Darling Rose Gold(63)

Max clears his throat and walks toward me. “Somewhere north of seven hundred dollars, I’d reckon.” For a second, his tough-guy mask slips, and I see the pain in his eyes.

Jenny nods, avoiding my gaze. “Plus all those hospital bills. The library ran at least half a dozen fund-raisers to cover them.”

This isn’t about the money, though they’re pretending it is. I held Jenny and Max in my arms after every fertility clinic appointment, helped them research and brainstorm other options until there weren’t any. Rose Gold and I bought them Campbell’s chicken noodle soup and recorded silly home videos, whatever I could think of to cheer them up. Twenty years before they decided I was a monster, they’d called me their guardian angel.

I take a step back. “You leave my daughter and me alone,” I shout at all of them. “I’m sick of your lectures.”

Max sticks his hands in his pockets, pulling the jacket open wide. On the left side of his belt, metal flashes. “If you’re tired of the conversation, I’d be happy to show you how we all feel,” he says agreeably.

My blood runs cold. I glance at Hal, hoping he’ll speak up again. He chews the inside of his cheek, squinting at Max Wetherspoon, but doesn’t say anything.

“You aren’t welcome in Deadwick, Patty,” Jenny says. “We can’t force you to leave town, but don’t think we won’t try.”

Rose Gold rushes over, head ducked, and holds me by the elbow. “Let’s get out of here,” she murmurs. She’s not angry anymore. Back to gentle, subservient Rose Gold. I’d give myself whiplash trying to keep up with her personality changes.

I nod, dazed. She puts her arm around me, steering me toward the van. The blinking black eyes of the human hive stare at us. Hal Brodey shakes his head, the only one sad to see me go.



* * *



? ? ?

Back at the house, I pace the living room, still furious. Rose Gold returns from feeding Adam in her bedroom, singing “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” as she walks down the hallway. When she reaches the living room, she lifts Adam to her face and kisses him four times: on the forehead, both cheeks, and his chin. He giggles.

“They have no right to treat me this way,” I say, watching my daughter. “Every single day I try to be nice to them. And every single day, all they do is bully me.”

“Why don’t you play with Adam for a bit?” Rose Gold suggests cheerfully, hugging the baby before handing him to me. “I’ll make us dinner.”

“They’ve gone too far this time,” I say, lowering my voice now that Adam is in my arms.

“I know, Mom,” Rose Gold says, trying to sound solemn. I catch a hint of a smile right before she turns away. “Tell you what. I’ll make your favorite.”

She disappears into the kitchen. Her good mood irks me, but I resist the urge to tell her off. I sit in my recliner and try to focus on Adam, rocking him back and forth. At least he would never remember the awful Christmaspalooza scene. Maybe at dinner, I’d broach the topic of raising him somewhere other than Deadwick. Rose Gold might be ready to start fresh if I could get her away from the influence of these spiteful people. They have nothing better to do than gossip and plot ways to hurt people. I have had it with this town.

Half an hour later, Rose Gold calls me to the kitchen table. She’s filled two plates with Polish sausage, kapusta, boiled potatoes, and a salad—my favorite meal. She sets one of the plates in front of me. In spite of the day’s earlier events, I smile. This is the first dinner she’s cooked us since I got out of prison. We settle Adam in his bassinet and sit at the table to eat.

“You’ll have to let me know how it is,” she says, gesturing to our plates. “I’ve never made this on my own before. I hope I didn’t mess anything up.”

“I’m sure it’s all perfect,” I say, cutting into a piece of sausage. I pop it into my mouth. “Really good.” I slice another piece.

Rose Gold beams and picks up her own fork and knife. She slices all of her sausage and potatoes, then begins to eat. I startle when I realize the significance of this simple act.

My daughter is eating. She doesn’t scoot the food around her plate or try to condense it into smaller piles. She chews and swallows, chews and swallows same as I am. Why the sudden appetite? Maybe she’s grown tired of her ruse. Maybe she’s sorry for me now that she’s seen the unrelenting wrath of Deadwick’s residents. Maybe she feels guilty for her role in their hatred. Maybe she’s ready to start acting like we’re a normal family.

I pull the serving dishes closer to me for second helpings. My stomach rumbles.

Odd.

I use the tongs to pick up another sausage and cut a slice. The sausage is halfway to my mouth when a wave of nausea hits me so hard, I drop my fork.

Rose Gold jumps in her chair. “What’s wrong?”

Another wave of nausea—this one more powerful than the first—washes over me. I’m going to be sick. My chair squeals against the floor when I scoot it back. I bolt toward the bathroom. Rose Gold calls, “Mom?” but all I can think about is the toilet.

No sooner is my head over the porcelain bowl than I begin to retch. I squeeze my eyes closed, not wanting to see the contents of my chewed-up dinner reappear. Gripping the toilet bowl’s base, I am dizzy and shaky and sweaty and chilly. The stench of throw-up fills the air. I keep heaving. I flush the toilet, desperate to get the smell away from my nose, but too scared to lift my face from the bowl. I am reminded of an article I read: when you flush a toilet, feces particles shoot fifteen feet into the air, covering the sink, toothbrush, and now my face. But I am too queasy to be disgusted. I will never stop retching.