When she made it to Fortuna she found the old house, for once glad she had fucked up, that she didn’t make time to destroy the tape.
But then she stared at the yard, all the junk cleared, the garbage truck had already come.
The tape was gone.
She looked up and down, breathing hard, like her last hope had deserted her.
She spent the afternoon on the beach, sitting on the sand and watching the water. She clutched her stomach, the pain was hard and constant and followed her all the way back to collect Robin.
He talked the whole way home, about his birthday, about being six and what came with that. He asked for a house key, she smiled and stroked his hair, her mind someplace she hoped he’d never follow. In the empty house she fixed scrambled eggs and they ate together in front of the TV. And, when the sun fell, she got him into bed and read to him.
“Can we have green eggs one time?”
“Sure.”
“And ham?”
She kissed his head and cut off his light, closed her eyes for a moment, then woke to darkness. She walked through the house, turned on a lamp and heard music from outside.
Duchess found Star on the deck, the old bench needed painting. The moon lit her mother as she strummed the old guitar. Their song. She closed her eyes, the words cut her.
She needed to tell her mother what she had done, that she had taken a match and burned the very bridge that kept them out of troubled water. They were in the shallows now, but the deep would come for them, it would swallow them down till not even moonlight made it through.
Duchess took steps, feet bare, she did not notice the splinters.
The strum of soft chords. “Sing with me.”
“No.”
Duchess slid along till her head came to rest on her mother’s shoulder. No matter what she had done, no matter that she was tough and she was an outlaw, she needed her mother.
“Why do you cry when you sing?” Duchess asked.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.”
“I called that guy, the music guy from the bar. He wanted to meet for a drink.”
“Did you go?”
Star nodded slowly. “Men.”
“What happened last night?” She did not ask often, but this time she needed clarity.
“Some people just can’t hold their liquor.” Star shot a look at the neighboring house.
“Brandon Rock. He hit you?”
“It was an accident.”
“He couldn’t take no for an answer.”
Star shook her head.
Duchess watched the tall trees sway against night sky. “So Darke didn’t do nothing this time.”
“Last thing I remember was him helping me into the car.”
Realization was cold, and for a while Duchess could not speak. And then she thought of Darke, his hands on her. She grit her teeth, steeled. Bad things happened to bad men.
“You know it’s Robin’s birthday in the morning.”
Star looked sad then, not broken but close, her lip still a little swollen, her eye still dark. The kind of look that made the pain worse. There was no gift for her brother. Her mother had not remembered.
“I did something bad, Mom.”
“We all do bad things.”
“I don’t think I can fix it.”
Star closed her eyes, still she played and sang as her daughter gently leaned on her.
Duchess wanted so desperately to join in, but her voice began to break.
“I’ll protect you. That’s what mothers do.”
Duchess did not cry, but right then she came close.
10
WALK SUFFERED THE INDIGNITY OF the fall alone.
Small blessing. One minute he was walking, the next he was on his back looking toward the sky. His left leg, just gone from under him.
He sat in the cruiser, in the lot at Vancour Hill. He did not go in. Kendrick said he could have problems with balance, still, that loss of control, it was frightening.
The radio was low, static and talk, 2-11 in Bronson, 11-54 in San Luis. A coffee cup from Rosie’s Diner, a burger wrapper on the mat. His stomach pressed his shirt and he rested his hands there. Slow shift. He’d driven by Vincent’s, the house was coming along, the shutters removed and stripped, ready for painting.
He searched for the night star, dwelled on the disease and felt it in his bones, his blood, his mind. Synapses firing slow, the correspondence not lost but delayed.
A little before midnight the radio jolted him from a light sleep.
Ivy Ranch Road.
He licked the dry from his lips.
And then the call again.
He reached for the radio and started the engine, ran the lights and lit the street as he headed back toward Cape Haven. The caller gave no detail, just that they needed to come. He prayed it was nothing, maybe Star was drunk again.
Past Addison. The quiet side of Main, no lights at all.
He slowed on Ivy Ranch Road, saw nothing but sleeping houses and breathed again.
Up to the curb outside her house. Calm till he saw the street door open, and then that feeling came, sharp in his gut, no air in his lungs. He climbed out and reached for his gun, which he hadn’t done in as long as he could remember.
A glance at the Rock house, then across at Milton’s, no sign of life at all. A calling owl, a garbage can fell a way off, maybe raccoons. He took the porch in one step and pushed the door.
The hallway, a side table with phonebook. Sneakers in a messy line. Pictures on the wall, art that Robin had made, tacked in place by Duchess.
In the mirror was a crack, Walk met his own eyes, wide and fearful. He gripped the gun tight, flipped the safety off, thought about calling out but stayed quiet.
He made his way down the hallway, two bedrooms, doors open to clothes strewn, a dressing table knocked over.
The bathroom. The faucet ran slowly, the basin filled and spilling. He shut it off, his shoes in the puddle.
Into the kitchen, nothing but
