She took a seat on a bench and watched the pace, so slow her eyes weighed heavy.
A lady stopped beside, maybe sixty, so much glamour Duchess stole glances. Towering heels, lipstick and stinking of perfume, her hair falling in waves like she’d just stepped from the salon.
She set her bag down, Chanel, and jammed in beside.
“This summer.”
A kind of accent Duchess didn’t know.
“I keep telling my Bill to fix the air conditioner but you reckon he has?”
“I reckon I don’t give a shit. And maybe Bill doesn’t either.”
She laughed at that, slipped a cigarette into a holder and lit it. “Sounds like you know him, or maybe you’ve got a daddy like him. Start a job and lose interest quick. That’s men for you, sweetheart.”
Duchess exhaled, hoping to ward her off with attitude alone.
The lady reached into her shopping bag and pulled out a smaller paper bag. She took out a donut, then offered one to Duchess.
Duchess tried to ignore her but the lady shook the bag a little, like she was enticing a wary animal. “You ever had one of Cherry’s donuts?” she persisted, shook the bag until Duchess took a donut, sugar falling onto her jeans as she bit into it carefully.
“Best donut you’ve ever had?”
“Average.”
The lady laughed like she’d made a joke. “I could eat a dozen maybe. You ever tried to eat one without licking your lips?”
“Why the fuck would I do that?”
“Let’s give it a go then. Harder than it sounds.”
“Maybe for an old lady.”
“Only as old as the man you feel.”
“How old is Bill?”
“Seventy-five.” Heavy laugh.
Duchess ate, felt the sugar on her lips but didn’t lick them. She watched the lady do it too, for a while, fighting it, like an itch, and then she licked her lips and Duchess pointed and the lady laughed so raucous Duchess fought a smile.
“I’m Dolly, by the way. Like Parton, only without the chest.”
Duchess said nothing for a while, just letting it hang there, feeling Dolly look over once, then away.
“I’m an outlaw. You probably shouldn’t be seen conversing with me.”
“You’ve got swagger. Not enough do in this world.”
“Clay Allison’s gravestone read, He never killed a man that did not need killing. That’s swagger.”
“So does the outlaw have a name?”
“Duchess Day Radley.”
A look, not pity, but close. “I know your grandfather. I’m real sorry about your mother.”
Duchess felt it in her chest then, a tightening, like she couldn’t breathe. She looked down at the street, locked on her sneakers, eyes too hot.
Dolly stubbed out her cigarette, didn’t even take a single drag.
“You didn’t smoke it.”
Dolly smiled, neat, blinding white teeth. “Smoking is bad for you. Ask my Bill.”
“So why then?”
“My daddy caught me smoking once. Beat me something awful. But I kept it up, on the sly. I didn’t even like the taste. You must think I’m a mad old bat.”
“Yes.”
Duchess felt a hand on her shoulder. He stood, smiling wide, curls matted with sweat, dirt beneath his nails.
“I’m Robin.”
“Pleased to meet you, Robin. I’m Dolly.”
“Like Parton?”
“But without the tits,” Duchess added.
“Mom liked Dolly Parton. She used to sing it, that song about working nine to five.”
“Ironic, seeing as she never could hold down a job.”
Dolly shook his hand and told him he was just about the most handsome boy she’d ever seen.
Duchess saw Hal across the street, leaning on the hood of the old truck.
“I’ll see you soon, I hope.” Dolly handed Robin a donut and left them, headed back down the street, nodding at Hal as she passed.
“Grandpa was scared. Please don’t make trouble.”
“I’m an outlaw, kid. Trouble finds me.”
He stared up with sad eyes.
“Try and eat that donut without licking your lips.”
He looked at the donut. “Too easy.”
“Go on then.”
He took a bite and licked his lips right off.
“You just licked them.”
“Did not.”
They walked back down the sidewalk, the sky covering over, those rolling clouds chasing the day so fast.
“I miss her.”
She squeezed his hand. She still hadn’t decided if she felt the same.
* * *
Thirty years in the same room, steel toilet and basin, walls dug out and scrawled. A door that slid open and closed at set times each day.
Walk stood outside Fairmont County Correctional Facility and took in the sun, high and merciless no matter the month. He glanced up at the camera, watched men in the yard, the chain links turning them into puzzle pieces that did not fit anywhere at all.
“I can never get used to the colors. Everything looks washed out.”
Cuddy laughed. “Missing your blue, Walk.”
Cuddy lit a cigarette, offered Walk one but he waved him off.
“You ever smoke?”
“Never even tried it.”
They watched men shoot hoops, bare chests, sweating. A man fell, got up and squared off but caught sight of Cuddy and squashed it quick. The game went on, the ferocity, life or death and no room for the between.
“It got to me, this one,” Cuddy said.
Walk turned but Cuddy kept his eyes on the game.
“But then I used to think some people weren’t meant for this place. When I started out, working the floor. I’d see them bring in a white collar, lawyer or banker or something and I’d think they don’t belong here. But then maybe there aren’t degrees of bad. Maybe it doesn’t matter by how much you cross the line.”
“Most people get near. At least once in their life.”
“Not you, Walk.”
“There’s still time.”
“Vincent crossed when he was fifteen. My father worked that night they brought him in. News crews were here. I remember the jury called it late.”
Walk remembered, too.
“My father said it, worst night of his life. And you can only imagine the things he saw. Booking in a kid. Watching the men, arms through bars, calling. A couple were alright, supportive even. But most, you know. Keep the noise up, welcome him that way.”
Walk clutched the fence, fingers through the diamonds, the air beyond just as hard to breathe.
“I was nineteen my first day here.” Cuddy stubbed out his cigarette and kept hold of
