Darling Rose Gold(30)

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.”