at Rose, silently giving her the floor.
“It’s me. I’m, um, I’m back.”
The lock rattled, and the door creaked open, revealing Joe in filthy jeans and a stained wife-beater. I’d expected him to at least appear relieved. To look at Rose with concern, silently checking her out for cuts and bruises. She was only fourteen, after all, and she’d been gone for over a day.
He did none of that. Instead, he hocked back a wad of spit, then let it fly into the yard. “You forget your key, little girl?” He swung his head toward me, the motion exaggerated from the drink I could now smell on his breath. He looked me up and down, and I shifted uncomfortably, realizing that it might have been a good idea to change clothes. I was still in grimy jeans, an equally filthy tank top, and my red-leather duster. As a rule, the coat hid the knife I had strapped to my thigh. Right then, though, because of the way I was standing, I could see the hilt peeking out. Joe probably could, too.
He met my eyes. “I know you?”
“I’m—I mean, I was —a friend of Lily’s.”
“Huh.” He looked between the two of us. “Well, come on in.”
Rose looked at me, and I shrugged. Then we followed him inside, though “follow” isn’t exactly accurate, as he was already down the long hallway to the living room. By the time we reached it, he was in his favorite chair, his feet on the ottoman and a football game playing on the screen.
He saw me staring. “Classic,” he said. “Cowboys trampled the Redskins. A goddamned thing of beauty.”
“Right. Um, listen. There’s something I wanted to ask you.”
“Shoot,” he said, lifting the remote and increasing the volume.
“I want to take Rose home with me for a while. I, um, think Lily would have liked that. And I think it would be good for Rose,” I added, continuing my spiel at the speed of light, afraid that if he interrupted with a question or an argument, that I wouldn’t have a good response, and I’d lose before I’d even begun. “I mean, she’s got some pretty nasty memories here—her mom, then that stuff with Lucas Johnson, and now her sister getting killed. And I think it would be really good for her to get some distance, and I’m completely responsible and my apartment’s in a good neighborhood. She’ll have to take an incomplete this semester from school, but I really think it’s for the best and, well, that’s it.”
He hadn’t moved a muscle during my speech, just kept his eyes glued to the television, his finger resting over the pause button on the remote. For a moment, I feared he hadn’t even heard me, and I was going to have to go through the whole spiel again. More likely, he’d just say no. After all, he didn’t know Alice Purdue from Adam.
But then he pressed the button to freeze the screen, and he turned to me. “All right, then,” he said, before unpausing the picture and sliding back into his game.
That was it: “All right, then.” And I wasn’t sure if I should be happy it went over so easy, disgusted that he cared so little for his own daughter that he would wave her out the door with a near stranger, or sad for this man who had so little capacity for dealing with the blows that life had dealt him.
Not that I was inclined to hang around philosophizing. He’d handed Rose to me on a platter. Time to get out before he changed his mind.
I found her in her bedroom, shoving clothing into a duffel bag. “Don’t take too much,” I said. “We can always come back and get more.”
She looked up, her expression bland. “We can always buy more,” she corrected.
She stood and started to zip the bag. She stopped, though, then moved across the room to the small wooden desk that we’d painted the summer before she’d turned twelve. A cluster of framed pictures littered the desktop, and she picked one, moving back to the duffel so quickly I barely caught the image: Me, Rose, our mom, and Joe. Happier times.
I met Rose’s eyes, and she
“It’s me. I’m, um, I’m back.”
The lock rattled, and the door creaked open, revealing Joe in filthy jeans and a stained wife-beater. I’d expected him to at least appear relieved. To look at Rose with concern, silently checking her out for cuts and bruises. She was only fourteen, after all, and she’d been gone for over a day.
He did none of that. Instead, he hocked back a wad of spit, then let it fly into the yard. “You forget your key, little girl?” He swung his head toward me, the motion exaggerated from the drink I could now smell on his breath. He looked me up and down, and I shifted uncomfortably, realizing that it might have been a good idea to change clothes. I was still in grimy jeans, an equally filthy tank top, and my red-leather duster. As a rule, the coat hid the knife I had strapped to my thigh. Right then, though, because of the way I was standing, I could see the hilt peeking out. Joe probably could, too.
He met my eyes. “I know you?”
“I’m—I mean, I was —a friend of Lily’s.”
“Huh.” He looked between the two of us. “Well, come on in.”
Rose looked at me, and I shrugged. Then we followed him inside, though “follow” isn’t exactly accurate, as he was already down the long hallway to the living room. By the time we reached it, he was in his favorite chair, his feet on the ottoman and a football game playing on the screen.
He saw me staring. “Classic,” he said. “Cowboys trampled the Redskins. A goddamned thing of beauty.”
“Right. Um, listen. There’s something I wanted to ask you.”
“Shoot,” he said, lifting the remote and increasing the volume.
“I want to take Rose home with me for a while. I, um, think Lily would have liked that. And I think it would be good for Rose,” I added, continuing my spiel at the speed of light, afraid that if he interrupted with a question or an argument, that I wouldn’t have a good response, and I’d lose before I’d even begun. “I mean, she’s got some pretty nasty memories here—her mom, then that stuff with Lucas Johnson, and now her sister getting killed. And I think it would be really good for her to get some distance, and I’m completely responsible and my apartment’s in a good neighborhood. She’ll have to take an incomplete this semester from school, but I really think it’s for the best and, well, that’s it.”
He hadn’t moved a muscle during my speech, just kept his eyes glued to the television, his finger resting over the pause button on the remote. For a moment, I feared he hadn’t even heard me, and I was going to have to go through the whole spiel again. More likely, he’d just say no. After all, he didn’t know Alice Purdue from Adam.
But then he pressed the button to freeze the screen, and he turned to me. “All right, then,” he said, before unpausing the picture and sliding back into his game.
That was it: “All right, then.” And I wasn’t sure if I should be happy it went over so easy, disgusted that he cared so little for his own daughter that he would wave her out the door with a near stranger, or sad for this man who had so little capacity for dealing with the blows that life had dealt him.
Not that I was inclined to hang around philosophizing. He’d handed Rose to me on a platter. Time to get out before he changed his mind.
I found her in her bedroom, shoving clothing into a duffel bag. “Don’t take too much,” I said. “We can always come back and get more.”
She looked up, her expression bland. “We can always buy more,” she corrected.
She stood and started to zip the bag. She stopped, though, then moved across the room to the small wooden desk that we’d painted the summer before she’d turned twelve. A cluster of framed pictures littered the desktop, and she picked one, moving back to the duffel so quickly I barely caught the image: Me, Rose, our mom, and Joe. Happier times.
I met Rose’s eyes, and she
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