A Flash of Red

This one came to me while I was standing in line at a specific chain store (I won't say the name but it rhymes with "Ball Cart"). I watched this dude chatting up a female employee, both of whom looked as I've described them here. It was just a snippet—a random moment of life. I saw her there a few more times before she quit (or got fired). I haven't seen him since. But I always wondered what happened by the tail end of their conversation. Maybe it was this.

As always, I apologize in advance for my poor editing skills and request any feedback you can give, good, bad, or ugly.

#

WILL

Will scanned the lines at the registers and sighed. All four were backed up six or more customers each. Why do they have eight registers if they never open more than four? He would have supposed it was just the local branch but the branches of this chain big box store back home had the same problem. He pivoted, turned toward the self-checkout lanes, and got in line.

While he waited, Will let his eyes roam over the local patrons. Compared to the more urban dress of suits, skirts, and fashionable slacks he was used to seeing, the residents of Grand Junction tended more toward flannel shirts, boots, and cowboy hats. Will reminded himself he wasn't in Centennial, in the suburbs of Denver any longer. At least the people here all seemed more relaxed and laid-back.

Laid-back. Yeah, sometimes that means slow.

An older couple at the self-checkout register seemed to be having trouble scanning one of their items. Both tried to run the item, failed, then tried again. And again. Will shifted from one foot to the other. He reminded himself he'd probably be old someday and be slow to adapt to new technology, so the least he could do now was try to show some patience.

A flash of red caught his attention. His eyes locked onto a mass of red hair moving towards the helpless couple.

The attendant at the self-checkout section was young, maybe twenty at most, making her a few years younger than Will. Freckles dotted her pale cheeks and the bridge of her nose beneath her black-rimmed glasses. Her round face was set in a smile as she helped the couple. She stood about five-six and was probably twenty pounds overweight, though much of it he would have classified as the "baby fat" of someone who hasn't quite grown all the way into their mature body.

And then there was the hair. The woman's mane of wavy red hair—the carrot-orange shade reminiscent of an Irish lass—fell in a spread pattern to her waist. With every twist of her torso or turn of her head, her hair bounced and swayed.

Will's breath caught in his throat. He'd always loved red hair.

"Excuse me."

He blinked and turned his head toward the sound of the voice. The person behind him in line, an irate middle-aged woman clutching a tiny dog to her chest, glared at him and gestured at an empty self-checkout station. "That one's open."

"Oh. Sorry." He cranked his cart toward the open station. Will grinned to himself. The irony of his previous criticism of the older couple, in light of his own lack of awareness, was not lost on him and he grudgingly admitted to his hypocrisy. He glanced toward the redhead but she had apparently resolved the couple's issue and retreated to her station.

Will scanned the first few items. He rued the cost, hating the need to buy condiments and basic household provisions. It was a new job and a new town, and his mom wasn't keen on him taking the ketchup out of the refrigerator. At least he wasn't paying rent.

He picked up a bag of frozen vegetables and ran it over the scanner. The machine buzzed and a mechanical voice said, "Please wait for assistance." Will sighed.

"Need some help?"

He looked to his left and she was there. Up close, all he could do was stare. Her deep blue eyes were shaded with flecks of green. What he had thought was a sprinkling of freckles was more of a blanket across her nose and cheeks. The girl's pearly white teeth glinted under the store's neon lights. A scent wafted past Will's nose—clean, fresh, and delightful.

Her smile faltered as he stared. "Can I help you with scanning something?"

Will shook himself. "Oh, sorry. I was distracted. Yes, this bag won't scan."

The girl's smile returned. "Oh, I can get that. May I?"

Will stepped aside and let her at the register. She scanned her employee badge, banged in a number, and transcribed the bag's bar code number. The scanner dinged and rang up the purchase. "There you go. All set." She turned to walk back to her chair.

"Wait."

She faced him. "Yes?"

"Thank you, I appreciate it."

"You're welcome."

Will felt an absurd compunction to keep the conversation going. "I just moved to town. Do you mind if I ask you something?"

She raised her ginger-colored eyebrows. "Okay?"

"Uhm, do you know a good place to eat breakfast, other than fast food?" It was a ridiculous question but it was all that came to mind.

