Darling Rose Gold(74)

Nothing falls out of any of them. Nothing odd is written on any of their pages. I turn back to the laptop. It’s password-protected.

I try different combinations of Rose Gold’s and Adam’s names, their birthdays, even my own name, though I know the last one is unlikely. After the sixth failed attempt, the computer locks me out. I pound my fist on the desk. Concerned Mother is past desperate by this point. I wipe my forehead. My hand comes away damp.

Sitting in my daughter’s desk chair, I peer around her bedroom— a mess now, thanks to me, but nothing unusual or suspicious. No secrets to uncover.

Why has this door been locked all these weeks?

I check my watch—nine a.m. Gadget World should be open now.

I redial the number from last night and wait. The phone rings. On the third ring, someone picks up.

“Gadget World, Zach speaking. How can I help you?” says a chipper young voice.

“Hi, Zach. Is Rose Gold there?” I ask.

“She’s not, but we just opened, so she could be running a few minutes late.” Zach sounds like he doesn’t have a care in the world, the little prick.

I debate how best to word my next question without sounding any alarm bells.

“Did she come in yesterday?” I say as breezily as possible.

“I’m not sure. I didn’t work yesterday. Hang on. I’ll transfer you to my manager’s office.”

Zach puts me on hold. The phone rings twice.

A miserable voice fakes enthusiasm. “Scott Coolidge, Gadget World manager, speaking. How can I help you?”

“Hi, I’m calling about Rose Gold Watts,” I say.

“What about her?” Scott says after a beat.

I hesitate. “This is her mother, Patty.”

Scott doesn’t say anything.

“I was wondering if she came into work yesterday?” I close my eyes, trying to sound natural.

“No, she didn’t,” Scott says, annoyed. Bingo.

I make a clucking noise that could mean anything.

“Didn’t even bother to call and tell me,” Scott grumbled. “I called her phone three times. No answer.”

“I’m sure she’s sorry about that, Scott,” I say. “I’m having trouble getting ahold of her too.”

“So she’s not coming in today either?” Scott says, not at all concerned about Rose Gold’s well-being. “Listen, she knows I run a tight ship around here. You give one of them some slack, and the rest think you’re a pushover. That’s strike one for her.”

“That seems fair. I know she respects your authority,” I say, trying to wrap up the call. “I’ll tell her to contact you as soon as I hear from her. Bye now.”

I end the call before Scott can give me another lecture on responsibility, and dial Rose Gold’s number again. Appearances are everything. She doesn’t pick up. I put my phone on the desk.

A loud wail breaks my focus. Adam. I forgot he’s been in the other room all this time. Oh, well, he can cry it out. Self-soothing is an important lesson to learn early—some of us do it our entire lives.

Hands on my hips, I wander around the room, trying to concentrate, to figure out what I’ve missed. After a minute, Adam’s wails escalate into shrieks, stopping me short. Those are more than the cries of a hungry or tired baby or one who just wants to be held. I’ve heard it enough times. I’d recognize the sound anywhere.

I rush toward the bassinet. Adam is on his stomach, flailing his arms and legs.

Beneath his head is a puddle of green vomit. He stares up at me with a tear-streaked face.

Just like Rose Gold used to.





22





Rose Gold


November 2016

My mother leaned in and lowered her tone, though the nearest inmate was clear across the visitors center and sobbing to an elderly woman.

“I have a new cellmate,” Mom said. I was trying to stay positive, but I didn’t like the way her eyes lit up when she said it. Before I could respond, she continued. “Her name is Alicia. She can’t be more than twenty. Guess why she’s in.”

“Why?” I asked. My first trip to the visitors center was two weeks ago. We’d gotten off to an okay start, but I wanted more from this second visit. I needed her to explain why she did what she did, to take responsibility for the ways she’d hurt me. In a year she’d be getting out of prison.

“Guess,” Mom insisted.

“Burglary?”

“Nope.”

“Drugs?”

“Nope.”

“Too many DUIs or something?”

“You’re never going to guess,” Mom said with glee.

I sat back, thinking. I didn’t care about Mom’s cellmate, but decided to play along so we could get to the important stuff.

Mom leaned forward. “During her senior year of high school, she gave birth to a baby boy. When he was about two weeks old, she took him to the zoo—and left him. In a bush by the gorilla enclosure.”

I looked up, startled. “Did the gorillas hurt him?”

Mom shook her head. “One of the zoo’s staff members found the baby the next morning. He was hollering his head off, but he wasn’t hurt. They traced the baby to Alicia after a few days.”