“I got your letters,” Vincent said.
“The town must look different now.”
“It does. The wishing tree is about the only thing I still recognize. You remember we used to stash cigarettes in the hole under there, Walk?”
Walk laughed. “And a sixer of Sam Adams.”
Darke finally looked up and met Walk’s eye with the kind of stare that chilled him. Then Darke eyed the house. “The last of the front line. You own the land behind as well.”
Vincent looked at Walk.
“I’ll pay a million. Current value is eight-fifty, the state it’s in. And the market is turning.”
“It’s not for sale.”
“You’ll have a price.”
Walk smiled. “Come on, Darke. The man just got home.”
Darke stared a little longer. And then he turned and left them, strolling, unhurried, so big his shadow cast far.
Vincent watched him, his eyes locked on Darke like he could see something Walk could not.
* * *
Duchess had an arrangement with the kindergarten teacher, Miss Dolores; she would let Robin stick around for three long hours till Duchess finished class each day, mainly because Walk had stepped in and asked, and also because Robin was not even the slightest bother.
When Robin saw her he tidied his things, picked up his bag and ran over. Duchess knelt and hugged him, then waved to Miss Dolores and they turned.
She helped Robin slip the straps over his shoulders and then checked he had his storybook inside and his water bottle.
“You didn’t eat your sandwich.” She glared.
“Sorry.”
The school bus passed, parents in SUVs, teachers out on the grass and chatting as kids tossed a football beside.
“You need to eat, Robin.”
“It’s just …”
“What?”
“You didn’t put anything inside,” he said reluctantly.
“Bullshit.”
He looked down at his shoes.
Duchess unzipped his pack and took out the sandwich. “Fuck.”
“It’s alright.”
“It’s not.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll fix hotdogs when we get in.”
He smiled at that.
They kicked a stone together, kept it going till they got to the end of East Harney and Robin sent it into a drain.
“Did the kids say things, about Mom?” he said, as she took his hand and they crossed the street.
“No.”
“Ricky Tallow did, he said his mom told him about our mom.”
“What did she say?”
They ducked beneath the limbs of a willow and cut down the track between Fordham and Dupont.
“She said he couldn’t come to our house because Mom wouldn’t watch us right.”
“You could go there.”
“His mom and dad are always yelling at each other.”
She mussed his hair. “You want me to talk to her, see if I can sort something?”
“Yes.”
Duchess knew Leah Tallow. Cape Haven PD, just her and Walk and an auxiliary named Louanne, who was old as shit. Duchess couldn’t imagine any of them working a real crime.
“Ricky said he’ll move into his brother’s room when he leaves for college. He said his brother has an aquarium. Can we get one?”
“You’ve got a mask. Go look at fish in the sea.”
When they got to Main they saw a group of girls outside Rosie’s Diner, same group, always, drinking shakes and taking over two tables in the sun. Whispers and laughter as they passed.
They went into the grocery store, Mrs. Adams at the counter.
Duchess found a pack of frankfurters and Robin fetched the buns. She took out her purse and counted out three dollars in bills, all she had.
Robin looked up. “Can we get French’s?”
“No.”
“We need ketchup at least. It’ll be dry.”
Duchess took the can and the buns up.
“How’s your mother doing?” Mrs. Adams looked down over her glasses.
“Fine.”
“That’s not what I heard.”
“Why the fuck did you ask then?”
Robin tugged her hand. Mrs. Adams might’ve told her to leave but Duchess tossed three dollar bills onto the counter before she could.
“Don’t curse like that,” Robin said, as they walked up Main.
“How’s your mother today?”
Duchess turned and saw Milton, out front of his butcher shop. He wiped his hands down his apron, blood smeared.
Robin walked up to the glass and looked at the rabbits, hooked at the throat.
“She’s fine,” Duchess said.
Milton took a step nearer, that smell so strong it got in her throat. Blood and death.
“You look an awful lot like her, you know that.”
“Yeah, you told me that before.”
She noticed small bits of flesh embedded in the thick hair on his arms. He stared at her awhile, like he’d forgotten his place, then snapped back when he saw her grocery bag, and what was inside.
He tutted. “That’s not even sausage. They grow that in a lab. Wait there.”
She watched him head in, wheezing with each step.
A couple of minutes and Milton returned, brown paper bag folded over, sealed with a blood print. “Morcilla. You tell your mother where these came from. Send her over if she wants to know how to cook them right.”
“Don’t you just fry it?” Robin said.
“Maybe in prison. If you want those flavors dancing you need to get acquainted with a Dutch oven. You see, it’s all about the pressure and the—”
Duchess snatched the bag, grabbed Robin’s hand and felt Milton’s eyes on her as she hurried away.
At Rosie’s Diner, Duchess took a breath and led Robin in, shutting out the girls and their looks. Busy inside, vacationers filled tables, the smell of coffee rose thick. Loud talk, second homes, plans for the summer.
Duchess stood by the counter and saw the jar, the packets of ketchup inside, free if you bought something. A quick look over at Rosie, busy, tending the register.
Duchess collected a single ketchup packet for Robin and was about to turn.
“Don’t you have to buy something to take the ketchup?”
She looked up. Cassidy Evans, from her class. Robin looked on, nervous, shifting from foot to foot.
Cassidy smirked, lip gloss pout, shiny hair, resting bitch face.
“It was only one packet.”
“Miss Rosie, don’t you have to buy something to take a ketchup?” Cassidy said it loud, innocence dripped from her voice.
Talk died, strangers’ eyes so hot Duchess felt the burn.
Rosie set down a cup and came to the counter. Duchess shoved the packet
