Dad was quiet for a minute, watching me.
“Rose,” he said, his voice full of pain, “is a family trip really worth risking your health?”
Without hesitating, I said, “It is to me.”
That much was true.
Our eyes met. I bit my lip.
For a second, I had him.
Then he blinked a few times and rubbed his forehead, like he was waking up from a spell. “Christ, what am I saying?” he fumed. “Why would one doctor say yes if the other said no? You never seemed sick. You were vague about treatment. You wanted all this support but then wouldn’t let me come to your appointments.” He paused, fresh anger brewing. “You pretended to have Hodgkin’s lymphoma to guilt-trip me. So I would let you come camping. What the hell is wrong with you?” he yelled.
The other parents exchanged shocked looks; they were watching their kids’ soccer coach ream out a helpless young woman. I imagined them speaking in hushed tones later: Is this the kind of man we want around our children? I wondered if they’d kick him off the team.
I felt about two feet tall. I could see now how colossal a mistake I had made. My mother had never been caught in a lie—until the end. How had this all gone so wrong? I just wanted a family, my family.
I cleared my throat and opened my mouth, having no idea what to say next.
Dad cut me off before I could speak. “Don’t you dare keep lying. Don’t you dare even think of opening your mouth and saying one more word about cancer or being sick or how much you need me and my family.”
Anna scurried over, hair disheveled, but she was smiling. She stopped short when she saw the livid expression on her father’s face. “Daddy?” she said, hesitant.
Dad’s eyes flicked toward Anna. “Go to the car and find Mommy.”
Anna didn’t protest. She walked straight to the car, turning back once to glance at me.
I tried not to squirm under the heat of Dad’s stare. Peering up, I marveled at the blue-sky day. The sun was shining, not a cloud in sight. How could my world crumble on such a beautiful afternoon? In the movies, it would be pouring right now, and I’d be stuck without an umbrella. I could have used a good-sized tornado right about then to scoop me up and take me somewhere else. Anywhere far, far away.
I’d banished the voice inside my head last year, yet I still found myself waiting for her to tell me what to do. She’d been silent since I’d arrived at the soccer field, though. I realized that, for the first time in my life, her voice was gone. She’d been guiding me through every day for the better part of twenty-one years. She told me how to eat, dress, behave, scheme. I hadn’t realized how dependent I was on her directions until she took them away, and I hated that I wanted her help. I’d been sure I’d never need anything from that woman ever again, but I’d been fooling myself. Now, when I needed her most, I had to rely on myself instead.
Dad stepped forward and wagged a finger in my face. “You stay away from my family—you got that?” He was trying to intimidate me, but fell a few feet short. I wasn’t scared of Dad—I was scared of not Dad. I was scared of the void I knew was coming. Warts and all, he was still better than having no one.
“Leave me the hell alone too,” he added. He was beginning to annoy me with this self-righteous act. Like he was a saint. Like he’d never made a mistake. He’d lied by omission for twenty years. He was the one who had come looking for me, who had dangled the promise of a family in my face and then yanked it away.
We had reached the point of no return. There would be no coming back from this. There would be no big happy family—at least not one that included me.
“I expect my son to act out,” he said, face still red with anger, “but girls are supposed to behave.”
I guessed my mom never got that memo.
Dad watched the other families pack their trunks, climb into their cars, and drive away. A few stragglers were stalling, trying to watch our little drama reach its conclusion.
“You’re just like your mother,” he jeered.
I wished he’d shut the fuck up and leave already. I imagined putting hexes on the four oldest Gillespies, wrapping them in tumors and stab wounds until they were mummies bound by their own blood.
But he couldn’t know that. He needed to think I was anything but a threat, that I was contrite even. Sugar and spice and everything nice, that was what he expected.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, wincing at the pathetic desperation in my voice, though I knew it was necessary. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Dad put the clipboard in his backpack. Before stomping off, he shook his head. “I’m sorry I ever went searching for you.”
I stood very still, squinting. He shouldn’t get off that easy. I swallowed my rage.
“Dad, I’m sorry,” I called after him, channeling the old Rose Gold, the meek girl, all shoulders and no spine. She was a lifetime ago. She was dead. I danced on her grave. “I said I’m sorry.”
Dad spun around, glowering at me. “I know one thing for sure,” he said.
We had the same small noses and hazel eyes. He clenched his hands.
“You deserve every rotten thing you got.”
19
Patty
I stare at the watery blue eyes on my bedroom ceiling, too exhausted to be scared of them. After my four-hour embrace with the porcelain throne last night, I have nothing left to give. I swing my legs over the side of the bed; I have to drive Rose Gold to work. First, I want to confront her about last night.
I shuffle to the living room just in time to hear the front door close. Rose Gold walks by the window in running clothes: a tank top, mesh shorts, and gym shoes. She looks ridiculous in that getup in the middle of December. I watch her for a minute. She sets off at a plodding pace down Apple Street, all elbows, shoulder blades, and knees. I shake off the urge to run after her with a scarf and mittens. She takes a right on Evergreen and disappears from sight.
Fine, the conversation can wait until I have her cornered in the van.
Forty minutes later, we leave the house together, at our usual time. While I lock up the house, she buckles Adam into his car seat, then climbs in beside me. I take the wheel, start the engine, and head for the highway.
“Are you feeling any better?” Rose Gold asks.
I say yes, though my stomach is still a bit wobbly. I don’t want to betray any signs of weakness.
Rose Gold plays peekaboo with Adam while I debate the best way to confront her. Perhaps she had nothing to do with the treadmill or the yard fire, but I know she’s been making herself out as a victim to Arnie, Mary, and Lord knows who else. And now she’s poisoned my food. This has gone too far.