Darling Rose Gold, page 10
“When do you get off work?”
“I’m done at five,” I said. I was already thinking about Billy’s half hug, already wishing for another one.
“Can we have dinner? How about Tina’s Café at five? I’ll answer anything you want,” he said. “I want to start to make this up to you.”
I thought about the number of Christmas mornings I’d wished for a third stocking above the fireplace. “I could do Tina’s,” I heard myself say.
Billy beamed. “Okay, Rose, see you then.”
I put my hand up to wave and watched him cross the parking lot. He climbed into a red Camry. Nobody called me Rose, not within earshot of Mom. She’d correct anyone who tried to abbreviate my name.
Actually, “Rose” was the first idea Mom came up with while thinking of baby names. She said she’d always liked the phrase “rose-colored glasses.” She wanted her little girl to be full of optimism for her future, in spite of her missing father and extended family. But Mom thought “Rose” was a little too ordinary for Patty Watts’s daughter. “Rose Gold,” on the other hand—wasn’t that just the perfect hue? “It reminded me of blushing cheeks. Or a pale pink sunset. It’s the name of a little girl you can’t help but love,” she’d said to me one night, beaming.
I plodded back into Gadget World and stood behind register one while Scott lectured me about attending to personal matters on my own time. If Billy was my dad, then he’d been alive my entire life. The only reason I’d grown up without a father was because Mom had lied to me about him. How many times had I asked her about my dad? How many times had she brushed me off, called him vile?
A customer approached, stopping Scott’s lecture, thank God. I smiled weakly at her and rang up her new camera. Mom kept him from me.
She wanted me all to herself. If Billy had been around, she couldn’t have gotten away with the poison. She never could have starved me. Billy would have been there to intervene, to protect me.
Of all the crimes my mother had committed against me, this was by far the worst.
* * *
• • •
The next four hours of work crawled by. The store was dead that day, and I barely had any customers aside from old Mr. McIntyre, who worked at Walsh’s Grocery and who I’d known all my life. I assured him that his grandson would like the LEGO City Undercover video game in his hand. Before he shuffled away, he told me for the millionth time that he hoped to see me at church on Sunday—Jesus’s teachings were exactly what someone like me needed. For the millionth time, I ignored him and waved goodbye.
All afternoon I kept replaying my blowup at Billy, already embarrassed by it. True, he’d made some bad decisions, but I could at least hear him out. At four fifty-five, I grabbed my coat and purse from the break room and tucked them into my register. While I waited for five o’clock, I pulled out my phone and texted Alex. I had to tell someone.
Me: You will never believe what happened today. . . .
Me: I found out my dad is alive!
Alex: wow. crazy!
Alex and I hadn’t talked much since that night at the bar. She had been disappointed when I told her the photo shoot was canceled, but she got over it when my interview was published. The next day, she video-chatted with me and a bunch of her friends.
She never apologized for what she’d said behind my back, so she either didn’t know I’d overheard or was too drunk to remember saying it in the first place. I was still a little mad at her, but was giving her a chance to redeem herself. I didn’t want to be someone who tossed friends aside after one mistake. Besides, I didn’t have any other friends to replace her.
Me: We’re going to Tina’s to talk. I’m so nervous
Alex: good luck
So far her redemption had been underwhelming.
The clock on my phone changed to five p.m. I put on my coat and waved at Robert, then scurried out.
How many hours had I spent searching for Grant Smith online? Every minute I wasn’t piecing together my medical history or talking to Phil, I had tried to find proof of my sleazy dad. But there were too many Grant Smiths. I couldn’t find anyone by that name who had died in central Illinois the same year I was born. After a couple weeks of late nights and dead ends, I’d given up.
I parked the van at Tina’s, then put on some lip gloss. I spotted the red Camry a few spaces away and walked into the café. Billy was sitting in the back corner. He smiled and waved. I waved back, then wiped my palms on my khakis. I wanted this dinner to go well.
