Darling Rose Gold(57)

Rose Gold


After twenty-four hours on the bus, we’d made six stops across Indiana, one long transfer in Chicago, and two stops in Wisconsin. We had crossed the border into Minnesota when my phone vibrated. A text from Dad. In spite of his earlier rudeness, I was still happy to see his name on my screen.

    Dad: I wanted to let you know we’re almost there

Dad: Kim’s doing the last leg of driving

Dad: I’m sorry for not letting you come on this trip

Dad: And for being short earlier

Dad: I’m so happy you’re beating this illness, but I still think it’s too soon for you to take a big, active trip like this



The stream of messages paused.

    Dad: I know I said we should get together after my vacation, but now that you’re getting better, I think I need some space for a while



What? How long was “a while”?

    Dad: I hope you know how great it’s been getting to know you

Dad: And I mean that



Why did it feel like he was breaking up with me?

    Dad: I’ve gotten as much out of this as you have

Dad: But with all the driving back and forth to Deadwick, and constant texts and e-mails and worrying about you, I’ve been neglecting my family



I started to type, I AM your family, but deleted the sentence.

    Dad: With the promotion, work has been busier than ever

Dad: I want to be there for my wife and kids with the little free time I have



I blinked back tears. What if he never wanted to see me again?

    Dad: I know you’re my kid too, but you’re already a grown-up, and look at you—you beat cancer, for Pete’s sake!

Dad: You have Mrs. Stone and your neighbors, but my kids don’t have anyone else

Dad: Anna’s only 7

Dad: I could never forgive myself if they grew up without a father



A bone-shaking scream threatened to escape from my chest. I gripped my jaw closed with my hand, wild with fury. How could he do this to me?

    Dad: I already made that mistake once

Dad: I’m sorry

Dad: I’m so sorry, Rose



His use of my nickname—the only nickname I’d ever been given—deflated my anger. For the first time since I’d stepped onto the bus, I saw what I was doing with crystal clarity: my dad wouldn’t let me go with his family to Yellowstone, so I was following them there. What was I thinking? That I’d steal their food? Cut the straps to their tents? Drill a hole through their canoe? Now that my fury had quieted, I realized I was going to drive him away for good if I showed up and ruined his summer trip. I had to take smaller, saner steps to win over the Gillespie family. I couldn’t go to Bozeman right now.

I stood and stepped into the aisle. “Stop the bus!” I yelled.

The driver’s eyes glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “Miss, sit down, please,” she said, bored.

I gathered my few belongings and made my way to the front of the bus. “I need to get off,” I pleaded.

“You think you’re on some kind of movie set? We’re on a highway,” she chided me, incredulous. “Now, take a seat.”

I sank onto the nearest bench. “But I’m going the wrong way,” I said, close to tears. “I made a mistake.”

“Minneapolis in ten minutes,” the driver called to the group. To me, she said in a low tone, “We all make mistakes. You can always start fresh.”

I clung to the bench in front of me, thinking of the brand-new fishing pole in my van back in Indiana. I could see the Gillespies on the six-seater boat they’d rented, five poles lined up and waiting to be used. Dad helped each kid bait their hooks. Kim tried to slather sunscreen on Anna while she wiggled away, peering into the water and naming every fish she saw. On my empty seat, Dad plunked a cooler full of drinks, the kids fighting over who got the blue Gatorade. When would I ever ride in a boat or learn to fish? The idea of trying to do these things on my own struck me as absurd. Another family outing had slipped through my fingers.

I wiped my eyes. My predicament wasn’t Dad’s fault. In a normal family, I wouldn’t have to force my way onto summer trips. There’d be no such thing as overstaying my welcome. I wouldn’t be making up for lost time if it weren’t for my mother. By now, Mom had been in prison for almost three years. I hadn’t spoken to her once. I hoped I’d never see her rotten, lying face again. She deserved to be hacked to pieces, not Dad.

When the bus pulled into the parking lot, I darted off of it, apologizing to and thanking the driver.

How had I gotten here? Not to Minneapolis, but to this place in my life. My best friend—even if she was a jerk—was no longer speaking to me. My dad wanted space from me; my mother was in prison. I had no one. I was alone.

I couldn’t bear the thought of turning around and going home. Not when I’d begged Scott for a week off. I could stay here, but I didn’t know anyone in Minnesota.

For the second time in as many days, I studied the bus schedule and map. I had to go somewhere—I couldn’t stay at this bus station. Where do you go when you’re all alone?

My eyes stopped roaming the map. I wasn’t alone at all. All these years, I’d promised to visit, and when would be more perfect than right now? I already had the time off, had already headed west.