16. Rose Gold

After twenty-four hours on the bus, we’d made six stops across Indiana, one long transfer in Chicago, and two stops in Wisconsin. We had crossed the border into Minnesota when my phone vibrated. A text from Dad. In spite of his earlier rudeness, I was still happy to see his name on my screen.

Dad: I wanted to let you know we’re almost there.

Dad: Kim’s doing the last leg of driving.

Dad: I’m sorry for not letting you come on this trip.

Dad: And for being short earlier.

Dad: I’m so happy you’re beating this illness, but I still think it’s too soon for you to take a big, active trip like this.

The stream of messages paused.

Dad: I know I said we should get together after my vacation, but now that you’re getting better, I think I need some space for a while.

What? How long was a while?

Dad: I hope you know how great it’s been getting to know you.

Dad: And I mean that.

Why did it feel like he was breaking up with me?

Dad: I’ve gotten as much out of this as you have.

Dad: But with all the driving back and forth to Deadwick, and constant texts and emails and worrying about you, I’ve been neglecting my family.

I started to type, ‘I AM your family,’ but deleted the sentence.

Dad: With the promotion, work has been busier than ever.

Dad: I want to be there for my wife and kids with the little free time I have.

I blinked back tears. What if he never wanted to see me again?

Dad: I know you’re my kid too, but you’re already a grown-up, and look at you – you beat cancer, for Pete’s sake!

Dad: You have Mrs Stone and your neighbors, but my kids don’t have anyone else.

Dad: Anna’s only seven.

Dad: I could never forgive myself if they grew up without a father.

A bone-shaking scream threatened to escape from my chest. I gripped my jaw closed with my hand, wild with fury. How could he do this to me?

Dad: I already made that mistake once.

Dad: I’m sorry.

Dad: I’m so sorry, Rose.

His use of my nickname – the only nickname I’d ever been given – deflated my anger. For the first time since I’d stepped on to the bus, I saw what I was doing with crystal clarity: my dad wouldn’t let me go with his family to Yellowstone so I was following them there. What was I thinking? That I’d steal their food? Cut the straps to their tents? Drill a hole through their canoe? Now that my fury had quieted, I realized I was going to drive him away for good if I showed up and ruined his summer trip. I had to take smaller, saner steps to win over the Gillespie family. I couldn’t go to Bozeman right now.

I stood and stepped into the aisle. ‘Stop the bus!’ I yelled.

The driver’s eyes glanced at me in the rearview mirror. ‘Miss, sit down, please,’ she said, bored.

I gathered my few belongings and made my way to the front of the bus. ‘I need to get off,’ I pleaded.

‘You think you’re on some kind of movie set? We’re on a highway,’ she chided me, incredulous. ‘Now take a seat.’

I sat in the first row. ‘But I’m going the wrong way,’ I said, close to tears. ‘I made a mistake.’

‘Minneapolis in ten minutes,’ the driver called to the group. To me, she said, in a low tone, ‘We all make mistakes. You can always start fresh.’

I clung to the seat in front of me, thinking of the brand-new fishing pole in my van back in Indiana. I could see the Gillespies on the six-seater boat they’d rented, five poles lined up and waiting to be used. Dad helped each kid bait their hook. Kim tried to slather sunscreen on Anna while she wiggled away, peering into the water and naming every fish she saw. On my empty seat Dad plunked a cooler full of drinks, the kids fighting over who got the blue Gatorade. When would I ever ride in a boat or learn to fish? The idea of trying to do these things on my own struck me as absurd. Another family outing had slipped through my fingers.

I wiped my eyes. My predicament wasn’t Dad’s fault. In a normal family, I wouldn’t have to force my way on to summer trips. There’d be no such thing as overstaying my welcome. If it weren’t for my mother, I wouldn’t be making up for lost time. By now, Mom had been in prison for almost three years. I hadn’t spoken to her once. I hoped I’d never see her rotten, lying face again. She deserved to be hacked to pieces, not Dad.

When the bus pulled into the parking lot, I darted off it, apologizing to and thanking the driver.

How had I gotten there? Not to Minneapolis, but to this place in my life. My best friend, even if she was a jerk, was no longer speaking to me. My dad wanted space from me; my mother was in prison. I had no one. I was alone.

I couldn’t bear the thought of turning around and going home. Not when I’d begged Scott for a week off. I could stay here, but I didn’t know anyone in Minnesota.

