dress like that.”

“Yeah, well, the tips are better.”

Duchess cursed under her breath and Star turned. “Please. Just lay off tonight, watch your brother and don’t get in any trouble.”

Duchess led Robin to a booth at the back, slid him in first then sat beside, fencing him off from a place he had no business being in. Star fetched them a soda each as Duchess set out her report, and then some plain paper for her brother. She took out his pencil case and laid his pens out.

“Will she sing about the bridge?” Robin said.

“Always.”

“I love that one. Will you sing it with her?”

“No.”

“Good. I hate it when she cries up there.”

Smoke drifted from spilling ashtrays. Dark wood, flags above the bar, the light dim enough. Duchess heard laughter, her mother sinking shots with two men, she needed them before she went on.

Robin reached for the bowl of nuts on the table, Duchess pushed his hand away. “Full of piss.”

She stared at the page, the space for her father, the long empty branches of her family tree. The day before, Cassidy Evans had stood up front and told of her lineage, then showed off a crooked, noble line that ran from her to the Du Ponts, so vivid was her telling that Duchess could almost smell the gunpowder.

“I drawed you.”

“Drew.”

He pushed the paper across and Duchess smiled. “My teeth that big?” She pinched his side till he laughed so much Star looked over and motioned them quiet.

“Tell me again about Billy Blue Radley,” Robin said.

“The way I read it he was fearless. He held up a bank then led the sheriff for a thousand miles.”

“He sounds bad.”