We Begin at the End(83)

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.

Peter 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?”