Darling Rose Gold(51)

I was beginning to understand how my mother had gotten away with all those lies for so many years. Doctors were walking Band-Aids; they were eager to fix every leak, squeak, and pain. All you had to do was provide your medical background, list your symptoms, and ask for help. Dr. Stanton assumed I was telling him the truth. The two of us were a team with the same goal in mind. Model patient was a role I’d mastered decades ago.

And yes, I realize the hypocrisy of lying about being sick while condemning my mother for the same act. The difference is her lies hurt someone. My lie was supposed to heal, to strengthen the bond between father and daughter.

Dad handed the note back to me. “I’m glad Dr. Stanton thinks you’re doing so well,” he said. He didn’t meet my eyes, though. I’d learned the meaning behind that cue years ago. When I was a kid, every adult about to give me bad news—doctors, teachers, my mother—avoided looking at me.

“You still can’t come,” he continued.

“But why?” I asked, failing to keep the disappointment from my tone. “I’m done with chemo. Dr. Stanton says everything looks good.”

I was beginning to regret this whole cancer story.

“All I do these days is worry about you,” Dad said, frowning. “I’m tired. This is my vacation too. I need a break from”—he gesticulated at me—“this. It’s too much.”

He gazed back at his family. They kept packing the car. He straightened. “This is my family trip.”

My fists clenched. “But I am your family.”

“You know what I mean.” Dad looked away.

I thought about the fishing pole, jumbo marshmallows, and bag of charcoal in the backseat of my van. I had seen Sophie’s Facebook post the night before, saying the Gillespies were leaving at nine sharp this morning for their big trip. I’d left my apartment at four a.m. to make it to their house in time.

“I can’t believe you’re not going to let me come,” I said, crossing my arms.

Dad chewed his lip. “Why don’t you spend the weekend with Alex?”

I tried not to laugh. I hadn’t seen or heard from Alex in six months. A week after the eyebrow fiasco, she’d sent me a text.

    Alex: i know what you did. don’t ever contact me again



I didn’t respond. I had to hand it to Whitney—she was smarter than I’d thought. Apparently she’d passed the “tragic” comment along to Alex, and one or both of them had put two and two together. I couldn’t blame either of them for not wanting to be friends with me anymore. What friend left another friend eyebrow-less?

I wasn’t sure how to react to the loss of Alex. She’d been my friend since we were kids. But was it a loss if that friend treated you like crap? Without her to text the daily minutiae about my life, I’d been texting Phil, and especially Dad, twice as much.

I shrugged. “She’s out of town. I guess I’ll go back to Deadwick and obsess over whether the chemo worked.”

Dad glowered at me. “Don’t do that,” he snapped.

“Do what?”

“Try to guilt-trip me. I offered to come to all your appointments. You didn’t want me there.”

“Well, I need you now.” I knew how pathetic I sounded, but the camping trip was slipping through my fingers. I peered at my brand-new hiking boots—I could already feel a blister forming on my right pinkie toe.

Dad hoisted the duffel back over his shoulder. “For Christ’s sake,” he said, exasperated. He gestured to the driveway. “You want to see us off or not?” I followed him across the street to his SUV.

Kim yelled inside the house, “Anna, we’re leaving.”

A few seconds later, Anna skipped out the door and down the driveway, holding a Frisbee and wearing a rainbow backpack. When she spotted me, she dropped the Frisbee and ran to my side.

“Rose, Rose,” she yelled, hugging my legs. “Is Rose coming?” she asked Dad.

Dad shook his head.

I leaned down and hugged Anna. “I want to,” I said. “But Dad won’t let me.”

“Why not, Daddy? Why?” Anna burst into tears. “I want Rose to come.”

Dad’s jaw tightened. “Get in the car, kids,” he said, never taking his narrowed eyes off me.

Sophie and Billy Jr. stood limply while I hugged them goodbye. The kids climbed into the SUV and began arguing about whether they were going to play a game first or watch a movie. Anna was the only one bothered by my absence. Here I thought they had all accepted me.

“I really, really want to join you,” I said to Kim, making one last-ditch effort. I hated the pleading tone in my voice.

Kim didn’t say anything. She tilted her head and watched me. Her eyes rested on the ends of my hair, which by now grazed my shoulders. The kids had grown quiet in the car—eavesdropping, no doubt.

Dad broke the silence. “What did you say the name of your doctor was?”

“Dr. Stanton,” I said. “Why?”

“What street is his office on?”

“Kinney,” I answered. A bead of sweat formed at my hairline.

Dad pulled out his phone. “Why don’t we give him a call,” he said, impassive, “to make sure he’s okay with this?”

I gnawed on my bottom lip, heart beating faster. “He’s on vacation this week,” I said. “Out of touch.” I didn’t like where this was going.