"Well ..." She thought for a second. "Do you know where the country club is, on the north side of town? There's a place around the corner that makes great muffins."

"That sounds good. I'll check that out." He grinned. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." She gave him one last smile and returned to the attendant's station.

Will gathered his bags and walked out, his head in a daze. For some reason, he figured he'd be back.

#

ANNA

Anna watched the man walk out. She told herself she wasn't eyeing his rear end and almost believed it. He was a nice-looking guy: almost six feet, with a toned, muscular body, brown eyes, close-cropped black hair, a crooked smile, a deep, soft voice, and, she thought, only a few years older than her nineteen years. She kept her eyes on him—even standing to do so—until he was out of view, then shivered.

"I saw that."

Anna wrinkled her nose, annoyed. "Saw what?"

Trina smirked at her. The rail-thin, late-twenties woman cracked her gum and wagged a finger at Anna, which caused the big bun of her hair to away back and forth. Anna noted Trina's hair was blue—this week, anyway. They'd worked together for almost a year. Anna wouldn't have quite called the woman a friend but then, she thought, she didn't have any real friends, so a coworker she kind of got along with and talked to on breaks was the next best thing.

Trina jerked her head at the exit. "I saw you watching that guy. I don't blame you, he's a cutie. Why didn't you make a move?"

"He wasn't that hot."

"Yeah, right," Trina said, all but cackling. "You should have seen the look on your face. I thought you were going to throw him to the floor and fuck him right here."

Anna glanced around. No customers were within earshot but Trina's coarse vulgarity still bothered her. She said, "No, I have self-control."

"And that's why you're still a virgin, sweetie. Well, if you don't want him, let me know if he comes back. I'll take a shot."

Anna ground her teeth as Trina strode away laughing. Under her breath, she muttered, "Bitch," though the invective lacked conviction, even to her own ears. She thought, The thing is, she's right.

She sat back on her stool. Even though some of her coworkers complained about the store's hard seating at the work stations, Anna never complained—mostly because her own ass was well-padded enough to keep her comfortable. She knew she was carrying a few extra pounds but could never muster the motivation to wipe it away. Even though the spare weight had mostly settled in her breasts and hips, it wasn't as though she had men beating down her door anyway. With glasses, a plain face, and the mass of flaming hair, Anna had been largely overlooked by guys through high school and beyond ... hence her virginity.

It's not like I'm not interested, she thought. I'd love to know what the fuss was all about.

The thought made her sigh. Anna knew if she just wanted sex, she could get it from any number of man whores she knew. But finding someone that she could trust, that liked her for who she was ... that was much harder. The thought made her cringe. And even if I could, with my family situation ...

She settled into her seat and tried to keep her mind on the job.

Her shift ended around six. Anna went to the back of the store and clocked out, her trepidation growing with each moment. The only part of the day she hated more than the start of her shift was the end. She stalled until she accepted she couldn't put it off anymore, then got in her old Chevy beater and drove home.

Gravel crunched under her tires as she pulled into the driveway next to the dilapidated house. Anna gazed at the decaying structure. A shingle or two had gone missing from the roof. Vertical water stains, from rain run-off, stained the faded and peeling siding. The detached screen door leaned against the wall next to the front door. She killed the ignition and plodded to the front door. Each of the three wooden steps to the porch sagged and squealed under her steps.

Anna tried the handle and was exasperated to find it unlocked. She wondered if her mother had even bothered to lock it when she went out.

She found Florence on the couch in the darkened room, bathed in the blueish glow of the blaring television. Clad in her robe and pajamas, Florence reclined on the flattened cushions, snoring softly. An empty bottle of Jack Daniels dangled from her fingers.

Anna gathered the trash on and around the couch. An acrid smell reached her nostrils. In her drunken state, Florence had pissed herself again. It mattered little, since the ratty couch—and by extension, the whole living room—already stunk of urine. Anna never sat on that couch and knew if she ever had a chance, rather than try to clean it, she'd throw it to the curb.

She had almost finished cleaning the mess when Florence stirred. Her lids fluttered. Bleary eyes focused on Anna. "Hey. You're home."

"Hi, Mom."

Florence's lip curled. "How many tricks did you turn today?"

Anna sighed. "About fifteen. I got reamed good, in all three holes."

