The prosecutor, chin raised and shoulders back, looked the part of the justice-seeking hero. He glanced at the notes on his table before turning to face the judge. “Your Honor, at this time I’d like to call Rose Gold Watts to the stand.”
My stomach churned. My lawyer had said Rose Gold would testify against me, but I’d hoped she would back out before this day came. I turned to peek at my daughter, in her usual spot in the gallery, sandwiched between Alex and Mary Stone. Rose Gold had been living at the Stones’ town house for six months, since the day I was arrested. I wasn’t allowed to contact her.
Alex squeezed her arm around Rose Gold’s shoulders. The little con artist—Alex might have fooled the reporters with her concerned-best-friend shtick, but I knew all she wanted was fifteen minutes of fame. She hadn’t given two hoots about Rose Gold until my trial.
Rose Gold stood, bony shoulders propping up the sleeves of her cardigan. Eyes wide, she swayed a little, as though she might faint. Her skin was even paler than usual. She looked much younger than eighteen.
My daughter was terrified.
Sit back down, I wanted to tell her. Let’s call this whole thing off. I’ll drive you home and tuck you into bed, and we’ll make up stories about princesses and magic spells in faraway lands.
Rose Gold took a shaky step forward, one after another, until she was close enough for me to reach out and touch. I had to stop her. I couldn’t let her put herself through any more of this agony.
“You don’t have to do this,” I whispered.
Rose Gold turned to me. Her eyes were sad, begging me to take her home.
“Ms. Watts,” Judge Sullivan—who resembled a walrus—barked, “if you try to communicate with the witness again, I’ll hold you in contempt of court.”
At the sound of the judge’s voice, Rose Gold turned away and continued shuffling toward the stand. Was everyone in the courtroom blind? Could none of them see how much my little girl hated being there? They must have realized she was being forced to testify against her will.
Rose Gold sat in the witness box. She raised her right hand and swore to tell the truth. The prosecutor asked her to state her name for the jury.
“Rose Gold Watts,” she mumbled. The jurors leaned forward, straining their necks to hear.
“A little louder, please,” the prosecutor said.
She cleared her throat. “Rose Gold Watts,” she repeated.
“What is your relationship to the defendant?” the prosecutor asked.
“She’s my mom,” Rose Gold said, eyes cast down, hands gripping the arms of her chair.
“And it was just you and your mom living at 1522 Claremont, correct?”
Rose Gold nodded.
“Can you give us a verbal affirmation, please?”
“Yes,” Rose Gold said.
“No dad? No brothers, no sisters?”
I gripped the arms of my own chair. This simpleton was going to make my daughter relive every rotten moment of her childhood—every absent family member, every infection, every missed school field trip. I had tried to shield her from her disadvantages. In our house, we focused on positives. These buffoons were trying to drown her in her own sorrows.
“Can you describe your schooling from preschool up through now?” the prosecutor asked.
Rose Gold launched into a nervous explanation of her transition from elementary school to homeschooling. She lifted a trembling hand to smooth a flyaway on her head. I wondered if she was on her period. The time of month was right. I still hadn’t taught her how to use a tampon. There were so many things I had yet to teach her. She wasn’t ready to face the world alone.
The prosecutor moved on. “I want to ask you a few questions about your diet.”
Rose Gold had never fixed a sandwich or folded laundry. I cleaned her room and made her bed and drove her everywhere she needed to go. I had tried to encourage her independence once in a while, offering to leave her at the library for a few hours or sit in the waiting rooms during her doctors’ appointments, but she always wanted me there. “Stay,” she’d beg, and grab my hand. So I did. Maybe I should have pushed her harder. She was eighteen years old with no driver’s license or friends. She was not equipped to handle the meanness of this world. She was up there, shaking like a leaf, because of me. I should have been firmer, should have said no, should have spoiled her less. But all those years, I had needed her as much as she needed me.
“Were you allowed to have friends?” the prosecutor asked.
I had been deserted time and again throughout my life. I wasn’t good enough for my family, wasn’t good enough for Rose Gold’s father. Then suddenly I had this little angel who was dependent on me, who loved me more the longer we were together. I had someone to zip the back of my dress all the way to the top, to laugh no matter how cheesy my jokes were. She never got sick of my stories, never asked me to leave her alone. Some evenings, after we’d finished school for the day, I’d head to my bedroom or the kitchen to give her some privacy. She always came looking for me.
Rose Gold seemed far away, dreamy.
The prosecutor repeated his question. “Miss Watts, were you allowed to have friends?”
“No,” she answered, not making eye contact with anyone, but especially not me. “My neighbor Alex Stone was the only person my age I was allowed to talk to—almost always under my mother’s supervision.”
“What was her reason for keeping you away from the other kids?” the prosecutor asked.
Rose Gold tucked her hands under her legs, arms stiff. She shivered, obviously freezing. Mary hadn’t bothered to pack her an extra sweater. Some stand-in mother she was.
“She said she was worried my immune system wouldn’t be able to fight off their germs. Because of my chromosomal defect.”
“Which we now know you do not have,” the prosecutor pointed out. The two of them must have rehearsed this little scene.
“Right,” Rose Gold said reluctantly. “That was an excuse. She wanted us to be together all the time.”
“Why do you think that is?”
Rose Gold mumbled, just loud enough for everyone to hear, “She said she wanted to give me the childhood she never got.”
My face burned to the tips of my ears. My stomach flipped.
“What kind of childhood did she have?”
Rose Gold watched the prosecutor with wide eyes, searching for the same approval she’d always sought from me. “She wouldn’t say much, but I know neither of her parents was very nice to her. Actually, her dad was abusive. I guess that’s where she gets it from.”