Darling Rose Gold(88)

Potts puts down Rose Gold’s phone and picks up the diaper bag, continuing his search anew. He hunts through every compartment, runs his hands along every inch of liner. He makes no comment, doesn’t even glance our way. Tomalewicz keeps talking.

“She said you made her take the baby.”

“What?” My eyes flit from Potts back to Tomalewicz.

“You made her pretend the baby was hers and threatened to hurt her if she didn’t. You told her it was time for revenge, that no one ditched Patty or Rose Gold Watts and got away with it. Rose Gold said she went along with your plan at first. But then she got worried you were starting to hurt Luke the way you hurt her. She said when she confronted you—told you this had to end—you threatened to hurt both of them before that ever happened.”

My head spins. “Luke?”

Tomalewicz’s jaw tightens. She stares at Adam. “Luke Gillespie.”

At the sound of that name, a rush of nausea hits me. I see stars. The room starts to darken.

I gaze at the baby sleeping on the cot and ask, “Are you saying this baby isn’t my grandson?”

“Rose Gold’s story checks out,” Tomalewicz says. “We called the Fairfield police. Billy Gillespie—Rose Gold’s father and your ex-lover—reported a child missing two and a half months ago. They’ve been searching for him round the clock in Indiana.”

Potts pulls a Swiss Army knife from his pocket and cuts a small hole in the diaper bag’s lining. He pulls out a small brown bottle with a white cap. “Found it,” he says with triumph.

Tomalewicz and Potts turn to me, watching. They want me to say something, I realize. They think that bottle of ipecac syrup is mine.

But it isn’t mine. I drove mine to the next town over this morning and smashed it to pieces behind a Subway. Then I swept up the pieces and threw them in a dumpster. I couldn’t take any chances if I was bringing Adam to the hospital.

“Why would I bring a baby I poisoned to the hospital?” I ask.

Tomalewicz shrugs. “Excellent question. You used to do it all the time.”

I ignore her comment. “Why would I bring the poison with me?”

Tomalewicz fixes me with a withering stare.

“If I had something to hide, why wouldn’t I go to a different hospital where no one knows me?”

Tomalewicz turns to Potts, gesturing at the bottles full of Rose Gold’s breast milk. “Let’s pack these up and get them tested.”

At her command, Potts repacks the diaper bag. He drifts out of the room with the bottles and Rose Gold’s iPhone. I watch him go in disbelief.

“I haven’t spoken to Billy Gillespie in twenty-five years,” I protest. “I didn’t even know Rose Gold knew his real name. I didn’t know about any of this.”

Tomalewicz uncrosses her legs and leans forward, elbows on knees, chin in hand. “Yes, we know all about your long record of claiming innocence. You’re never guilty of anything,” she says. “It’s always everyone else’s fault. Funny, the justice system didn’t agree.”

I have a decision to make, but not a lot of time to make it. My instinct is—always has been—to deny, deny, deny. But I realize the gravity of the charges I could be facing: kidnapping, aggravated child abuse a second time, and I don’t know what else. I’m backed into a corner. I take a deep breath.

The words tumble out. “Okay, I admit I sometimes mistreated Rose Gold when she was a child,” I say.

I expect a flood of relief in finally saying the words out loud. I’ve been holding this in for so long, pretending I’m innocent, acting like I didn’t know any better. But all I feel is empty, defeated, a loser. No one would ever smile at me or pat me on the back again, tell me I was good enough, even great once in a while. Superhuman mother is the one role I know how to play. Without it, I am nobody.

I swallow hard. “But I have never, ever abused Adam—I mean, Luke. I had no idea he was kidnapped.”

The door to the room swings open. Mary Stone barges in, irate. “I knew you were guilty!” she shrieks. “We all did. We knew you hurt Rose Gold then, and now you’ve done it again. What did you do with her, you monster?”

Tomalewicz jumps to her feet, alarmed by the intrusion. She puts a hand on Mary’s arm. “Mrs. Stone, I told you to wait in the lobby,” she says calmly. “Now I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Mary rips her arm from Tomalewicz’s grip and keeps raving, jabbing a finger at me. “You poisoned them both and then killed Rose Gold. You wanted her out of the way so you could ruin that poor baby’s life the same way you ruined hers. She told me all about you in her letter. And when she started standing up to you, you destroyed her.”

Mary bursts into tears.

Tomalewicz speaks into her radio, “Welch and Mitchell to room sixteen.”

“I didn’t see Rose Gold for a month after the baby was born,” Mary cried. “She told me she had to go to a hospital in Springfield because of pregnancy complications. Where is she?”

Mary’s rants have woken Adam. He starts to cry too.

“The baby,” she shouts, reaching for him with red-rimmed eyes and snot running down her face. Tomalewicz plants herself in front of Adam, blocking both of us from him.

“That poor, poor baby,” Mary wails, folding herself in half with sobs.