DOLLY SHOWED AT THEIR DOOR, laden with a big box. She was there to collect Robin, he would spend the night at her place as Hal said he’d keep free in case Mrs. Noble couldn’t collect them after the dance. Always looking out, worrying.
She led Duchess up to the bedroom and opened the box to a startling array of makeup and perfumes.
“Don’t make me look like a whore.”
“I can’t make any promises, sweetheart.”
Duchess smiled at that.
An hour later and she walked down the stairs, her hair expertly curled and her lips shining pink. She wore a new bow and new shoes that Cally had helped pick out. She’d gained a little more weight, no longer so skeletal, her muscles tight from the work.
She saw Hal wearing something like pride on his face so she told him to shut the fuck up before he could say a word.
“Beautiful,” Robin marveled. “You look just like Mom.”
* * *
They tailed Dolly and Robin till they turned off at Avoca. Snow fell lightly but the roads were salted. Dolly’s place was big, fancy and lit with warm window light. She’d asked after Bill. Dolly said he didn’t have the good sense to give up.
They passed a sign blinking, DRIVE SLOW.
“You nervous?” Hal said.
“About getting pregnant tonight? Nah, what will be will be.”
They turned onto Carlton.
“I’m worried about Robin,” she said.
He glanced over.
“What he knows about that night. It’s … it’s not back but, I don’t know. He dreams about it. I think maybe he heard it all.”
“Then we’ll deal with it.”
“Just like that?”
“Yes. That sound alright?”
She nodded.
They made the turn onto Highwood Drive.
“Shit.”
“What?” And then he saw, and he tried not to smile but lost the battle fully.
The path to the Noble house, swept of snow but lined with rose petals.
“Fucking shoot me now.”
At the window she saw him, face pressed to the glass like Robin waiting on Christmas.
“He’s wearing a fucking bowtie. He looks like a magician.”
Hal brought the truck to a stop. The street door opened and Mrs. Noble stood there, camera in hand. Behind her was Mr. Noble, and he held a video camera, so big it mounted on his shoulder and threw out a blinding spotlight.
“Turn back. No way I’m walking into that freakshow.”
“It’s alright. Maybe do it for them, just once.”
“A selfless act.”
“I’ll be waiting up. You call me if there’s a problem.”
She took a deep breath, then reached for the mirror and fussed with her bow.
“You have a good time tonight.”
“I won’t.”
She opened the door and the cold met her. “My dress is plain. Not like the other girls.”
“Since when do you want to be like them? You’re an outlaw.”
“I’m an outlaw.” She stepped into the snow.
He fired the engine and as she moved to shut the door she called, “Hal.”
“Yes, Duchess.”
She met his eye, he looked old then, capable but she knew the toll and its cost. She thought of her mother, of Sissy.
“I’m not sorry, for everything I’ve said to you.” She swallowed. “I just …”
“It’s alright.”
“It’s not. But I think one day it might be.”
“You go on now. Try and have fun. Smile for the cameras. Both of them.”
She flipped him off but added a smile to it.
The glitter ball spun and Duchess watched light shards over the crowd. The theme was Wonderland and she stared at the cotton snow and frosted flowers. Above them balloons hung in white and blue, painted stars and cardboard trees circled a dancefloor made to look like ice.
She fiddled with her corsage. “It itches. Did you find it in a Dumpster?”
“My mother picked it up.”
They hung at the back. She saw girls in fancy dresses and heels, teetering. She said a silent prayer they would fall.
Thomas Noble wore a dinner suit, a size too big so his bad hand withdrew into the cuff. Draped behind was a silk cape, so fantastically bizarre she could not tear her eyes from it.
“My father said a gentleman always sports a cape to a formal event.”
“Your father is a hundred and fifty years old.”
“He’s still got moves. I have to go in the backyard when they make love because the noise is deafening.”
She stared at him, suitably horrified.
The music started up and Duchess watched a group of girls run at the dancefloor.
Thomas Noble fetched them a juice and they found seats at a table by a heart-shaped stage and photographer.
