Page 80 of Red Rooster

Red stood in front of the shop’s three-way mirror, arms held out to the side, turning this way and that, watching the fringe on her sleeves flutter. Rooster could see his own reflection, too, tight-jawed and closed-off, looming behind her, looking like a creep, or a kidnapper, or the world’s sulkiest big brother.

Jesus.

He wished, like he so often did, that life was different, because Red deserved things. This jacket, sure, but also a stable home. Parents. A chance to go to school. Friday nights of underage drinking and kissing boys and laughing with other girls her age. Mondays in the hallowed halls of some ivy league college, studying to become something important; something that made good use of her smarts and her passion.

The kid deserved a future, and all he could give her was one long, drawn-out escape plan.

“…Sir?” The proprietress was talking to him.

He shook off his thoughts and tried not to glower at the woman. “Yeah?”

“I was just telling your daughter that this particular jacket has been marked down.”

“Daughter?” He choked on the word.

“Oh, um.” The woman blushed. “Your…um, I was…The jacket’s on sale,” she pressed on. Determined – he’d give her that.

In the mirror, Red bit her lip like she was trying not to laugh.

“Marked down by how much?” he snapped.

“It’s one-twenty–”

“I’ll give you one-hundred flat for it,” he said, deadpan. “Take it or leave it.”

Red spun to face him, green eyes wide. “Oh no, we can’t. You shouldn’t–”

“Take it or leave it,” he repeated.

“Yes, sir,” the shopkeeper said, frightened and smiling. “I think I can make that work.” She went to collect the jacket from Red and bustled to the counter to ring it up.

Red stared at him, little worried notch between her brows. “Rooster, we can’t,” she whispered.

“Let me worry about that.”

She stepped in close, finding one of his hands and pulling it between both of hers. “Please don’t.”

“Too late.”

She bit her lip again, fretting. “It’s just a jacket.”

“You ought to have things you want. And not just stuff you need.”

She blinked hard and looked away, chest heaving as she took a deep breath. “Thank you.”

She wore it out of the store, as they walked across a street made gold by the last fingers of setting sun and grabbed dinner at a tiny, hole-in-the-wall taco joint with painted iron tables set out on a cracked concrete patio. Colored Christmas lights came on when the sun was fully down, casting a warm, festive glow over their baskets of pork and beef and fish tacos, all of it glistening with grease, redolent with fresh lime juice. Cheap and delicious.

“Hey,” he said, when he’d eaten his fill and Red was playing with the straw in her Coke. “Do I really look old enough to be your dad?”

Her brows lifted, small smile gracing her lips. “I didn’t think you were the sort of person who got self-conscious about things.”

“I’m just asking.”

She pretended to scrutinize him, gaze narrowing. “Hmm. I think you look…mature.”

“Aw, come on.”

She laughed. “I didn’t mean it like you lookedold. Just. You know. Responsible.”