So that’s what this is about. Hal Brodey needs to clear his conscience after looking the other way while his best friend beat his kids to a pulp. I didn’t know Hal knew. I didn’t know any adults knew, besides my mom. Blood rushes to my face—I’m half horrified to relive the memories, half humiliated to have my shame shared with so many people again.
“A lot of us got the belt as kids,” someone in the crowd grumbles. “None of us grew up to be monsters. We didn’t poison our daughters or starve our sons.”
The rest of the group murmurs their agreement. Someone claps.
Hal frowns. “Well, you’ll get a goddamn gold star in heaven. Is that what you wanna hear? All I’m saying is this woman’s had a hard life, and she needs a second chance now. Maybe we should give it to her.”
Nobody says anything. I wish I could freeze this moment right here. Hardly anyone has said a kind word about me in six years. I feel a tear coming and blink it away.
Hal keeps going. “What about forgiveness? From what I remember, that’s a big part of the Good Book you all are always preaching from.”
The parking lot is quiet for a moment. I could kiss Hal Brodey square on his weathered face. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for. I glance at Rose Gold. She looks livid.
“You know, Hal,” Jenny Wetherspoon—our wet noodle of a town librarian—speaks up, “the last thing I need right now is a lecture on my faith. Forgiveness has limitations.”
Jenny’s husband, Max, steps forward. “If Patty wants a second chance, she should try a new town. The people of Deadwick have long memories.”
Max spits out the side of his sneer. I wonder whether he still keeps a handgun tucked into the waistband of his pants.
“What was she expecting, a ‘welcome back’ party?” Max continues, watching me.
The PTA moms snicker.
Jenny pretends to consider this. “She always did love a handout. Had no trouble eating our food, ‘borrowing’ our money. How much did she take from us over the years, Max?”
Max clears his throat and walks toward me. “Somewhere north of seven hundred dollars, I’d reckon.” For a second, his tough-guy mask slips, and I see the pain in his eyes.
Jenny nods, avoiding my gaze. “Plus all those hospital bills. The library ran at least half a dozen fund-raisers to cover them.”
This isn’t about the money, though they’re pretending it is. I held Jenny and Max in my arms after every fertility clinic appointment, helped them research and brainstorm other options until there weren’t any. Rose Gold and I bought them Campbell’s chicken noodle soup and recorded silly home videos, whatever I could think of to cheer them up. Twenty years before they decided I was a monster, they’d called me their guardian angel.
I take a step back. “You leave my daughter and me alone,” I shout at all of them. “I’m sick of your lectures.”
Max sticks his hands in his pockets, pulling the jacket open wide. On the left side of his belt, metal flashes. “If you’re tired of the conversation, I’d be happy to show you how we all feel,” he says agreeably.
My blood runs cold. I glance at Hal, hoping he’ll speak up again. He chews the inside of his cheek, squinting at Max Wetherspoon, but doesn’t say anything.
“You aren’t welcome in Deadwick, Patty,” Jenny says. “We can’t force you to leave town, but don’t think we won’t try.”
Rose Gold rushes over, head ducked, and holds me by the elbow. “Let’s get out of here,” she murmurs. She’s not angry anymore. Back to gentle, subservient Rose Gold. I’d give myself whiplash trying to keep up with her personality changes.
I nod, dazed. She puts her arm around me, steering me toward the van. The blinking black eyes of the human hive stare at us. Hal Brodey shakes his head, the only one sad to see me go.
* * *
• • •
Back at the house, I pace the living room, still furious. Rose Gold returns from feeding Adam in her bedroom, singing “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” as she walks down the hallway. When she reaches the living room, she lifts Adam to her face and kisses him four times: on the forehead, both cheeks, and his chin. He giggles.
“They have no right to treat me this way,” I say, watching my daughter. “Every single day I try to be nice to them. And every single day, all they do is bully me.”
“Why don’t you play with Adam for a bit?” Rose Gold suggests cheerfully, hugging the baby before handing him to me. “I’ll make us dinner.”
“They’ve gone too far this time,” I say, lowering my voice now that Adam is in my arms.
“I know, Mom,” Rose Gold says, trying to sound solemn. I catch a hint of a smile right before she turns away. “Tell you what. I’ll make your favorite.”
She disappears into the kitchen. Her good mood irks me, but I resist the urge to tell her off. I sit in my recliner and try to focus on Adam, rocking him back and forth. At least he would never remember the awful Christmaspalooza scene. Maybe at dinner, I’d broach the topic of raising him somewhere other than Deadwick. Rose Gold might be ready to start fresh if I could get her away from the influence of these spiteful people. They have nothing better to do than gossip and plot ways to hurt people. I have had it with this town.
Half an hour later, Rose Gold calls me to the kitchen table. She’s filled two plates with Polish sausage, kapusta, boiled potatoes, and a salad—my favorite meal. She sets one of the plates in front of me. In spite of the day’s earlier events, I smile. This is the first dinner she’s cooked us since I got out of prison. We settle Adam in his bassinet and sit at the table to eat.
“You’ll have to let me know how it is,” she says, gesturing to our plates. “I’ve never made this on my own before. I hope I didn’t mess anything up.”
“I’m sure it’s all perfect,” I say, cutting into a piece of sausage. I pop it into my mouth. “Really good.” I slice another piece.
Rose Gold beams and picks up her own fork and knife. She slices all of her sausage and potatoes, then begins to eat. I startle when I realize the significance of this simple act.
My daughter is eating. She doesn’t scoot the food around her plate or try to condense it into smaller piles. She chews and swallows, chews and swallows same as I am. Why the sudden appetite? Maybe she’s grown tired of her ruse. Maybe she’s sorry for me now that she’s seen the unrelenting wrath of Deadwick’s residents. Maybe she feels guilty for her role in their hatred. Maybe she’s ready to start acting like we’re a normal family.
I pull the serving dishes closer to me for second helpings. My stomach rumbles.