Darling Rose Gold, page 18
The universal symbol for poison.
The heat on my back reminds me of the flames. I turn and pull the pin from the extinguisher’s handle. Aiming the nozzle at the base of the fire, I squeeze the lever. Liquid shoots out and douses some of the flames. I keep at it, sweeping from side to side for what feels like hours, but couldn’t be more than thirty seconds. When the last flame is gone, I sink to my knees in the grass, staring at the charred can and listening to my shaky breath.
The smell of gasoline lifts me from my stupor. Someone started this fire, I think stupidly. I squint into the darkness toward my neighbors’ houses, searching for the culprits. There’s no sign of life out here except my own. I shiver, my brain registering how cold my body is.
I find a flashlight in the garage and sweep it along the sidewalk and up the trees. I’m too scared to leave our property. Maybe in the morning I’ll do a more thorough search for evidence. For now I want to get back inside, safe behind a locked door.
I hurry into the house, closing the door behind me. I stand there for a few seconds, soaking in the strength of the door at my back, then take another unsteady breath.
At the end of the hallway, I pound on Rose Gold’s bedroom door again. This time, the door opens right away.
Rose Gold stands there, blinking with bed head. “What time is it?” she asks, groggy.
“How did you not wake up?” I cry.
“I took a sleeping pill.” She yawns. “What’s wrong?”
“Someone set our trash can on fire,” I say. My voice sounds hysterical, unfamiliar to me.
Rose Gold raises her eyebrows, starting to wake up. “What are you talking about?”
“I just put out a fire in the front yard!” How can she be so dense?
Her jaw drops. “Are you serious?” Finally, the reaction I’m looking for. The two of us stare at each other for a moment with matching agape expressions.
Then Adam lets out a shrill cry. Rose Gold fixes me with a glare and goes to the crib to get him. How dare I wake the baby in the process of stopping her lawn from going up in flames?
I forget the fire for a second and peer into the dark room, searching for the reason my daughter needs to keep this door locked all the time. But the bedroom looks the same as the day I moved in here. Nothing is out of the ordinary.
Rose Gold comes back to the door, yawning. “Would you mind getting him to sleep?”
Is she going back to bed right now? I won’t be able to sleep for weeks.
I take Adam from her. She smiles before closing the door gently in my face. I carry the baby to the living room, rocking him in my arms until he stops crying. He sticks his tongue out. I laugh in spite of the situation. My heart pulses against his small body.
Someone has taken their anger too far this time. I figured the people of Deadwick might be petty when I got out of prison, but I never thought the town would become unsafe. Yet unsafe is exactly how I feel. I rack my brain for who’s behind this: Mary Stone, Tom Behan, Bob McIntyre, Arnie, the other Gadget World employees? Any of them might be playing white knight, might be hell-bent on teaching me a lesson.
I gaze at the innocent bundle in my arms. He would be much better off growing up somewhere else, far away from the maniacs of Deadwick.
With a sigh, I try to enjoy these last few minutes of rest. I will stay up all night if that’s what it takes to scrub every remnant of chalk from the driveway. None of Rose Gold’s crusaders will get the satisfaction of seeing their threats in the light of day.
Nor will Rose Gold.
16
Rose Gold
After twenty-four hours on the bus, we’d made six stops across Indiana, one long transfer in Chicago, and two stops in Wisconsin. We had crossed the border into Minnesota when my phone vibrated. A text from Dad. In spite of his earlier rudeness, I was still happy to see his name on my screen.
Dad: I wanted to let you know we’re almost there
Dad: Kim’s doing the last leg of driving
Dad: I’m sorry for not letting you come on this trip
Dad: And for being short earlier
Dad: I’m so happy you’re beating this illness, but I still think it’s too soon for you to take a big, active trip like this
The stream of messages paused.
Dad: I know I said we should get together after my vacation, but now that you’re getting better, I think I need some space for a while
What? How long was “a while”?
Dad: I hope you know how great it’s been getting to know you
Dad: And I mean that
Why did it feel like he was breaking up with me?
Dad: I’ve gotten as much out of this as you have
Dad: But with all the driving back and forth to Deadwick, and constant texts and e-mails and worrying about you, I’ve been neglecting my family
I started to type, I AM your family, but deleted the sentence.
Dad: With the promotion, work has been busier than ever
Dad: I want to be there for my wife and kids with the little free time I have
I blinked back tears. What if he never wanted to see me again?
Dad: I know you’re my kid too, but you’re already a grown-up, and look at you—you beat cancer, for Pete’s sake!
Dad: You have Mrs. Stone and your neighbors, but my kids don’t have anyone else
Dad: Anna’s only 7
Dad: I could never forgive myself if they grew up without a father
A bone-shaking scream threatened to escape from my chest. I gripped my jaw closed with my hand, wild with fury. How could he do this to me?