"Whore," Florence whispered.

"The good news is we have enough for the utilities this month."

"I need another bottle of Jack."

"We don't have that in the budget, Mom."

Florence made to stand but her inebriation prevented it. She fumbled on the couch for a moment before leveling a squinted glare at Anna. As it was, Anna wasn't intimidated. For all her invective, Florence was dwarfed by Anna, who was bigger, stronger, and much more sober. Harsh words and baseless threats were about all Florence had. Still, Anna admitted those barbed words sometimes hurt as much as any slap to the face.

Florence gave up trying to stand. She said, "Fine, I'll get my own tomorrow."

"Yeah, sure." Anna sighed yet again. She had to work and couldn't watch Florence all the time. That old creep at the end of the block, Sam Dawkins, would happily trade Florence two bottles of cheap whiskey for a blowjob. Anna knew Florence would hit him up as soon as Anna's back was turned. She tried to change the subject. "What do you want for dinner?"

"What, your johns didn't feed you? You don't just slut around, you're a cheap slut?"

Anna closed her eyes. "Yeah. Something like that."

Florence continued to mutter and carry on while Anna dug in their refrigerator. She found some hamburger. A box of cheap pasta and flavoring mix sat on the counter. Ugh, she thought. I hate this crap but it's cheap and easy. She fried up the hamburger and stirred in the rest. When it was done, she said, "Mom, come eat."

"I don't wanna." Florence's voice was petulant, almost childish.

"I know you don't but you need to eat."

Her mother staggered into the kitchen. She clutched a quarter-full bottle of cheap wine. Under the full light of the kitchen, Anna got her nightly view of her mother's descent to destruction. Only thirty-seven -eighteen years older than Anna herself—Florence had the face and body of a woman twenty years older. Her hair was graying and stringy, and her lined skin sallow. She flopped in her chair while Anna dished up their meal.

They ate in silence. Florence picked at her dinner. Anna wasn't hungry but she ate anyway. After fifteen minutes, she glanced at her mother and wasn't surprised to see that she had passed out. Anna wrapped her mother's plate in plastic wrap and placed it in the fridge. If Florence's behavior held true, she'd microwave it in the morning when she woke up hungry. She let Florence doze while she cleaned up, then gently woke her. "Mom? Maybe time to lay down."

Florence stood without a word, staggered to her bedroom, shucked her robe, and tossed it over a chair before flopping into bed. Within moments, she was snoring. Anna covered her with a blanket, closed the door to her bedroom, and straightened up a little more. Just like every night, Anna paused in the living room. Yet again, she had an itching desire to scour the house for the money and yet again, dismissed it as pointless.

When everything was more or less clean, she locked the house up and trudged to her own room, her body tired and her heart heavy. Just as Anna shut her bedroom door, her phone rang. It was a simple pay-as-you-go flip phone she kept for emergencies. She recognized the number and answered. "Hey, Betty."

"Hi, Anna. How's my favorite niece?"

"The same."

"That good, huh?" Betty paused. "Have you asked her again?"

"Not for a few days. It doesn't matter. She won't go to rehab. I know we talked about committing her but ..."

"You haven't found anything? I know she got a settlement in the divorce."

"No." Anna sighed. "I don't know where else to look and until I do, our bills are so behind I couldn't even afford to check her into a motel that rents by the hour."

Betty exhaled loudly. "I'm sorry, Anna. I wish Tom and I were in a position to help, but with things slowing down for him at the plant—"

"I know, Betty. Things are tough for everyone."

They spoke for a few more minutes before Anna said she had to go, citing conserving her phone minutes. Betty promised to mail a card for minutes for Anna's phone. Anna smiled at that. She knew her aunt wanted to help however she could but also that Betty and her husband Tom weren't in a great financial position themselves—certainly not well enough off to afford to commit Florence, Betty's little sister, to rehab.

Anna read for a while before crawling into bed. As she closed her eyes, Anna hoped and knew. She hoped the next day would be better and knew it wouldn't.

#

WILL

Will lowered the electrode and killed the switch on the machine. He examined the bead and nodded; it appeared to be a good weld. He stood and stretched.

His motion drew the attention of the site manager. Jim Pasquale strode to where Will worked. "How's it coming?"

