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?”
He pointed in the direction of the window. She turned and looked out.
“I don’t see nothing at all.”
“You do, Duchess. You see it all. I know you do.”
“I know what I do see.”
He looked up, tensed a little, like he was more than ready for it.
“I see the shell of a man who’s made a decent mess of his own life, who’s got no friends and no family and no one to give a shit when he drops dead.” She smiled, innocent. “Probably happen in his field, his special fucking land painted in God’s color. He’ll lay there till his skin is green, till the oil tank comes and the delivery guy sees the crows, a hundred crows amongst the wheat. The animals will have torn him up by then. But it won’t matter because they’ll stick him straight in the ground. No one to mourn.”
She saw a slight tremble in his hand as he picked up his coffee. She wanted to go on, maybe she’d talk of her aunt, her darling beautiful aunt whose grave would’ve gone untended because her mother couldn’t face it and Hal had left her so totally alone. If it wasn’t for her, riding the hill, picking the wildflower, Sissy would have just rotted alone. But then she looked up and saw her brother at the door.
Robin climbed up onto the chair opposite Hal. “I dreamed about cake.”
Hal watched Duchess.
“You’ll come to church, won’t you?” Robin stared at her, and she saw it in his eyes, that need for her. “Please, Duchess. Not for God, just for the cake.”
She climbed the stairs and snatched the dress down from where it hung above the bedroom door, swinging on the frame. In the bathroom she opened the cabinet, fished through band-aids and soap and shampoo, found a pair of scissors and got to work.
She cut it short, the daisies stopping high on her pale thighs. A couple of random slashes, showing her back, the top of her stomach. She didn’t run a brush through her hair, just tousled till it was wild. She dug her old sneakers out from beneath the bed and kicked the new sandals across the floor. She had a cut on her knee, grazes from crops that stood as tall as her, and a scar on her arm that she knew would not heal. If she’d had a bust she’d have cut the dress low in front.
They were outside when she came down. Hal had washed the truck the day before, Robin helped him, the two of them soaping it up beneath falling sun, rinsing it off and wiping it down with a worn chamois.
“Oh, Jesus,” Robin said when he saw her.
Hal stopped, stared, took it, then climbed into the truck.
They passed another farm, a line of transmission towers, white rusted brown, the steady hum of lines lost beneath the rattle of the engine. East a pipe rose from the land like a worm feeling the first drum of rain, it carried five hundred yards then buried.
Ten minutes and they passed a lone sign hammered into the dirt, THE TREASURE STATE.
“Did that say ‘treasure’?”
She patted Robin’s knee. She read with him nightly, ten minutes. He was smart, already she could see that, too smart for her and Star. She worried he’d slip behind, old life tugging him back like vines around his feet.
“Minerals.” Hal kept a hand on the wheel but turned once and raised his eyebrows at Robin. “Oro y Plata. Gold and silver.”
Robin tried a whistle but never could get much of a sound.
West was the Flathead, so far Duchess could not make out the buffalo. She could see prairies, hundreds of something, cattle maybe.
“And the headwaters. That water that flows through the rest of the country starts out here.”
Robin did not whistle at that.
They turned. A sign told them it was Canyon View Baptist. The only view she could see was more browns.
The church, vernacular, wood and white, the gable front splintering and the bell tower low enough to throw stones at.
“You couldn’t find a shittier church?”
There were cars and trucks in the small lot. Duchess climbed out into sunlight and stared around. Fifty miles out wind turbines spun.
An old lady wandered over, smiled wide, liver spots and hanging skin, like the earth was calling the flesh to be buried but her brain was too stubborn to cede it.
“Morning, Agnes,” Hal said. “This is Duchess and Robin.”
Agnes extended a skeletal hand. Robin shook it with great care, like he worried it might come free and he’d be tasked with fixing the mess.
“Oh my, that’s a pretty dress,” Agnes said.
“This old rag. I thought it was a little short but Hal said the priest would enjoy it greatly.”
Agnes kept her smile though confusion tried hard to replace it.
Duchess led Robin off toward the church. There was a cluster of kids by the side window, neat hair, every one of them smiling.
“Must be retarded,” Duchess said.
“Can we go play with them?”
“No. They’ll try and steal your soul.”
Robin looked up at her, trying to search for a smile. She held firm.
“How will they steal it?”
“They’ll distract you with unrealistic ideals.”
She fussed with his hair and pushed him toward them, nodding when he turned back.
“Your sister’s dress is gross,” a little girl said. Duchess walked over, the kids all watching her careful. The girl looked past her and waved at a large lady wearing purple eye shadow.
“Is that your mom?” The barb took form.
The girl nodded.
Robin looked up at her, pleading in his eyes.
“We have to go inside now,” Duchess said, swallowing it down.
Robin breathed again.
They sat on a bench at the back of the church.
Dolly strutted in, towering heels and a wave of perfume. She winked at Duchess.
Robin sat between them and asked Hal questions about God that could not be answered by the living.
The priest led them, spoke of places far, war and famine and the desecration of kindness. Duchess let it roll over her till he mentioned death and new beginning, the climax of a plan so vast we should not try to understand or question it. She watched Robin, rapt, knowing certain where his mind was.
When they bowed their heads in prayer she found Star’s face behind her eyes, so clear and untroubled she wanted to cry out. She felt tears well so kept them locked tight. And when the old priest spoke again she stayed bowed, stayed locked to the gateway for fear she would lose that last image she was not yet ready to.
She felt a hand on her, a big hand, reaching over her brother and trying to offer her comfort when she needed it least.