Dad: I already made that mistake once
Dad: I’m sorry
Dad: I’m so sorry, Rose
His use of my nickname—the only nickname I’d ever been given—deflated my anger. For the first time since I’d stepped onto the bus, I saw what I was doing with crystal clarity: my dad wouldn’t let me go with his family to Yellowstone, so I was following them there. What was I thinking? That I’d steal their food? Cut the straps to their tents? Drill a hole through their canoe? Now that my fury had quieted, I realized I was going to drive him away for good if I showed up and ruined his summer trip. I had to take smaller, saner steps to win over the Gillespie family. I couldn’t go to Bozeman right now.
I stood and stepped into the aisle. “Stop the bus!” I yelled.
The driver’s eyes glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “Miss, sit down, please,” she said, bored.
I gathered my few belongings and made my way to the front of the bus. “I need to get off,” I pleaded.
“You think you’re on some kind of movie set? We’re on a highway,” she chided me, incredulous. “Now, take a seat.”
I sank onto the nearest bench. “But I’m going the wrong way,” I said, close to tears. “I made a mistake.”
“Minneapolis in ten minutes,” the driver called to the group. To me, she said in a low tone, “We all make mistakes. You can always start fresh.”
I clung to the bench in front of me, thinking of the brand-new fishing pole in my van back in Indiana. I could see the Gillespies on the six-seater boat they’d rented, five poles lined up and waiting to be used. Dad helped each kid bait their hooks. Kim tried to slather sunscreen on Anna while she wiggled away, peering into the water and naming every fish she saw. On my empty seat, Dad plunked a cooler full of drinks, the kids fighting over who got the blue Gatorade. When would I ever ride in a boat or learn to fish? The idea of trying to do these things on my own struck me as absurd. Another family outing had slipped through my fingers.
I wiped my eyes. My predicament wasn’t Dad’s fault. In a normal family, I wouldn’t have to force my way onto summer trips. There’d be no such thing as overstaying my welcome. I wouldn’t be making up for lost time if it weren’t for my mother. By now, Mom had been in prison for almost three years. I hadn’t spoken to her once. I hoped I’d never see her rotten, lying face again. She deserved to be hacked to pieces, not Dad.
When the bus pulled into the parking lot, I darted off of it, apologizing to and thanking the driver.
How had I gotten here? Not to Minneapolis, but to this place in my life. My best friend—even if she was a jerk—was no longer speaking to me. My dad wanted space from me; my mother was in prison. I had no one. I was alone.
I couldn’t bear the thought of turning around and going home. Not when I’d begged Scott for a week off. I could stay here, but I didn’t know anyone in Minnesota.
For the second time in as many days, I studied the bus schedule and map. I had to go somewhere—I couldn’t stay at this bus station. Where do you go when you’re all alone?
My eyes stopped roaming the map. I wasn’t alone at all. All these years, I’d promised to visit, and when would be more perfect than right now? I already had the time off, had already headed west.
I marched to the ticket counter. I’d gone too far north, but we would correct course. By the weekend, I’d be there.
“Can I help you?” the man at the counter asked. He wore an eye patch—a very good omen.
“One ticket to Denver, please,” I said.
I was long overdue to meet Phil in the flesh.
* * *
• • •
At ten a.m., when the bus was an hour outside of Denver, I decided to text Phil my real name. I didn’t want our first in-person exchange to start with me correcting him when he called me “Katie.” I couldn’t go on pretending to be someone else forever.
Me: I haven’t been honest with you
Phil: What do you mean?
Me: My real name is Rose Gold
Me: I lied because I didn’t want you to find my messed-up family story online or in the papers
Me: I’m sorry
I dropped my phone in my lap, hands shaking, and let out a sigh of relief. I’d taken a risk by admitting I’d lied, but it felt good to come clean with Phil. I hoped he wouldn’t google me in the next hour and figure out what I looked like, or he’d never want to meet me. I waited for his response.
Phil: Huh
Phil: I’m both surprised and not. It’s the Internet, after all
Me: I’m so sorry
Phil: Hey, I understand
A pit formed in my stomach. I had to ask.
Me: Do you still want to talk to me?
Phil: Of course
Me: Good, because I’m almost in Denver
Phil: What?
Me: I knew you’d never agree to meet unless I surprised you. I’m on a bus, and I’m almost there
Me: Meet me at the Denver bus station in an hour. The one on 19th Street. I’m wearing a purple hoodie
My heart was hammering again, but I was also proud of myself. More and more these days, I had taken control of my life. I’d stood up to Alex and taught her a lesson. I’d demanded my manager let me have this week off of work. I’d gotten to know my father and cut off my mother. And now I was giving Phil commands. Timid Rose Gold had been ousted.
Phil: Okay, I’ll be there
I blinked a few times at his message, not believing it. I was going to meet my online boyfriend.
Phil: I’ll be wearing a gray beret
I was so excited at not being hung out to dry that I tried to ignore the bad omen of a gray hat. I had never seen a beret-wearing snowboarder before, but then, I had never met any snowboarders. I would have to wait and see.
The last hour of the bus ride dragged by. I spent most of the time watching YouTube tutorials on applying makeup. In the end, I put mine on the same way I’d seen Alex do hers. After that, I practiced poses that would allow me to talk to Phil while concealing my teeth—not that I needed the practice. I’d figured out every mouth-covering move years ago.