“Thank you for coming,” he said. I sat across from him. “I was a little worried you wouldn’t show.”
“I’m sorry for yelling earlier,” I said. “I’ve had some people in my life treat me not so well.”
Billy squirmed.
“But that’s not your fault,” I added.
He exhaled. “How about we start over?” he suggested. He drummed his fingers on the table. He was tenser than he was letting on. I noticed the gold ring on his left hand.
“You’re married?” I said, pointing to the ring.
Billy nodded. “My wife’s name is Kim.”
I tried to picture Kim. I decided she would be thin and have pretty red hair. She would be nothing like my mother.
“What do you and Kim do for fun?” I asked. I imagined the two of them taking grand adventures together—going on safaris, hiking Mount Everest, things like that.
“I have a little garden in my backyard—tomatoes, cucumbers, onions. I even make my own pickles.” Billy paused. “To be honest, I spend most weekends carting my kids around to basketball or swim practice.”
I blinked. “You have kids?”
Billy nodded. “Three. Sophie’s thirteen, Billy Jr. is eleven, and Anna is six.”
They were my half siblings, I realized. I had always wanted a sister or brother. This could be my chance. We could go ice-skating at Christmastime, or to the local pool during summer, or to matinee movies on Saturday afternoons.
“What do you do in Indiana?” I asked.
“Work way too many hours.” Billy forced a laugh. “I sell life insurance.”
We were silent for a minute. His life was so charming, already full. Would he have room for another kid? Should I ask?
“Patty told you I was dead?” he said.
I nodded. “She said you overdosed, that you were an addict.”
Billy stared at his lap.
“Were you?” I asked.
He glanced up, startled. “I’ve never overdosed on anything—except maybe birthday cake.” He forced another chuckle, embarrassed. We both winced at the lame joke, but it made me like him more. I wondered if this was considered a “dad joke.”
“So you never did drugs?” I asked, hating how hopeful my voice sounded.
He shook his head, serious now. “Aside from smoking pot once in a while in college.”
I believed him. Billy Gillespie’s face was so squeaky clean, he was practically a rubber duck. He was the kind of parent you could look up to—someone who didn’t lie to people he supposedly cared about.
The server stopped by to take our orders. I chose lemonade and a club sandwich, and he did too—a good omen, for sure. The server walked away, and there was an awkward silence. Billy cleared his throat but didn’t say anything.
“How did you meet my mom?” I asked.
“I was taking a few classes at Gallatin, this small community college thirty minutes from my house. I thought I’d get a head start—transfer a few credits toward my bachelor’s degree when I started at Purdue the next year. I met Patty in the school cafeteria. She was flirty and charming, not afraid to make the first move. She kept inviting me to see a movie with her. The third time I said yes.”
He paused, as if trying to answer the unasked question: why?
“She was funny as hell,” he said. “I liked being around her.”
The server dropped off the lemonades at our table. Billy and I reached for the packets of sugar at the same time. Another sign. I smiled, stirring the sugar into my cup with a straw. This man seemed kind and normal. Maybe I didn’t need my mother. Maybe I’d just needed my father all along. I signaled for him to continue.
Billy took a long drink of lemonade. “Patty was a lot of fun, but I didn’t want a girlfriend at the time. I was twenty-two, about to go to college after doing odd jobs around my hometown for a few years. Nothing was going to get in the way of me getting my degree.” He stared at me. “My dad got my mom pregnant when they were eighteen, so they did what they were supposed to: married and settled down. Never left our small town. Born and died in the same hospital. Never saw the world, never had any big passions. Happiness was a frivolous goal in their eyes. Maybe frivolous is the wrong word. Unattainable.”
Billy folded his straw wrapper. He looked like a little kid, the way he kept fidgeting. “I respect my parents’ choices. I do. But I didn’t want that life for myself. So when Patty told me she was pregnant . . .”
He wavered. He drank from his glass for a few seconds, then sat back in his chair as if he’d finished his story. I had to hear the rest.
