Darling Rose Gold, page 9
I could protest all I wanted, but the truth was, I had no one to blame but myself. If I’d kept a closer eye on my daughter, she wouldn’t have been on this witness stand testifying against her own mother. I wished I could take the past six months back, start over. Maybe we could go to family counseling.
“Thank you, Miss Watts,” the prosecutor said. He turned to the judge. “No further questions, Your Honor.”
“All right,” the judge said. “Let’s take an hour recess for lunch.”
The bailiff approached the witness stand. Rose Gold’s fingers twisted in knots. She peered around the room. Her eyes found mine.
I love you, I mouthed to her, smiling.
Her expression darkened. She glanced at the jury, who were gathering their things, and leaned into the microphone. When she spoke, her voice rang out loud and confident. “My mother belongs in prison.”
The bailiff hurried Rose Gold off the witness stand. The gallery buzzed behind me.
My jaw clenched. I fought the urge to rip the tie off my dumbfounded attorney and shove it in my daughter’s mouth. All those months I thought some shadowy they had gotten to her: Alex Stone, the police, the prosecutor, reporters. I thought she was someone else’s mouthpiece, parroting back what she was supposed to say like a good girl. But she was up there—blabbing about the intimate details of our lives—of her own volition. She wanted to see me rot in a cell, even though I’d devoted my entire life to taking care of her. The shock of her betrayal zipped through me like two thousand volts. I was sure my heart would stop at any minute.
How could you? I thought, watching her. You were more than a daughter to me—you were my best friend. You were my everything.
Rose Gold turned toward me, as if I’d spoken aloud. Our eyes met again, and in hers, I saw regret, a plea for forgiveness. That was when I knew: she would come back to me someday. She would pay a price for her betrayal, of course, but we would get through this.
On that day of my trial, and for many years after, my daughter was lost. But in the end, I was right: all the vicious people in the world couldn’t keep us apart. She found her way back to me.
This time, dear girl, I promise not to let you go.
8
Rose Gold
August 2014
In Gadget World’s break room, I ate my lunch at the rickety plastic table. Today I’d made a Cobb salad. My cooking wasn’t going to win any awards, but at least my meals were edible now. It’d been a year and a half since my interview ran in Chit Chat. Vinny had claimed he wanted to tell my version of events, but I still came off as a victim in his final article. I was a two-page sob story toward the back of the tabloid. I had six copies of the issue at home.
My life hadn’t changed like I’d hoped it would. No Disney princes were knocking down my door. My neighbors were still nosy. Work was boring.
Across the table sat my coworker Brenda. She’d given birth a couple months ago, so was constantly in the break room pumping breast milk. A blanket covered her boobs, but the machine was so loud, I could barely think. Every time I saw Brenda, she asked if I’d talked to Phil about visiting him yet. I’d made the mistake of telling her I had an online boyfriend a couple months ago.
“So,” Brenda said, “have you asked Phil yet?”
“No,” I said, hoping to cut the conversation short.
“Rose Gold, these are your twenties! Someday you’ll be thirty-five with two kids like me, and trust me, girl, you will want some adventures to look back on to get you through the day. What’s it gonna take for you to ask him?”
I shrugged, uncomfortable. Brenda and I weren’t friends.
She watched me for a minute, head cocked. “Tell you what,” she finally said. “I’ll give you five bucks if you text him right now.”
I pictured my new teeth. Every little bit would help. I took out my phone.
Me: What’s your cabin like in the summer?
Phil: There’s so much wildlife around right now! I saw a black bear and her cub the other day, and a couple of foxes too
Me: Your house is in the mountains, right?
Phil: Yes, not too far from Platte Canyon. My cabin is small, but I like it
Me: You mean your uncle and aunt’s cabin?
Phil: Right. They’ve been traveling so much, I guess the house feels like my own
Me: That’s so cool. Your own mountain cabin!
Phil: It’s really something. . . .
This was my chance. I sucked in a breath. Brenda watched me equivocate. She fished her wallet out of her purse. I rattled off the text before I could chicken out.
Me: Why don’t I come see it for myself? :-)
I showed the text to Brenda. She hooted and handed me a five-dollar bill.
His reply was almost instant.
Phil: I don’t know, Katie. . . .
I had lied to Phil about my name. I didn’t know much about the Internet back when I met Phil, but I knew you weren’t supposed to give your real name to strangers you met online. By the time I was ready to be honest with him, Mom and I were in the newspapers, with headlines like POISONOUS PATTY WATTS FINALLY GETS WHAT SHE DESERVES; JUSTICE FOR ROSE GOLD. I didn’t want Phil to find me. I prayed the newspapers in Colorado wouldn’t cover a story so far away. One of these days I’d tell him the truth.
Me: But you said we’d meet soon. You promised
Phil: I know, honey. I just don’t want to ruin what we have
What did we have? I was twenty years old and no closer to my first kiss. I threw away my empty Capri Sun and put my lunch bag back in my locker. I plopped onto the black fake leather couch and closed my eyes.
“That bad, huh?” Brenda asked guiltily.