“Thanks for coming with me.”
“You already said that eighteen times.”
“You want cake?”
“No.”
“How about some potato chips?”
“No.”
They played something fast. Jacob Liston cleared a space and broke out his best moves while the girl he was with clapped awkwardly.
Duchess frowned. “I think he might be having a fit.”
The song switched to something slow, the floor thinned.
“You want to—”
“Don’t make me say it again.”
“Nice suit, Thomas Noble.” Billy Ryle and Chuck Sullivan. “At least it hides his cripple hand.” Laughter.
Thomas Noble sipped his juice and kept his eyes on the dancefloor.
She reached over and took his bad hand. “Dance with me.”
As they passed she leaned over and said something to Billy. He moved away quick.
“Keep your hands away from my ass,” she said, as they reached the floor.
“What did you say to Billy?”
“I told him you had a ten-inch cock.”
He shrugged. “That’s a quarter-truth.”
She laughed, so much and so hard she’d forgotten how good it felt.
She held him. “Shit, Thomas Noble. I can feel every rib.”
“And that’s in clothes. You wouldn’t want to see me topless.”
“I can imagine. I once saw a documentary about famine.”
“I’m glad you came here.”
“You wore me down with relentless pressure. Your father would be proud.”
They bumped into Jacob Liston and his date. Jacob was wriggling like he needed to piss. Duchess shot his date a compassionate smile.
“I mean here. Montana. I’m glad you came to stay.”
“Why?”
“I just—” He stopped moving and for a wretched moment she thought he might try and kiss her. “I just never met an outlaw before.”
She stepped a little closer and moved with him.
* * *
Walk sat in his office, blinds drawn but town lights cut the dark. He cradled the phone on his shoulder, made notes as he spoke to Hal. He rested his feet on a stack of papers, saw his tray fit to burst. He’d get to it all, the mess bothered everyone but him.
He checked in each week, same time on a Friday night.
It was usually quick, a catchup about how the boy was doing alright, still seeing the shrink. And then on to the girl. Sometimes they’d speak five minutes, just long enough for Hal to tell of something bad she’d done, and how he’d had to check his laughter till he was done being pissed. Walk knew that act well.
“It’s slow,” Hal said. “With Duchess it’s slow, but she’s getting better. It’s getting better.”
“That’s good.”
“Tonight she’s at the school dance.”
“Wait a minute. Duchess is at a dance?”
“It’s the winter formal. They go all out. The whole of Evergreen Middle is lit up, you can see the spotlight from Cold Creek.”
Walk allowed himself a smile. The girl was doing alright. Against the odds, and they were stacked, she was living a life.
“And Robin. I think he’s starting to remember.”
Walk dropped his feet down again and pressed the receiver so tight he could hear the old man breathing.
“Nothing concrete.”
“Did he mention any names? Darke?”
Hal must have heard the desperation there because he spoke the next lines softly. “Nothing concrete, Walk. I think he’s slowly opening himself to the fact that he might have been there when his mother was murdered. The shrink is good, she doesn’t ask or pry or try and guide him anyplace at all.”
“Part of me hopes he doesn’t remember.”
“I said that to her. She told me there was a decent chance he never would.”
“I think about all of you up there.”
“I watch out for him. This Darke. When she saw the car I thought he might’ve come, like she always said.”
“And now?”
“I’m still waiting. Shoot first ask questions later.”
Walk smiled a tired smile. Sleepless nights had taken their toll, wrestling his thoughts to the ground and pounding them clean out of his head. Some days he found himself on a stretch of highway and clean forgot where he was supposed to be heading.
“Goodnight, Hal. You take care.”
He replaced the receiver and yawned. Normally he was so beat he’d head right home, drink a sole beer and watched ESPN till sleep found him. But right then he got the overwhelming urge to see Martha, not even to talk, just not sit the night alone.
He picked up the phone, started to dial then killed it. He was fully aware of what he was doing, gradually sliding into a life he had no right to interfere with. It was cold, no matter how he felt, it was a cold and cruel thing to do. When she saw him she remembered the darkest part of her life, and she always would.