“When she told you she was pregnant . . . ,” I repeated.
He groaned. “Do we have to dredge all of this up? I’ve told you how sorry I am.”
I needed to tread carefully; I didn’t want him to change his mind about getting to know me. “I’m trying to understand this from your point of view, that’s all.”
Billy chewed his lip. “I had no idea how she’d gotten pregnant in the first place. She told me she was on the Pill. It has like, a ninety-nine-percent success rate—I remember looking it up.” He rubbed his eyes. “She said it was a sign the baby was meant to be. When she offered me an out, I realized she’d planned the whole thing. I’d been bamboozled.” Billy said this last word in a goofy tone to try to lighten the mood, but his jaw clenched for a second, and his smile didn’t reach his eyes. Mom always called those “fakies.” I batted the thought of her away.
“Two club sandwiches,” the server said. She set down the plates. “Can I get you anything else?”
I shook my head and grabbed a French fry. “Then what happened?” I asked him.
Billy took a bite of his sandwich, then sighed. “Patty said as long as I paid child support, I didn’t have to be involved with her or her baby. I said yes without a second thought. I’d been so close to having it all ripped away from me—Purdue, falling in love, waiting to have kids until I was ready. I sent her a check every month until you turned eighteen.”
Mom told me the checks in the plain white envelopes came from my grandpa. She said they were part of the inheritance he’d left us. I wondered if anything that had come out of her mouth was true. Billy had made some mistakes, but at least he was honest.
“She was so excited to have a baby. I thought she’d be an excellent mother. More than capable of providing the love of two parents.” His shoulders slumped. He gazed at me. “Rose, I hope you know how sorry I am.”
My father hadn’t wanted me, so he’d left, simple as that. Now that I was sitting across from him, though, his abandonment was less important. He’d been a dumb kid, but he was here now. He had apologized over and over, when no one else in my life would.
I reached across the table, touched his hand, and smiled. “It’s okay.”
He smiled back, relieved. “I’d love to have you over for dinner sometime. You can meet Kim and the kids. What do you think? It’s a five-hour drive, but I can give you gas money. We’ll make something fun. Is there anything you’ve been dying to try?”
I couldn’t believe he’d driven five hours to see me. I gripped the table, unable to contain my excitement. I was going to have a normal family. Today was the first day of the next phase of my life—a better phase. I rolled the word “Dad” around in my head.
“I would love that,” I said. “I’ve never had a cheeseburger. Well, I mean, I’ve had the fast-food version, but not, like, a homemade one.”
Billy feigned a look of horror. “An absolute crime.”
Then he grinned and put his arm up to hail the server. “Let’s exchange numbers, and then we’ll figure out a date when everyone’s free.” He handed me his phone. I typed my name and number in it. He reached for my phone to do the same, but I held on to it and added his information myself. I didn’t want him to see how few numbers I had.
The server dropped off the check. Billy pulled out his credit card. I reached for my wallet, but he waved me off. “This is on me,” he said.
“Are you sure?” I asked. He nodded. I couldn’t help but beam, almost forgot to cover my mouth. This was just like on TV, where dads paid for their families’ meals and all the kids said, “Thanks for dinner, Dad!”
“Thanks for dinner,” I said.
Billy walked me to my car, and I smiled again. He was like King Triton at the end of the movie, after he stopped being so hard on Ariel. I had to make sure he knew I’d forgiven him. He was one of the good guys.
“This was the best day I’ve had in a long time, so thank you,” I said, peeking at him sideways. “And I hope you know I’m not mad at you or anything. Thanks for being so honest,” I finished.
Billy watched me for a while. “I’m glad we’re getting a second chance,” he murmured.
I couldn’t resist. I pulled him into a hug, this time a tighter one. Softly I sniffed him. One more whiff of that dad smell.
He pulled away and held me by the shoulders, his palms damp but strong. Up close, I could see all the wrinkles on his forehead, the stress in his eyes. “We’ll talk soon, okay?”