“Fuck you,” she whispered. “Fuck all of you.”
She stood and ran from the church, so fast and so far she could scarcely hear the call of damnation, pressing her into the dirt.
She sat in the long grass and tried to breathe herself calm. She did not notice Dolly until she came to sit beside her.
“Nice dress.”
Duchess ripped up a handful of grass and tossed it into the light breeze.
“I won’t ask if you’re alright.”
“Good.”
Duchess stole a glance at her, bright lips and smoked eyes, hair curled. She wore a cream skirt, navy top cut low, and silk scarf. So much a woman Duchess felt even more a girl.
“That’s a lot of tit for church.”
“I take my bra off and they’d roll down the aisle.”
Duchess did not laugh. “It’s all bullshit. In there.”
Dolly lit her cigarette, the smoke just about covering the perfume. “I see you, Duchess.”
“What do you see?”
“I used to hate like that. The flames get too hot sometimes, right?” The cigarette flared a little in the breeze.
Duchess went back to tearing at the grass. “You don’t know shit about me.”
“I know you’re still young enough. I didn’t work it out till I was old.”
“Work out what?”
“That I wasn’t alone in the world.”
Duchess climbed to her feet. “I know I’m not alone. I’ve got my brother. And I don’t need anyone else. Not Hal, not you, and not God.”
* * *
Bitterwater was a sprawl of concrete and steel. Storefronts papered with fliers for bars and bands and cheap liquor. Twenty miles inland from the Cape, the kind of place where something critical went wrong during planning meets.
Walk passed rows of industrial units, shipping containers stacked, self-storage and trade supplies, before he found the place.
The law office of Martha May, part of a strip mall on the edge of town, was sandwiched between a dry cleaner and a Mexican place that advertised eighty-nine-cent tacos.
Walk left the cruiser in a spot and crossed the lot.
Bitterwater Dental, Spirit Electronics, Red Dairy. A salon where a masked Asian woman sprayed the nails of a tired-looking mother, who rocked a stroller with her foot.
Above the sky grayed and beside the neon blinked. TACOS. He pushed the door and was met by wall to wall people. All women, all with kids and the kind of eyes that told similar, sorry stories. There was a desk, a secretary pushing seventy, blue hair and pink frames. She smacked gum as she typed, cradled a phone between her ear and shoulder and winked at a little girl who was screaming the place down.
Walk stepped out again.
He sat in the car till six, counted off the leavers and watched the secretary climb into a rusting Bronco and spend a good minute firing the engine. When she was gone he crossed the lot. The Mexican place was warming up with weary office workers sipping beer in the window.
He tried the shop door but found it locked, so he knocked a couple of times.
He heard her on the other side of the frosted glass. “We’re closed. You’ll have to come back tomorrow. Sorry.”
“Martha. It’s Walk.”
A minute till he heard the lock snap.
And then there she was.
They eyed each other for a moment. Martha May, brown hair framed an elfin face. She wore a gray suit, Walk almost smiled when he saw the Chuck Taylors she paired with it.
He thought of moving for a hug but she turned, no smile. She led him to her office, which was nicer than he was expecting. Oak desk, potted plant and wall to wall law books. She sat, then motioned for him to follow.
“It’s been a long time, Walk.”
“It has.”
“I’d offer you coffee but I’m too beat.”
“It’s nice to see you, Martha.”
Finally a smile, and it got him the way it always had.
“I’m so sorry about Star. I wanted to come, but I had a court date and couldn’t move it.”
“I got the flowers.”
“Those kids. Jesus.”
There were files on her desk, stacked neatly but towering high. They talked a while, about Star, the shock of it and the way Boyd had taken over. He made it sound like he was on the case too. There was something strained there, the only way it could be when two people who’ve seen each other naked reconvene.
“And Vincent?”
“He didn’t do it.”
She walked over to the window and looked out at a view of the highway behind. He heard the passing cars, the occasional horn, the roar of a motorcycle.
“You’ve done well here, Martha.”
She tilted her head a little. “Why, thank you, Walk. Your approval means so much to me.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“I’m too tired for small talk. You want to tell me what you want?”
His mouth dried. He didn’t want to be there, calling on the kind of favor he had no way of repaying.
“Vincent wants you.”
She turned. “Wants me how?”
“Wants you as his lawyer. I know how that sounds.”
She laughed. “Do you, Walk? Because the way I hear you don’t have a goddam clue.” She took a breath and calmed. There was a plaque on the wall, Southwestern, and a corkboard beside, with cards and photos of smiling mothers and their kids.
“I’m not a criminal lawyer.”
“I know that. I told him.”
“No. That’s my answer.”
“Alright. I asked.”
She smiled. “Still doing Vincent King’s bidding.”
“I’d do anything to stop an innocent man being put to death.”
“It’s a capital case?”
“Yes.”
She slumped in her chair, kicked her sneakers up onto the desk. “I can recommend someone.”
“I already tried that.”
She fished a candy from a bowl, peanut M&Ms. “Why the hell does he want me?”
“Thirty years in there, it’s easy to forget, you and me are all he’s got now.”
“I don’t even know him. And I don’t even know you anymore, Walk.”
“I haven’t changed all that much.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
He laughed. “You want to grab something to eat and catch up?” He spoke quietly, his cheeks beginning to redden. “If you’ve got eighty-nine cents I know a great taco place.”
“Can I be honest, Walk?”
“Sure.”
“I’ve spent a long time leaving Cape Haven behind. I don’t want to head back there.”
He stood, smiled and walked out the door.