“No,” she said. “I’ll get caught.”
“Suit yourself,” he said with a slash of bitterness that surprised Kit and walked off in the direction of the car. It stung to see him pivot so harshly away, and she was angry at him for setting her up like this. She didn’t need the damn shells. Why risk getting caught now after they’d already skipped out on the dinner bill? Why would he push their luck? She was starting to think ripping people off was more than just a prank to him. Maybe this was how he rolled. Maybe it was a test, to see if she could keep up with him, and it all came down to this sixty-cent trinket. It had been a near-perfect day: she’d dipped in the ocean for the first time, floated on her own, eaten like a queen. All her life people had treated her like she was less than nothing. With Manny she felt important, prized even. What was a little petty theft in exchange for the world? She knew in that moment she wanted to stay with Manny, and if stealing was the price, she would pay it gladly. She brushed past the display without looking at it, hooked the chandelier with her pinkie, and sprinted back to the car.
Chapter Eleven
Kit stayed with Manny from that point on. For several months, Kit worried the Machers or child welfare had put out pictures of her and that she would get snatched up and taken from Manny. She had nightmares about it and one night woke up heart pounding, clinging to him like a tree frog, though she had started the night in her own bed.
But no one came for her. And after some time, she took for granted the life she had with Manny. He told her she was free to leave whenever she wanted, but she had no desire. They moved from motel to motel, using a different alias at each new place. Their dark hair and nut-brown skin made it easy for anyone who noticed to accept them as father and daughter.
In the early days, they did whatever they wanted. When there was money, they slept in the dark, cool box of the motel until he woke up. When the money ran out, they would sleep in the car, he keeled back in the driver’s seat, she tucked into the den of the trunk, which he left propped up with two cans of refried beans. He said if anyone tried to kidnap her the cans would fall and the racket would wake him up, and somehow she found that comforting. They played cards, snuck into the movies, stole quarters at the arcade and played all day and into the night. He taught her how to drink whiskey neat and how to roll a smoke with one hand. If anyone saw them and asked why she wasn’t in school, they said she had terrible cramps. That shut people up real quick.
On the best days, he would ask her to help him score.
“You’re my lucky rabbit’s foot,” he’d say. “I ought to wear you around my neck.” How rich she felt when he put his faith in her.
The first time he took her out, he stopped a homely woman in a blousy, flowered dress and moccasins at the grocery store and doffed his hat.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” he said, soaking her in the blue of his eyes. “My girl here wants to make chocolate chip cookies, and I just wouldn’t know where to begin. Can you help us out?”
She brushed her feathered hair away from her neck and took a fluttering look at him.
“Well, that’s easy,” she said, gesturing down the aisle. “Baking supplies are just right over here, but . . . no offense, isn’t this a mother’s job?” Her tone was not suspicious, but hopeful.
“Her mother? Well, she’s not around anymore,” he said, with lowered voice and a sad smile, in a way that suggested her mother had left them. When the woman heard Kit was a motherless child and he a brave father, doing his best to raise a daughter on his own, she seemed to take them up as a personal mission. A jealousy billowed up and Kit held him by the wrist, tight as she could, to feel his pulse against her palm.
The woman clasped her hands below her chin, moved by her own generosity. “I’m gonna fix you right up,” she said, taking Kit by the hand. “Y’all follow me.”
She led them to the baking section and scrutinized each product, making sure he got the best deal on flour and the right kind of chocolate. While she was absorbed in the task of her random act of kindness, he slipped his hand inside her plush suede purse, deft as a lover. Kit couldn’t believe the things women kept in their purses: huge sums of loose cash, diamond earrings, salad dressing. One woman had had a little pouch filled with a couple dozen teeth Kit hoped belonged to her children. Manny thanked the woman with a humble, honeyed kindness, and she sashayed away, looking like she’d just been told a juicy secret.
Kit had a hard time shaking the feeling that she would get caught, and sometimes she felt bad for the people they stole from. Usually it was people with plenty of money, but sometimes Manny picked someone just because they looked gullible. When she voiced her concern that they should focus on wealthy targets and leave regular folks alone, Manny reasoned that they weren’t being violent, and most of the time he was making the women feel so good about themselves, they wouldn’t even know they’d been robbed. It wasn’t worth it to argue with him. Depending on his mood, he would either dismiss her or be offended.
She often worried he might get rid of her. None of the foster families had kept her more than a year, and she had developed a sense for when she was on her way out. She was getting that sense with Manny. He wasn’t making as much eye contact, and he seemed to find fault with every little thing she did. Even when she was easy and played along, even when she did everything right, she still got the feeling he was fed up with her. She had never tried to stay with the foster families—they had never given her much reason to—but with Manny she was determined. She wondered if maybe he didn’t want her to play along. Maybe he needed her to be more active, aggressive even. He had called her special that day on the way to Pecan Hollow. So she tried to imagine how she could live up to that, how she could contribute and earn her keep. Finally, after about a year of doing things his way, she came up with her own plan.
She told it to him one day as they were sitting at a drive-in, waiting for the show to start. They were there to see Five Easy Pieces for the seventh time. Manny knew certain scenes by heart, and he would laugh his ass off every time Jack Nicholson told the waitress to hold the chicken salad between her knees. “There’s something about that guy,” he said, shaking his head. “He just does it for me.”
She was so nervous to tell him about her scheme, she hadn’t touched her popcorn. When the previews started up, she knew she only had a few minutes to deliver the pitch before he would be absorbed in the movie.
“Hey, Manny,” she said. “I think I have an idea.”
“Oh yeah?” Manny mumbled through a handful of popcorn. His attention was focused on the screen. She’d have to be quick and convincing.
“Yeah, I think I thought of a way to make us some money.”