Darling Rose Gold(8)

“I thought maybe I could stay with you for a little bit? Just until I’m back on my feet,” I add. “I know you said your apartment is tiny.”

Rose Gold stares at me so long, I get nervous we’re going to drift off the road. After a minute, she says, “I don’t live in that apartment anymore.”

I turn to her, questioning.

“I bought a house,” she says with pride. “It’s no mansion, but I have three small bedrooms, a bathroom, and a yard.”

Bingo. “Well, if you have a spare bedroom, I’d love to spend more time with you. I could take care of the mortgage payments once I have a job.” I almost offer to watch Adam while she’s at work, but decide to take this slowly. The thrashing in my chest annoys me. I put a roof over my daughter’s head for eighteen years. Why shouldn’t she put one over mine for a while?

“We’ve come a long way since I started visiting you in prison,” Rose Gold says slowly. “I shouldn’t have fallen for the media’s story. I wish I had stood up to the prosecutor.”

The tide is turning in my favor, so I stay quiet, let her think she’s making the decision. Maybe I’m finally going to get my apology.

She turns to me. “But you shouldn’t have sheltered me from the world my entire life. I’m not a little girl anymore.”

I ignore the slight and nod. I have to pick my battles. She will learn soon enough that the urge to keep your child safe never goes away, no matter how old she is.

“I don’t want things between us getting screwed up now that we’re finally on good terms. If we try this, if you live with me, it’s my house, my rules,” she says with a shaky voice. A gentle breeze could decimate her conviction. “I want us to be completely honest with each other.”

I nod some more, working to contain my excitement.

She chews her thumbnail for a few seconds.

“Okay, let’s give it a try. You can have one of the spare bedrooms.” Rose Gold smiles at me. I know it’s a real smile because she forgets to cover her teeth.

I can’t help myself—I clap with glee and squeeze her shoulder. How have we progressed from arguing across a table in a prison complex to becoming roommates again? But then how could I have doubted my daughter? Of course my flesh and blood will take me in. Think of all the sacrifices I’ve made on her behalf. Think of all she owes me.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to overstep.”

She takes a deep breath, eyes never leaving the rearview mirror. “If it doesn’t work out, you can always find a place of your own. But I don’t want you spending your first night at a motel or something. That’s almost as bad as jail.”

“Oh, honey, I’d love to stay with you. And I’m happy to take care of Adam if you ever need help.” The offer slips out before I can stop it.

“Let’s see how it goes.” She doesn’t sound overjoyed, but gives me a quick smile before her eyes flick back to the rearview mirror. What is she looking for? She has become hard to read, my daughter.

We don’t talk for a while, just sit next to each other in either companionable or self-conscious silence—I spend most of the ride trying to decide which it is. When I can’t take the quiet anymore, I turn on the radio. Survivor’s “Eye of the Tiger” is playing, which cheers me up immediately. I love eighties music. I tap along to the beat on my armrest.

Rose Gold pulls the van off the highway at the exit for Deadwick, and my shoulders sag. Deadwick is, in a word, brown. Everything is always dying here, whether it’s from too much snow or not enough rain. And I don’t expect the pea-brained residents will throw a parade when they find out I’m back.

I hope her place is in the newer part, with the town houses and apartment complex. You couldn’t call the homes there nice or big, but they’re farther away from old memories, at least.

We stop at a red light next to Casey’s, the town gas station. I note with surprise that gas is less than three dollars a gallon. When the light turns green, we take a right, heading north; the older section, then. Just my luck.

Rose Gold slows the van to a crawl as we travel down Main Street. I focus straight ahead so I don’t have the chance to recognize any of the long gray faces or beady black eyes on the sidewalk. My neighbors—people I thought were my closest friends—slandered my good name to the press throughout my trial: NEIGHBORS DESCRIBE POISONOUS PATTY WATTS AS “PREDATOR,” “MONSTER.”

I haven’t seen or heard from any of them since.

We’ve been in the car for over an hour, and I can’t keep my mouth shut any longer. As casually as possible, I ask, “Any word from Phil?”

Rose Gold glares. “I told you we broke up.”

“I wasn’t sure whether that was final. I thought he might have the decency to see his child into the world.”

Rose Gold cracks her knuckles at the wheel, tension growing. “You’re not going to start up about deadbeat dads again, are you?”

“Of course not.” I file away the speech I have been preparing, bulleted in six key points, since Rose Gold’s last visit.

My daughter should never have been left to fend for herself. A few years without me, and she winds up pregnant and abandoned. Our neighbors can grouse all they want about my controlling ways, my dubious mothering. But they don’t understand how much she needs me, how lucky she is to have me here to run her life for her. I’ll right this sinking ship in no time.