Darling Rose Gold(89)
Two more officers enter the room. Their eyes go straight to Mary. One of them turns to Tomalewicz for confirmation. She gives a short nod. The officer holds Mary by the arm, helping her stand upright.
“Let’s go, ma’am,” he says, pushing her toward the door. I can still hear her shrieks once the door has closed.
Tomalewicz addresses the other officer. “Get Dr. Soukup or a nurse for the baby.”
The officer nods and leaves. Thirty seconds later, Janet—our original nurse—rushes through the door.
Tomalewicz nods at Janet. “We suspect the baby has been poisoned with ipecac syrup. I’m not sure what testing or treatments should be done—”
Janet interrupts, smooth and confident. “We’ll take care of him.”
She strides to the cot. When she tucks Adam—Luke—into her arms, my stomach heaves. She whispers to him as she heads for the door, trying to calm his tired cries. Shifting him to one arm, she opens the door. Before she takes my baby away from me forever, she gives me an evil look, one full of hatred and disgust. Then she is gone, and so is Adam—I mean Luke.
The room is silent.
I am numb.
Tomalewicz and I don’t wait long before the two officers reenter. I spot the handcuffs right away. I put my hands behind my back while the officers cuff me.
“I’m innocent,” I protest. “I’m telling you the truth!”
Tomalewicz begins reading me my rights, but I don’t listen. The accused don’t have any rights. Innocent until proven guilty? What a load of horse hockey.
Tomalewicz keeps talking. “These officers will escort you to the station. I’d love to take you myself, but I have an important call to make to the Fairfield Police Department. I think we’re about to make an entire town very happy.”
But Rose Gold visited me while pregnant. She pumped all that milk. She thought her father was dead, that his name was Grant. I never used my bottle of ipecac. None of this makes any sense.
“You need to find my daughter,” I say. “She has the answers you want.”
Tomalewicz pierces me again with those vulture eyes. “Trust me, we’ll find her.”
She nods at the other officers and leaves.
The officers escort me out of the patient’s room and into the hallway. I keep my eyes glued to the tile floor, hoping Tom is either on a lunch break or fell through the earth’s crust and is boiling somewhere in its inner core. We shuffle toward the exit. I see the stares but am too shocked to be humiliated.
Adam’s name is Luke. My grandson is Billy’s son. I don’t have a grandson.
The police car has already been pulled up to the front doors of the hospital. One of the officers guides me into the backseat while the other gets behind the wheel. Their faces are a blur. Their words are a blur. This car is a blur. All of it, this whole town, is one big whirly blur. I try to reason my way out of this, try to string a coherent thought together. I have only one.
The little bitch set me up.
28
Rose Gold
Of course I set her up.
You’ve wanted to do the same. You have lain in bed at night thinking of all the exquisite ways you could punish the person who wronged you. You know the one—even now, their face hovers in your mind. If only, you think, not daring to finish the thought.
The difference between you and me is follow-through. I made it happen.
When Ursula was about to destroy Ariel, Prince Eric didn’t make a peace offering. He didn’t divvy up sides of the ocean, settle for living amicably with a sea witch. He drove a ship’s mast straight into her gut and killed her. I’m my own Prince Eric. I saved myself.
A week has passed since my mother was arrested again. It still tickles me pink to say that, although maybe I’m sunburned. Every day here has been blue skies and seventy degrees.
I wait in line at the bakery to pay for my sweet bread. The shop’s walls are covered with colorful murals of local historical landmarks. The customers chat and gesticulate, ignoring me. I keep returning to this shop, mostly because the cashier here is nice to me. When it’s my turn, I hand him my money. He smiles, and for a second, I feel less alone.
I leave the bakery and stop to gawk again at the beautiful brick church across the street. For the third morning in a row, I admire its bell tower, topped with a wrought iron crown hoisted by angels. I soon become aware of how exposed I am, standing here slack-jawed. I keep moving, taking a bite of the sweet bread while I walk the bustling streets.
A few minutes later, I reach the side street where I parked my car, a beat-up white sedan by a well-known automaker I’d like to keep anonymous. Google says it’s the most popular car on the roads here. I blend right in. I could be anyone. I don’t want to be found.
And boy, are the cops searching for me. I bet Vinny King from Chit Chat would get down on his knees to interview me now.
I unlock my car door and climb into the driver’s seat, smoothing the bangs of my wig in the visor mirror. Short jet-black hair wasn’t my first choice, but the color disguises me well. I bring another piece of sweet bread to my mouth. A rank smell invades my nostrils: body odor. I sniff my armpits—I stink. I’ll need to shower soon or at least take a dip in the ocean. It’s a few streets away.
I’ve traveled farther in the past seven days than in my entire life put together. This is all part of the new me. I wanted a fresh start, which meant I needed a clean break.