We Begin at the End(35)

“You want to tell me what’s going on?”

“I sent you a letter.”

“I got it. I’m sorry.”

“I meant it.”

“And everything else in there.”

“I meant that too.”

“I won’t put the house up. Maybe after the trial, once we know the future.”

Vincent looked pained, like he’d called on a favor and found Walk all out. He’d been clear, the letter, his writing so graceful Walk read it twice. Sell the house. Take the offer, the million bucks from Dickie Darke.

“I already have the check. I just need you to take care of the paperwork.”

Walk shook his head. “Just wait and we’ll—”

“You look like shit,” Vincent said.

“I’m fine.”

They settled back to silence.

“Duchess and Ro … and the boy. The little boy.” He said the names quietly, like he wasn’t worthy of speaking them.

“You need something, Vincent. We can talk about it, we can sort something out but I think you need to take some time on it.”

“That’s something I do have.”

Walk took a stick of gum from his pocket and offered one over.

“Contraband,” Vincent said.

“Right.”

Walk stared at him, looking for something he couldn’t see. Not guilt, not remorse. He’d toyed with the idea that Vincent missed it, institutionalized. He didn’t buy it, it didn’t fit at all. Vincent looked away, all the time, never meeting his eye for longer than a blink.

“I know, Vin.”

“What do you know?”

“That you didn’t do it.”

“Guilt is decided long before the act is committed. People just don’t realize it. They think they have a choice. They look back, play it different, sliding doors, but they never really did.”

“You won’t speak because you know I’ll tie you up. You can’t keep a consistent lie.”

“That’s not—”

“If you did it where’s the gun?”

Vincent swallowed. “I do need you to instruct a lawyer for me.”

Walk breathed out, smiled and tapped the table with the flat of his hand. “Yes, good. I know a couple of guys, good trial lawyers.”

“I want Martha May.”

Walk stopped tapping. “Excuse me?”

“Martha May. I want her and no one else.”

“She works family law.”

“She’s the only lawyer I want.”

Walk let it settle a while. “What’s your angle here?”

Vincent kept his eyes down.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Thirty years I’ve been waiting for you.” Walk slammed the table with his hand. “Come on, Vincent. You weren’t … your life, it wasn’t the only one on hold.”

“You think our lives have been close to the same?”

“That’s not what I meant. It was hard on all of us. Star.”

Vincent stood.

“Wait.”

“What is it, Walk? What do you need to say?”

“Boyd and the D.A. They’re going for death.”

The word hung there.

“You tell Martha to come see me. I’ll sign papers.”

“It’ll be a capital case. Jesus, Vincent. Think about what you’re doing.”

Vincent knocked the door and signaled the guard. “I’ll see you, Walk.”

That half smile again, the smile that took him back thirty years and kept Walk from giving up on his friend.





14


THEY SLEPT TILL EIGHT THAT first Sunday.

Duchess woke first, her brother pressed close to her, his face washed gold. He caught the sun quick.

She stepped from the bed into the bathroom and caught the shape of her face in the mirror. She’d lost weight, skinny to start, her cheeks now hollowed, collarbones proud. Each day she looked more like her mother, so much that Robin told her that she should eat something.

As she walked out and into the hallway she saw it. A dress. Flowers on it, maybe daises. Beside was a hanger and on it a smart cotton shirt and dark slacks, the tags still on, size 4-5.

She took the stairs slow, still learning the noises of the old house. At the kitchen door she stood and watched him. Shoes shined, tie, stiff collar. Though she was certain she made no sound he turned.

“I left you a dress out. We go to church on a Sunday. Canyon View, we don’t miss it.”

“Don’t say ‘we’ like you mean me and my brother.”

“The kids like it at the church. They have cake after. I already told Robin and he was alright.”

Robin, Judas, would do anything for cake.

“You go to church. We’ll stay here.”

“I can’t leave you alone.”

“You have for thirteen years.”

He took it.

“You didn’t even buy the right size. Robin is six. You bought four to five, you don’t even know how old your own grandson is.”

Hal swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

She walked over and poured herself coffee. “What makes you think there’s a God anyway?”