Darling Rose Gold(43)

We both fill our plates with the steaming food on the table. I break into the turkey first; this is the dish I’m most nervous about. But the bird is perfect: full of flavor, not at all dried out. I pile the food into my mouth, barely remembering to breathe between bites. After working on my feet all day, I’m famished.

“You have tomorrow off, right?” I ask. I scoop more stuffing onto my fork.

Rose Gold shakes her head, twirling her spoon through mashed potatoes. “Black Friday—I’m working overtime. I have to be in at six.”

“Six in the morning?” I cry. “Who in their right mind wants to buy a TV that early? These people aren’t getting enough tryptophan if they’re up and at ’em the morning after Thanksgiving.”

Rose Gold shrugs.

“Why don’t you leave Adam here, then?” I suggest. “That way you don’t have to get up even earlier to drive him to Mary’s.”

Rose Gold considers the proposition. “Okay,” she says after a few seconds. “If you’re sure you don’t mind.”

I clap in excitement. This is the first time she’s agreed to leave us alone for an extended period. A whole day with little Adam—the possibilities are endless.

By the time I finish my second helping, I can no longer ignore that Rose Gold’s plate is still full. “Darling, you haven’t eaten much. Everything taste okay?” She wouldn’t dare insult my magnum opus.

Rose Gold nods and takes a bite of the potatoes. “It’s all delicious.”

“You can’t keep working these hours and feeding a baby on so little food. You have to keep your strength up,” I say. “If not for yourself, then at least for Adam.” I scowl at my daughter. “Promise?”

“Okay, okay.” Rose Gold puts her hands up in surrender, glancing at the baby with concern. “I promise.”

Satisfied, I nod and get up. I open the freezer door to search for the vanilla ice cream. I want it to soften to get to the perfect consistency to pair with my pies. I search every shelf, but can’t find the tub anywhere.

“Did you eat the ice cream?” I ask, turning to Rose Gold.

She examines a piece of turkey on her fork. “I put it in the basement freezer,” she says, “to make room for my milk.”

I put my hands on my hips. She knows I hate the basement. The upstairs freezer has plenty of space.

“Would you mind going to get it?” I haven’t been down there since I moved home.

Rose Gold grimaces. “I would, but I made a promise to someone that I’d eat all this food.” She gestures to her overflowing plate and sticks the piece of turkey in her mouth. “I’ve got a lot of work to do.” She chews and smiles sweetly. Someone still hasn’t learned who’s in charge here.

I grit my teeth and walk out of the room. She watches me go.

I open the door to the basement. I can see the gleaming white freezer to the right of the staircase. I’ll run down, find the ice cream, and come right back up.

I take a tentative first step down the stairs. Think of Adam. Second step. Think of Rose Gold. Third step. Adam. Fourth step. Rose Gold. Seventh step. Dad. Ninth step. Mom. Tenth step. Him. My mouth dries. My knees buckle. I slide to a sitting position on the stair, breathing hard. I peer at the rafters. My brother, David, swings from one end.

Dad and the paramedics took David away before I got home from school. Sometimes I forget I wasn’t there, but I might as well have watched his suicide for the number of times I’ve pictured my seventeen-year-old brother alone here. In reality, the last time I saw David was that morning at the breakfast table. I don’t think either of us said goodbye before I flew out the door to catch the bus. I was seven.

He used Dad’s belt, the one that had beaten us bloody hundreds of times. Dad never used that belt, or any other, on me again.

“You find it?” Rose Gold calls from the table.

I push myself off the step and return to standing. My legs shake. I get the ice cream out of the freezer and climb the stairs. I head for the bathroom instead of the kitchen and lock the door behind me. I set the ice cream on the counter and sit on the toilet with my head between my knees. When my pulse returns to normal, I splash water on my face in the sink. I watch beads drip down my nose and cheeks.

After a few minutes, I’m in control again, ready to face her. I head back down the hallway. Out of habit, I try Rose Gold’s bedroom door, forgetting for a second she’s in the house and might hear me. As always, the door is locked. I’m no closer to figuring out why. It’s time to start unraveling this mystery.

A couple days ago, I tried to force my way into the room through her window, but the window is also locked and heavy and old. It didn’t budge. I panted outside in the cold with my hands on my knees and remembered the abandoned house with eyes. I peeked over my shoulder. A curtain moved in the window of the Thompsons’ house. A chill dove down my spine.

I am never alone here, even when I’m the only one home.

When I come back to the table, I’m pleased to find barely any food on Rose Gold’s plate. She takes a final bite of turkey. I pull the pies out of the refrigerator. I set them and the ice cream on the table.

Rose Gold groans and laughs. “Not dessert too.” She shows no signs of remorse for the hell she has put me through—back when I was on trial or now.