Rose Gold hesitates, then nods slowly. “All of a sudden he wants to get back together. After nine months of wanting nothing to do with me. I told him to leave me alone.”
“Why didn’t things work out between you two?” I ask, keeping my tone soft.
“When he found out I was pregnant, he bailed.” Rose Gold’s voice shakes, but she lifts her chin in defiance. “I’d rather do this alone than with a flake.”
I can’t fault that logic.
Rose Gold looks ready to cry, so I change the subject. “What’s on the docket today?”
“Work,” she says.
“Do you need me to watch Adam?” I erase any trace of hope from my voice.
Rose Gold gives me a once-over. “Mrs. Stone has been watching him since I went back to work last week.”
This is news to me. Rose Gold said during one of our visits that she doesn’t talk to Mary Stone much anymore. I haven’t seen my former neighbor and best friend since the trial.
I set the plate of toast in front of Rose Gold. “Do you drop him off or does Mary pick him up?”
“She picks him up. You might want to make yourself scarce when she comes by.”
“Why?”
“You’re no longer one of her favorite people.” Rose Gold smirks.
“Oh, that.” I wave my daughter’s comment away. “Mary and I have a lot of catching up to do. Set some things straight.”
Rose Gold looks skeptical. She pushes away her plate of toast, one slice uneaten.
“Why don’t I watch Adam while you shower?” I offer.
“That would be awesome.” This is the nicest thing my daughter has said to me since we got up this morning. Her relief is palpable. We both know how hard it is to raise a child alone. I watch her watch him, eyes drowning in love for her son. With the slightest of hesitations, she hands Adam to me. My plan is starting to work.
Rose Gold closes the bathroom door behind her. The shower turns on. I consider the pile of dirty dishes in the sink, but decide to take care of them later. Who knows how long I’ll be allowed to play with my grandson?
I set Adam on the living room carpet, belly down. His head wobbles as he tries to lift it. I clap for him and his blossoming neck strength. He sticks his tongue out at me. Cheeky imp.
From our spot on the floor, I can see a worn plastic high chair in a corner of the kitchen. Adam is too young to need it anytime soon. I wonder if this is another of Rose Gold’s neighborhood finds. My mother used to keep my wooden high chair in the same corner.
Adam watches me with big hazel eyes. I babble at him. His bottom lip quivers, and he opens his mouth to wail. I scoop him up, grab his hat and a thick blanket, and rush him through the side door into my parents’ backyard. I can at least give Rose Gold twenty minutes of peace.
The baby starts to cry, and I pull out all my old tricks. I rock him from side to side in big swooping motions. I stick his pacifier in his mouth. I try to burp him some more. Nothing works—Adam keeps screaming.
“Who pooped in your Cheerios?” I ask the baby. He’s not amused.
After a while, I get him to quiet down. He’s still not silent, but his wails have calmed to a whimper. He was so relaxed yesterday—I’d pegged him as an easy baby. I keep rocking back and forth.
The yard is in sore need of attention. My father used to keep the grass trimmed like his buzz cut, nary a stray blade in sight. Now it’s both overgrown and dying in places, like something you’d find near a haunted house. The oak tree with thick arms still holds our homemade swing, but the red seat has faded to pink. Dad fashioned the swing when I was a kid. He tested it a dozen times before David and I were allowed to give it a whirl.
The side door flies open. Rose Gold bolts through it, wrapped in a towel with dripping wet hair. “What did you do to him?” she screams, her eyes darting around the yard until they land on Adam in my arms.
“We’ve been out here the whole time,” I say calmly. “Adam started fussing, and I didn’t want you to worry while you were in the shower. He’s just quieted down.”
Rose Gold keeps yelling. “I thought you left!” Her eyes are open as wide as they go, like a terrified horse. I half expect her to start foaming at the mouth.
I shush her, hoping to rein in the hysterics. At Rose Gold’s screeching, Adam starts to cry again. To my surprise, Rose Gold begins to cry too. She rips the baby from me and holds him so tight, I worry she might break him.
“I was just trying to help,” I say, shocked. She must know if I wanted to steal her baby, I’d do a cleaner job of it than this. Wattses are nothing if not meticulous.
Rose Gold turns on her bare heel, baby in arms, and marches back toward the house. Her sharp shoulder blades protrude above the towel as she flees. They remind me of a younger Rose Gold—a sick Rose Gold. She slams the door behind her. The yard is quiet again.
I feel a little guilty for upsetting her, but realize what I’ve learned. Since she picked me up yesterday, Rose Gold has had a certain swagger, a confidence she didn’t possess before I went to prison. She brought me back to this house, knowing full well I hate it here. She wants to go for my jugular? That’s fine. None of us is without weak spots.
Now I know hers.
Walking to the side door, I head back inside and tiptoe down the hallway. Rose Gold’s bedroom door is closed. I put my ear against it, straining to listen.
Rose Gold’s footsteps creak on the wooden floor as she paces the room. She soothes Adam with little shushing sounds. He quiets down. I can’t make out the first part, which she whispers.
“—soon. I promise.” Her voice breaks. “I’m sorry.”
Soon what—what’s going to happen? She must have something planned. Is she going to terrorize me in this house? Kick me out and leave me homeless? Physically hurt me? She isn’t strong enough to overpower me, and I can’t imagine her resorting to violence, but I suppose anything is possible.
I listen at the door for another minute, but Rose Gold doesn’t speak again. The bedroom floor stops creaking, so I tiptoe back down the hall and into the living room. I settle into my recliner, thinking. When I got out of prison, I extended an olive branch to Rose Gold, ready to start fresh. This is her response? Not only does she refuse to take responsibility for her actions, but she thinks she’s going to teach me a lesson. A weaker woman might run off, tail tucked between her legs. But I’m not going to desert my daughter when she needs me most. Underneath all that anger and scheming is a woman in need of her mother. Let her think she has the upper hand for now. She’s not the only Watts capable of forming a plan.
Like I said, now I know her weak spot: Adam.