I nodded, climbed into my car, and waved one more time. “See you soon—Dad!” I waited to see how he’d react.
He stumbled a little when I called his name, but turned and waved back to me with a quick smile before getting into his Camry. I watched his car pull out of the parking lot and drive away. My hands shook against the steering wheel. I couldn’t stop grinning like a dope. Cheesing, she called it. I frowned.
I reached for my phone. One more text.
Me: I did it, I met him! He’s the greatest guy ever. I couldn’t ask for a better dad. I’m going to visit him in Indiana soon!!!
Alex: yay
I opened a new note on my phone, listing all the questions I’d forgotten to ask at Tina’s. I wanted to know everything about my dad. I’d have to space them out, maybe one text per day.
I couldn’t risk scaring him away.
9
Patty
One morning I wake up and decide today will mark my return to society. The good people of Deadwick have been Patty-less for too long, and they need someone to spice up their otherwise tedious lives. Mary might not be ready to forgive me, but the rest of them will be. Besides, it’s been two weeks since I got out of prison, and I haven’t left the house since then. Thanksgiving is next Thursday—a trip to the grocery store is the perfect stage for my resurrection.
My social calendar may be empty, but I’ve made progress on other fronts. I started the Free 2.0 job, I’ve begun decorating the house, and I wrote my old cellmate Alicia the letter I’d promised. Rose Gold even left me home alone with Adam once, although only for twenty minutes. I’m no closer to figuring out what she’s up to.
Sometimes I have to remind myself how patient I am.
In the shower, I realize my legs have turned into Chia Pets and groan. Some people find shaving relaxing, but I am not one of them. Keeping up with body grooming is exhausting. There’re leg shaving, armpit shaving, bikini waxing, eyebrow threading, nail clipping, nail painting, hair dyeing, hair cutting, daily bathing, and an unfortunate patch of peach fuzz around my throat that means neck tweezing. By the time I get through a round of all these chores, it’s time to start over and do them again. Sometimes I want to embrace my inner hippie—be the type of woman not bothered by hair all over her body. Mostly, I wish I were hairless.
After showering, I stand in front of my closet, weighing a few options. I choose my favorite T-shirt. Printed on it in purple lettering is Not a morning person doesn’t begin to cover it. Actually, I am a morning person. I’ve woken up at five thirty every day for the last decade. But a lot of folks find morning people insufferable. Better if I bring myself down to their level.
The house is quiet, humming. Rose Gold left for work hours ago, dropping Adam off at Mary’s on her way. I’ve started trying the doorknob to her bedroom each morning after she leaves. But the door is always locked. Today I try using a bobby pin to pick the lock, but end up breaking the pin. My curiosity swells from an itch to a rash. I want to get inside that room.
I set the task aside for now and bundle up in my heavy winter coat. I decide to walk the twenty minutes to Walsh’s Grocery. Not like I have much choice without a car. I head outside, surprised by the ferocity of the cold.
Most people in Deadwick view the months from November to April as a feat of endurance. I inhale. All the hairs inside my nose feel glued together. Even the houses look cold, driveways empty and living room curtains closed. I stand at the end of our driveway and squint at the Thompsons’ old house, looking for signs of life. Maybe I’ll take a quick peek inside, reassure myself no one’s watching me.
I take small steps across the street until I’ve reached the edge of the abandoned lot. I hesitate, then tell myself not to be ridiculous. Striding across the lawn, I pick my way around the piles of trash. The wind moans, and I pull my jacket tighter around me. I pause before the two stairs leading to the porch, debating whether this is a good idea. The air around me stills, suddenly silent, save for a distant creaking noise. Is it coming from inside the house?
I climb the first rickety step. The wood immediately cracks and gives way, taking me with it. I shriek and thrash my arms, trying to keep my balance. Turning on my heel, I flee the yard and cross the street back to my own sidewalk. I stand there for a minute, hands on knees, huffing more from shock than exertion. I glare at the house. It glares back.
