We Begin at the End

by Chris Whitaker

Star Radley, the missing girl’s sister. Martha’s best friend.

Walk and Vincent were close like brothers. At nine they’d cut palms, pressed them together, and sworn oaths of classless loyalty.

Duchess and Robin, the Radley children.

The boy was five and cried silent tears, the girl had just turned thirteen and did not ever cry.

three decades had passed since Sissy Radley and Vincent King

“The minister said we begin at the end. It would have made for easier years if I thought for one second Sissy was somewhere better than a small wooden box. I try though, every Sunday I try.”

Hal rented a boat, cutting crystal water as they drifted and fished, the sun stealing the cold away for an afternoon as close to perfect as Duchess could allow herself to imagine. Robin pulled out a decent rainbow trout, then cried till Hal threw it back.

Walk thought of Star. She didn’t get her happy ending. Each night he prayed her children would.

“You need to relax.” “What if they don’t show?” “They will.” The drive to the park, Robin was quiet, staring out. Duchess saw his small fingers crossed.

She was not sure if she believed in God, but that night she prayed.

“You think we’d have been together in another life?” “This one ain’t over yet, Chief.” She reached across and calmed the shake of his hand with the warmth of hers.

Duchess ate her sandwich, thanked Lucy, and tried to smile. At times she felt so far from a place she had never been, like home was somewhere out there and calling, she just did not know how to find it. She wiped her eyes on her sleeve, felt Lucy watching her and maybe wondering, how fucked up is this kid? Do I really want her in my life for now and always?

She wanted to convey it, that she could live quietly in their life, not disrupt, not impact at all so long as they loved her brother and cared for him.

Duchess knew it with some certainty. They had found their new home.

She looked over at her brother and knew without doubt he was the color to her shade.

she would not be alright, nothing about her would ever be alright again.

She was not a girl that cried, but right then tears fell as she allowed the dam to break. She cried for everything she had lost, and everything he had found.