"Good." Will waved to the line of crucibles lining the factory floor. "Half of them are done. I'll finish the rest by the end of the week."

Jim nodded in approval. "Good, that would be a few days ahead of schedule."

"We'll see if I can keep it up for the whole six months."

His boss grinned. "You've had no problem keeping up so far. You gonna call it a day?"

"Yeah, I think so. I'll pick it up tomorrow at six."

Jim nodded and clapped him on the shoulder before spotting some workers loafing and moving off to yell at them. Will smiled at that. He hadn't been yelled at yet. He knew he had already impressed Jim with his work ethic and quality of work. As such, barring urgent tasks, he'd pretty much been allowed to set his own schedule. Will packed up his gear in his cart, locked it away in the tool shed assigned him, and drove back to town.

He passed the sign proclaiming the site as the future site of the shale oil retorting and refining facility. Will knew he had about six months of welding work ahead of him and he was good with that. After graduating high school and spending three years in his apprenticeship, he now had a year with his journeyman status under his belt. He'd bid on this job as an independent contractor and won. It was his third contracted job, his first away from the Denver metro area, and his biggest to date. The company had even put him up in a block of apartments they mass-rented, rent-free.

Will grimaced at the thought. The trade-off to that was listening to the other workers get drunk and party at all hours, especially on the weekend. Despite that, he considered it to be worth the hassle since by living there he was able to save up a bunch of money.

Yeah, but saving it for what?

His thoughts, as they often did on the drive back and forth, turned to Emily.

Will had met her at a party. She was slender and blonde and cute. She was also clumsy, colliding with him that night, spilling her drink on his shirt. They had started talking and before Will knew it, they were dating—and then engaged. It had all happened so quickly it left his head spinning. Then he'd won the refinery job and everything fell apart.

In his week-plus in Grand Junction, Will hadn't heard from a peep from her. His messages and emails stood unanswered, which is what he kind of expected. Their last conversation after he accepted the job had been fiery, culminating with Emily shrieking that if he left town, she and he were through. His own back up, Will had driven off and that was the last time they'd spoken. He'd pretty much accepted that they were history.

At least her folks will be happy. I was never good enough for their precious little girl.

He thought about dinner. He had a steak marinating in the refrigerator but remembered he didn't have the potatoes he'd planned to have with it. He came to a red light and turned right towards the store.

Will hadn't thought about the young lady until he walked in and spotted her at the self-checkout. The mass of red hair was impossible to miss. He chuckled to himself and thought, Emily who?

He shopped around for a few minutes and got in line. He watched her greet other shoppers and help those that needed it. Will couldn't put his finger on it. The attendant was of average appearance. In terms of raw attractiveness, she certainly wasn't in Emily's league. But something about her called him, like a moth to an open flame.

He chuckled at that thought. Given his luck with women, maybe it was more of a bug zapper.

Will reached the head of the line. The girl smiled at him, without a sign of recognition. He wasn't surprised; Will was sure she saw hundreds, if not thousands of customers a week. Still, he had an opening. "Afternoon," he said.

"Good afternoon," she replied. "Find everything you needed today?"

"I did, thank you. By the way, thanks for the recommendation for breakfast the other day. It was good."

Recognition and memory lit her eyes. Her smile expanded, becoming less plastic and more genuine. "Oh, you're welcome. I do like it, though I don't get over there that often."

"Well, could I maybe offer to buy you breakfast there sometime?"

Her smile faded. "Uhm, I'm not sure I can do that."

"No strings." He held up his hands. "Like I said the other day, I'm new in town. I'd just like a friend or two."

She shook her head. "Thank you but I really have to decline."

A nearby woman in the store's vest tittered. Though she was slender, Will thought her bright pink hair made her look like a clown. The woman leaned over, exposing a hint of cleavage. "Sugar, if you need a friend, I'll go to breakfast with you."

"Actually," the redhead said, glaring at the other woman, "you know what? I think I probably can do breakfast."

"Great." Will offered his hand. "I'm Will."

She took it. Her skin was soft but her grip firm. "Anna."

Will pulled out his phone. "Can I have your number, so we can set something up?"

Anna grabbed a piece of paper and a pen, ignoring her grumbling coworker. "Give me yours."