He walked down the hallway slowly, the station in darkness.
“Leah, I didn’t know you were still here.”
She looked up, tired, not even a smile. “Overtime, right. Someone’s got to sort the filing system out. It’ll take me the next month, even working through the night.”
“You need a hand?”
“No, you get on. Doesn’t matter if I’m here all night, Ed wouldn’t even notice.”
He went to say something, wasn’t sure what, but then she turned away and went back to work.
He headed out, thinking of Duchess Day Radley at a school dance, and smiling his way into the warm evening.
* * *
The snow, like the talk, worsened as they drove. Mrs. Noble asked Thomas about the dance. He told her it was the best night of his life.
Duchess watched snow build on the farmland beside, usually lost to the dark she could see a mile out to mountains.
When they reached Radley land Mrs. Noble went to turn but the driveway was deep now. Hal couldn’t keep on top of it, it was too long and the snow fell too fast.
“I can walk it from here.”
“You sure, honey? I’d take a run at it but I think we might get stuck the night.”
“Hal will be on the porch. He’ll see your lights and start walking down. You get on.”
She climbed out quick and set off up the driveway, before Mrs. Noble or Thomas could get out and try to follow.
Halfway, she turned and waved and watched them trail light into the distance.
She trudged the snow, lifting her new shoes high at each step. Gum trees stood, branches weighed under snow, arc of white like she was walking through a wedding arch. Free, she faced the sky, the turning snowflakes, the beauty almost too much to take. She thought of Robin and how they would spend their weekend, fanned-out angels and snowmen as tall as their grandfather.
When she cleared the reaching trees moonlight graced the old farmhouse and she smiled without knowing why. In the distance light burned in the kitchen.
She took another step and then stopped dead.
Prints in the snow, almost covered but still they remained.
Footprints.
Big prints.
The first time that night she felt the cold, the real, true bite of Montana cold.
“Hal,” she said, quiet.
She picked up her pace a little, her heart beginning to race. Something was wrong. She could feel it.
And then she saw him.
And she calmed.
He was sat on the bench, the gun by his feet.
When she reached the porch she waved, smiled wide, then climbed the steps. She’d tell him about her night, just how bad it was.
But then she saw his face, pale, tight, sweat by his head.
Labored breaths, but still, he tried to smile for her.
She approached slow, and then, with great care, she pulled the blanket from him.
And that’s when she saw the blood.
“Oh fuck, Hal,” she whispered.
He kept a hand pressed to his stomach, but the blood drained fast and steady.
“I got him,” Hal said.
He offered one hand to her as his life emptied. She took it, his blood to her like some fatal disease.
She let go and ran for the phone in the kitchen. Iver County PD on speed dial, she told all she could.
She left prints of Hal’s blood on the receiver. She fetched whisky from the cabinet and ran back out.
“Fuck.” She put the bottle to his lips.
He coughed, the blood there now.
“I got him, Duchess. He ran but I got him.”
“Don’t talk. People are coming, people who know what to do.”
He watched her. “You’re an outlaw.”
“I am,” she said, her voice breaking.
“You make me proud.”
She clutched his hand tight, pressed her head to his, closed her eyes and held her tears back. “Fuck,” she yelled it. She hit his arm, his chest, slapped his cheek hard. “Grandpa. Wake up.”
She looked down at the blood on her new yellow dress, and then down at the snow, where footprints led her eyes to white fields.
She knelt once more. “We begin at the end.” She took the shotgun from beside him.
She no longer felt the biting cold, no longer noticed the fullest moon. She did not see stars or the red barns or the frozen water.
At the stable she saddled the gray and led her from her place.
She pulled herself up with one hand, the shotgun in the other, and she snapped the reins as they ran after the prints.
She cursed herself, complacent, the way she had fallen into the promise of a new life. She remembered the anger, the hot twisting anger.
She told herself who she was.
Duchess Day Radley.
Outlaw.