I nodded, eyes still closed. What would Alex do? She might not have been the greatest friend, but she had a lot of luck with guys. I thought for a minute. Alex was all about ultimatums. Either he does this or I’m done with him. I’d heard her say that more than once. But Alex was beautiful and cool. Plus she had that hair. She could get away with saying things like that. I was no Alex. Still, maybe she was onto something.
I checked the wall clock. My lunch break was almost over. I pulled myself off the couch, waved to Brenda, and left the break room, walking back to register one. The store was quiet today. Plenty of time to figure out the Phil situation.
I stopped by the kiosk at the end of my register, waiting for a customer. This was Scott’s new rule—he said we needed to appear more accommodating. I watched people browse the video game aisle. They were teenagers, with the exception of one neatly dressed man in his forties. I took a few steps over to check out the DVD aisle: empty, like always.
I peered back down the video game aisle. The man in his forties was staring at me, but looked away when he realized I’d caught him. He was probably from one of the next towns over, here for a glimpse of the freak show. I told myself not to jump to conclusions. I had a bad attitude lately—I hadn’t even told my last customer to have a nice day.
I focused on organizing my kiosk, straightening the magazines and packages of gum. After a minute, I peeked over my shoulder. The man was watching me again. He jumped when I turned. This time, he walked farther down the aisle, away from me. He picked up a video game, then set it back in its place.
The man was average height with blond-brown hair and had one hand in his pants pocket. He was studying his surroundings as though he’d never been in an electronics store before. He looked like someone who gave back dropped wallets, pulled pranks on his wife, enjoyed a water gun fight more than his kids. A TV dad. Not the typical guy to nose himself into my business.
I walked back to my register. At least I could make it harder for him to stare at me. I scanned the registers to make sure Scott wasn’t lurking. I checked my phone. No texts.
I put my phone back in the register cubby, then started when I realized the man was now examining the items I’d just arranged in my kiosk. Was this guy an alien? He was handling a pack of gum as if it were a precious valuable. I didn’t acknowledge him, but he kept stealing glances at me. Enough was enough.
“Can I help you with something?” I asked, decidedly unaccommodating. I hoped he could tell I was annoyed.
He dropped the pack of gum he was holding, then put it back on the kiosk. He walked over and placed a bottle of Diet Pepsi on the conveyor belt.
“This is it?”
He nodded and cleared his throat, staring at my name tag. He fidgeted.
“Rose Gold,” he said.
I nodded, losing patience, heart starting to pound. I steeled myself for more humiliation—I wouldn’t let him off the hook like I had Alex, Brandon, and all the others.
He paused, considering something. The color had drained from his face. “I’m Billy Gillespie,” he said, emphasizing his name and offering me his hand.
I watched him, confused.
He squinched his eyes and pulled his hand back. “Billy Gillespie,” he said. He pronounced his name like a secret password to a hidden grotto. Billy Gillespie seemed to expect me to know him. I frowned and scanned the Diet Pepsi to break the awkwardness.
“Cash or credit?” I asked.
Billy Gillespie held up his credit card and swiped it in the reader. He sighed. “You don’t know who I am.”
I shook my head and turned to the receipt printer, glad for something to do. I handed him the piece of paper. “Do you need a bag?”
“No, thanks,” Billy Gillespie said, getting tomato cheeks when some customers walked by us. “Listen, can I talk to you outside for a minute?”
By now my curiosity had evolved into alarm.
“Sorry,” I said. “I’m on the clock.” I crossed my arms. The man didn’t seem like a threat, but why was he being so weird?
Billy Gillespie looked like he wanted to say more, but instead let his shoulders sag in defeat. “Okay, I understand.” I watched him trudge toward the door. He peeked back at me once, then was gone.
I rang up another customer and racked my brain for any Billy Gillespies I should have remembered. I was positive I’d never heard of him.
After the customer left, the sliding-glass doors opened again. Billy Gillespie was marching back through them, now heading toward me.
“If I could have five minutes of your time—,” he pleaded before I could cut him off.
“Do I need to get my manager involved?” I said, trying to sound brave.
Billy Gillespie put his arms up in surrender and started rambling. “I didn’t want to do it like this, but okay. The thing is, I’m pretty sure I’m your father.”
My jaw fell open. Of all the nutjobs that had stopped me, none had gone this far.
I raised my voice. “Is this your idea of a joke?”
Billy Gillespie was mortified. “Your mother is Patty Watts, right?”
Anyone who lived within thirty miles of Deadwick and read the newspaper knew that.
“My dad died before I was born,” I said through gritted teeth.
“You’re twenty, right? Born around February nineteen ninety-four?”
I stared at Billy in alarm and tried to remember whether any of the articles had stated my birthday. I’d memorized most of them—I was pretty sure they hadn’t. Still, he could’ve found that information online.
“You should get out of here, or I’ll have to call security.” My voice sounded squeaky and pathetic.
“How do you know your dad died?” he asked.
“Please, go,” I said, not looking at him anymore.
