Darling Rose Gold(80)

“Maybe it’s none of my business,” she said, clearing her throat, “but why?”

Damn right it’s none of your business.

I made my eyes big and innocent. “Well, she is my mother, after all.”

Mrs. Stone made a face, as if I’d suggested she eat the jar of pickles, glass shards and all. “After what she did to you, you don’t owe her a second of your time.”

She and I had avoided the topic of my mother in the past. I guessed neither of us cared to revisit how Mom had conned us, how stupid we were for falling for her lies all those years. At least I was a kid. Mrs. Stone must have felt like a real idiot, being tricked as a grown woman. I saw now how furious she was—I’d never seen her nostrils flare before.

“She’s been in prison for more than four years,” I said, knotting my hands in my lap. “Don’t you think she deserves a second chance?”

Mrs. Stone’s lips tightened to a thin line. “No. I don’t think you should have anything to do with that woman.”

Now was probably not the time to tell her I’d met with Gerald and Mabel Peabody. They had agreed to sell me their house way below the asking price. Mabel said it was the least they could do after my “trying” childhood. She had been friendly with my grandmother and said she’d always suspected my mother was something of a “bad seed.”

Buying the house meant giving up on my beautiful white teeth. I didn’t take the decision lightly. For as long as I could remember, every time I was happy, every time the corners of my mouth inched upward, my only thought had been: stop. Smiling was a bad thing. I’d been this close to kicking those thoughts to the curb. For years I had dreamed of what joy without self-consciousness would feel like. What could be more worthwhile than my confidence, my happiness?

How about a satisfaction so deep, every inch of your skin tingles? How about a different kind of happiness—the kind people who have never been mistreated would call perverse?

When my mother got out of prison, I knew she would want—no, expect—me to take her in. I’d gladly spend my hard-earned cash to screw with her while she lived under my roof, in her childhood home. There would be time to fix my teeth later. The opportunity in front of me required action now. This time I was the one in control.

Mrs. Stone kept blathering. “She’s dangerous, Rose Gold. She already hurt you once. I wouldn’t be surprised if she tried again.”

The idea of my mother hurting me now, as a twenty-two-year-old, amused me. “I’m not a kid anymore, Mrs. Stone,” I teased kindly. “I think I can handle a mind game or two.”

“I’m not just talking about mind games,” Mrs. Stone insisted. “She brainwashed us, you most of all. What’s to stop her from doing it again? What if she poisons your food when you’re not paying attention?”

The idea was preposterous. Or was it?

“You believe she’d do that?” I asked.

She didn’t hesitate. “I’d be more surprised if she didn’t. If she comes back to Deadwick when she gets out, we’ll all be watching her like hawks.”

All this time, I’d been thinking too small. Pulling juvenile pranks around the house might have scared my mother, but they wouldn’t teach her a lesson. Buying the old house was the first of multiple steps.

Mrs. Stone interrupted my train of thought. “Honey, promise me you won’t let her back into your life.”

“I can’t promise you that,” I said, arranging my features in what I hoped was an earnest expression. “I want to start over with her.”

Mrs. Stone opened her mouth to argue, but I stood up and put my arm around her shoulders.

“I’ll tell you what: if she starts up her mind games again or lays so much as a finger on me, you’ll be the first person I call.” I stared her dead in the eyes so she knew I was telling the truth, because I was. “I promise.”

Mrs. Stone sighed, unhappy with this deal. “I don’t know what you hope to gain from this. She’s not a good person, dear.”

I smiled. “She’s my mom, Mary,” I said sweetly, noting the surprise on her face when I used her first name. “The bond between a mother and a daughter is sacred. You know better than anyone that no matter how awful they are, we still find it in our hearts to love them.”

Mrs. Stone—Mary—looked confused, as though she was trying to puzzle out whether I’d just insulted her pride and joy. “Speaking of daughters,” she said, “Alex says the two of you aren’t friends anymore.”

Alex and I hadn’t spoken in almost two years, and she had just now told her mother. Unbelievable.

I nodded sadly.

“When did this happen? I had no idea.”

Of course you didn’t. Because your daughter is a two-faced bitch who tells you nothing.

I tilted my chin to the floor. “I hate to say anything bad about her, but she wasn’t very nice to me. I caught her talking behind my back to her college friends.”

Mrs. Stone looked mortified. “Alex told me you were the one to blame. But if what you’re saying is true, then I’m sorry. I didn’t raise her to behave that way.”

No, you raised her to walk all over you and everyone else she knows.

I picked up her coat and handed it to her. “I’m so sorry to have to cut our visit short, Mary, but I’m meeting a friend from work for drinks,” I said, ushering her toward my front door. “But thank you so much for stopping by. It means a lot.”