Darling Rose Gold(56)

She sold two pitchers of lemonade in twenty minutes, for a total of six dollars and forty cents. She bought a Beanie Baby with the money—Nuts the Squirrel, if I remember correctly.

I am not the only manipulator in my family.



* * *



? ? ?

Later that night, I wake to the sound of glass breaking outside. I swat at the clock face: three thirty-five a.m. Yawning, I sit up in bed and shuffle to the window. I rub my eyes and let my vision come into focus. When it does, I yelp.

Something on our lawn is on fire.

The blaze is closer to the sidewalk than to our front door, but big enough to be a legitimate concern. I run to Rose Gold’s bedroom and try to open the door. Like always, the door is locked.

I knock. “Rose Gold.”

Stepping back, I expect the click of the lock, the door to swing open any second. But nothing happens.

“Rose Gold!” I pound my open palm against the door.

I put my ear to the door and hear Adam start to whimper. No sign or sound of my daughter.

I run back to my bedroom and gawk out the window. The fire has gotten bigger. Panicked, I pound on her door one more time before running down the hallway and outside. A freezing gust bites my bare feet and arms. I reach for the side door to the detached garage. I throw it open and flip on the light, eyes scanning until they find a fire extinguisher in the back corner. Tossing junk out of my way, I scoop up the extinguisher and run back out the door toward the driveway.

The sensor floodlights come on and illuminate the front yard. Now I can see it’s our trash can that’s on fire. On my way to the flames, I notice a big chalk drawing on the driveway’s blacktop. The pink lines cover the entire surface. I step around it, trying to interpret the meaning. Then I see it: a skull and crossbones.

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