The bus pulled into the parking lot. I had butterflies. Good or bad, this day was going to be a memorable one. I peered out the window, trying to catch a first peek at Phil. But the parking lot was mostly empty. A few cars waited, but I couldn’t see any of their drivers.
The bus stopped. The doors opened. A handful of people shuffled off the bus with me, yawning and stretching their legs. I willed them to move faster. I descended the three steps to the sidewalk, the last one off the bus. I watched some of the passengers head to the waiting cars. They poked their heads in the driver’s-side windows, offering hugs and kisses to invisible loved ones. I scanned the parking lot, but didn’t see a gray beret.
What if he’d stood me up?
I tapped my foot on the concrete and crossed my arms. No one here is paying attention to you, I told myself. And if they are, they’ll assume your ride is late.
I’d give it fifteen minutes. If he didn’t show up by then, I’d have my answer. I was already dreading getting back on the bus.
Someone tapped my left shoulder. “Rose Gold?”
I whirled around to see a man standing behind me, arms stiff at his side. In one hand, he held two crushed daisies. Under his gray beret was a reddish blond ponytail. He had a potbelly and a mustache with white wisps, wore glasses, and had to be at least sixty.
This couldn’t have been Phil.
The man extended a hand toward me. “I’m Phil,” he said.
“Rose Gold,” I said numbly, shaking his hand.
The guy was old enough to be my grandfather, and I’d told him I loved him more than once during our late-night chats. I was going to projectile-vomit all over Phil’s Birkenstocks.
“You hungry? I thought we’d get a bite at the Crispy Biscuit down the street. Great diner.” Phil scratched his elbow. A flaky patch of skin flew off. It dawned on me I had been very stupid and made a giant mistake.
Phil began walking toward a black pickup. I plodded behind him, stalling. I did not want to get into this guy’s truck. I’d recently started watching horror movies, and it seemed like all the characters put themselves in harm’s way—failing to call the police, hiding in obvious places, getting into strange cars—while I screamed at them for being idiots. I vowed not to be an idiot twice in one day.
“How far is the diner?” I asked.
“Two-minute drive. Not even,” Phil said, clearing phlegm from his throat.
“Maybe we could walk over,” I said. “I’ve been sitting for, like, twenty-four hours.”
Phil glanced at me sideways. “No problem,” he said. He stopped walking, so I stopped too. “You don’t think I’m out to hurt you or anything, do you?”
I gave him a small smile. “Of course not. Just want a little fresh air.”
We walked the rest of the way to the restaurant in silence. Phil offered to carry my suitcase, but I declined, although I didn’t have anything valuable inside. If I had to leave it behind in an emergency, so be it.
At the Crispy Biscuit, an apathetic waitress seated us in a sticky booth and handed us menus. Phil took off his beret to reveal a receding hairline that made me wince. He hummed to himself while he examined the menu. Meanwhile, I planned an escape route.
I’d get through this meal, then make up some excuse about having an aunt in town who would pick me up. In fact, maybe I should tell him about the aunt now so he’d know someone would notice if I was missing. But how many times had I told him in past conversations that I had no living relatives but my mother? Maybe this could be a long-lost aunt. Or wait. I’d told him about finding my dad. I could say my dad was on a business trip in Denver, and he was picking me up after his meeting. Maybe I should actually text Dad to let him know I was in danger. He’d said he needed space, but I doubted that included emergencies. Maybe this could be the thing that brought us back together. He’d feel guilty and forget all the stuff he’d said. He could be the proverbial dad sitting on his porch with a shotgun, waiting for his daughter’s sixty-year-old boyfriend to bring her home. I tried to imagine Dad holding a gun. I couldn’t.
“What’s it gonna be?” Phil asked, watching me. I bet Phil owned lots of guns.
I started. “Sorry?”
“I’m going to have the Denver omelet. Anything sound good to you?”
In spite of my nerves, I realized I was starving. I hadn’t eaten a real meal in two days. I glanced at the menu and picked the first thing I saw. “Blueberry pancakes.”
“Good choice.” Phil smirked and leaned in. “You know, you don’t have to look so scared. I’m not some crazy ax murderer or something.”
I squawked out a laugh. “Isn’t that exactly what a crazy ax murderer would say?” I sounded like my mom.
“You invited me to meet you,” Phil reminded me.
“You’re just . . . ,” I faltered.
“Old?” Phil guessed.
“You said you dropped out of high school.”
“I did. A long time ago.” Phil chuckled.
“You said you live at your aunt and uncle’s house.”
“I do. They sold it to me a while back.”
I scowled. “You’re different than I expected.”
He gave me the once-over. “So are you.”
What was that supposed to mean? Was I uglier than he’d predicted? Flatter chested? Scrawnier? I wondered if he was sizing me up, guessing how much I weighed, how much of a fight I’d put up if he carried me to his truck. Or what if he wasn’t forceful but instead tried to woo me? Under no circumstances did I want to have sex with this man.
“I never wanted to become a lifelong bachelor, reading Kafka alone in my cabin in the woods.” Phil paused. “I’m kidding—Kafka’s full of shit. You ever read him?”