Billy Gillespie slipped his hand into the back pocket of his khakis and pulled out a photo, folded in half. He opened it and smoothed it out. He held it up for me to see, jabbed at the people in it. “See?” he said, handing it to me.
I was about to summon Robert, the bulky security guard, who was already watching us with interest, trying to figure out whether he needed to intervene. Then I saw Mom’s face in the photo.
She was twenty years younger and smiling at a young Billy Gillespie.
“Everything okay, Rose Gold?” Robert said behind me.
“Where did you get this?” I whispered.
“I’m telling the truth,” Billy Gillespie said sadly. “Now will you talk to me?”
I scanned the store floor. Would anyone notice I was gone? I checked my watch. “I’m good, Robert,” I said to the security guard. “Five minutes,” I told Billy Gillespie. I followed him out of the store.
We stood on the curb. I hugged my arms across my chest. “What do you want?” I said.
He looked surprised. “I don’t want anything. I just thought this was the right thing to do.” He gave me a sidelong glance. “Maybe I was wrong.”
“My mom had lots of friends before she went to prison,” I said. “All this photo proves is you knew her when the two of you were young.” I realized I was still clutching the photo and tried to hand it back.
“Look closer,” Billy said.
I examined the photo. The two of them were lying in a bed, pillows under their heads. Both of them were topless. Mercifully, the photo cut off above the chest. Mom’s short hair was messy. Billy had taken the photo, arm extended.
“But my dad’s name was Grant Smith,” I protested.
“What’d he die of?” Billy asked.
“A drug overdose.” I felt sick. I longed for the feeling of my forehead against cool bathroom tile, even though that normally meant neon green drool was hanging from my mouth. My stomach lurched again.
Billy sighed. “Your mom lied to you.”
Which was more likely: that a strange man was pretending to be my father, or that my mother had lied to me—again?
Shit.
If you’re going to do something, do it well, she said.
Billy continued. “I’m not proud I left you behind, but I thought you’d be okay. I had no idea what Patty was. And then I was at the dentist’s office a few months ago and saw this old issue of Chit Chat with your interview inside,” he said, embarrassed. “I realized you thought I was dead. I tried to look you up in the phone book or find your e-mail, but I kept hitting dead ends.”
“What do you want?” I asked again, dizzy. Was I going to cry or scream? My body felt turned inside out. I pinched the skin between my thumb and forefinger hard.
“I don’t know.” Billy fidgeted. “I just feel guilty.”
I stared at him. I should have known today would be a bad day—I’d found a calculator in the middle of the street this morning.
“I wanted to make sure you’re okay,” he said. He scanned me top to bottom, as if he’d find evidence of all I’d been through on my uniform shirt. His eyes stopped at my teeth. I realized my mouth was hanging open.
“Am I okay?” I said. My brain had become a merry-go-round, which I had never been allowed on—Mom thought it’d make me sick. Same with slides and swings and basically every childhood pastime that was in any way fun.
I blinked back tears, hands throbbing. “You ditch me for twenty years and now you come slinking back here, wanting to know if I’m okay?”
Billy winced, but I was just getting started. How did this keep happening? First my mother betrayed me, then Alex, and now this man—my apparent father. Plus, Phil kept dodging me. Would I never learn? Would I never stop letting people walk all over me?
“You deserted us,” I shouted. “My whole life, all I wanted was to have a dad like every other kid. You left us to fend for ourselves. Mom was always worried about money. Of course I’m not okay. None of my screwed-up life would have happened if you’d stuck around.”
I had that ache in my throat, the one you get when you’re trying hard not to cry. But I’d said too much—I couldn’t stop the tears now. I sat on the curb and buried my face in my arms. My shirt smelled like Mom’s perfume: the Bath Shop’s Vanilla Bean. I’d sprayed it around my apartment this morning to pretend she was still here.
Billy squatted next to me, not saying a word. After a couple minutes, my shoulders stopped trembling. I imagined the mascara streaks on my face. What a mess I must have looked like. I didn’t want to face him.
“I’m so sorry for everything you’ve been through,” he said, voice shaky. “This is all my fault.” He sounded like he meant it.
I picked up my head and studied Billy. He had the same hazel eyes and small nose as me. Both of us had dishwater blond hair. His leg pogo-sticked on the curb the way mine did when I was nervous.
“You’re really my dad?” I said.
Billy nodded. He hesitated, then wrapped an arm around my shoulders. He smelled like woodsy aftershave and McDonald’s. “After I read the article, I didn’t know what to do. I thought maybe I should leave you alone, not drop this bomb on you when you’ve already been through so much. But then I thought maybe you might want to meet your father, or at least to know I was alive. I kept having these awful nightmares. So I drove down from Indiana, where I live. I’m sorry if I made the wrong choice.” Billy removed his arm from my shoulders and chewed his lip. I did the same thing when I was worried. There were too many similarities to ignore.
“I have so many questions,” I said. Would we spend Thanksgiving together? Would he try to have “the talk” with me? Would he expect me to root for his favorite sports teams?
A knock sounded on Gadget World’s windows. Scott stood in the vestibule and glared at me, hands on hips. Billy helped me up.