For the second time in as many days, I studied the bus schedule and map. I had to go somewhere – I couldn’t stay at this bus station. Where do you go when you’re all alone?

My eyes stopped roaming the map. I wasn’t alone at all. All these years I’d promised to visit, and when would be more perfect than right now? I already had the time off, had already headed west.

I marched to the ticket counter. I’d gone too far north, but we would correct course. By the weekend, I’d be there.

‘Can I help you?’ the man at the counter asked. He wore an eye patch – a very good omen.

‘One ticket to Denver, please,’ I said.

I was long overdue to meet Phil in the flesh.

At 10 a.m., when the bus was an hour outside Denver, I decided to text Phil my real name. I didn’t want our first in-person exchange to start with me correcting him when he called me ‘Katie’. I couldn’t go on pretending to be someone else forever.

Me: I haven’t been honest with you.

Phil: What do you mean?

Me: My real name is Rose Gold.

Me: I lied because I didn’t want you to find my messed-up family story online or in the papers.

Me: I’m sorry.

I dropped my phone into my lap, hands shaking, and let out a sigh of relief. I’d taken a risk by admitting I’d lied, but it felt good to come clean with Phil. I hoped he wouldn’t google me in the next hour and figure out what I looked like, or he’d never want to meet me. I waited for his response.

Phil: Huh.

Phil: I’m both surprised and not. It’s the internet, after all.

Me: I’m so sorry.

Phil: Hey, I understand.

A pit formed in my stomach. I had to ask.

Me: Do you still want to talk to me?

Phil: Of course.

Me: Good, because I’m almost in Denver.

Phil: What?

Me: I knew you’d never agree to meet unless I surprised you. I’m on a bus, and I’m almost there.

Me: Meet me at the Denver bus station in an hour. The one on 19th Street. I’m wearing a purple hoodie.

My heart was hammering again, but I was also proud of myself. More and more these days, I had taken control of my life. I’d stood up to Alex and taught her a lesson. I’d demanded my manager let me have this week off work. I’d gotten to know my father and cut off my mother. And now I was giving Phil commands. Timid Rose Gold had been ousted.

Phil: Okay, I’ll be there.

I blinked a few times at his message, not believing it. I was going to meet my online boyfriend.

Phil: I’ll be wearing a gray beret.

I was so excited at not being hung out to dry that I tried to ignore the bad omen of a gray hat. I had never seen a beret-wearing snowboarder before but, then, I had never met any snowboarders. I would have to wait and see.

The last hour of the bus ride dragged by. I spent most of the time watching YouTube tutorials on applying make-up. In the end, I put mine on the same way I’d seen Alex do hers. After that I practiced poses that would allow me to talk to Phil while concealing my teeth – not that I needed the practice. I’d figured out every mouth-covering move years ago.

The bus pulled into the parking lot. I had butterflies. Good or bad, this day was going to be memorable. I peered out of the window, trying to catch a first peek at Phil. But the parking lot was mostly empty. A few cars waited, but I couldn’t see any of their drivers.

The bus stopped. The doors opened. A handful of people shuffled off the bus with me, yawning and stretching their legs. I willed them to move faster. I descended the three steps to the sidewalk, the last one off the bus. I watched some of the passengers head to the waiting cars. They poked their heads in the driver’s side windows, offering hugs and kisses to invisible loved ones. I scanned the parking lot, but didn’t see a gray beret.

What if he’d stood me up?

I tapped my foot on the concrete and crossed my arms. No one here is paying attention to you, I told myself. And if they are, they’ll assume your ride is late.

I’d give it fifteen minutes. If he didn’t show up by then, I’d have my answer. I was already dreading getting back on the bus.

Someone tapped my left shoulder. ‘Rose Gold?’

I whirled around to see a man standing behind me, arms stiff at his side. In one hand he held two crushed daisies. Under his gray beret was a reddish blond ponytail. He had a potbelly and a mustache with white wisps, wore glasses and had to be at least sixty.

This couldn’t be Phil.

The man extended a hand toward me. ‘I’m Phil,’ he said.

‘Rose Gold,’ I said numbly, shaking his hand.

The guy was old enough to be my grandfather, and I’d told him I loved him more than once during our late-night chats. I was going to projectile vomit all over his Birkenstocks.

‘You hungry? I thought we’d get a bite at the Crispy Biscuit down the street. Great diner.’ Phil scratched his elbow. A flaky patch of skin flew off. It dawned on me I had been very stupid and made a giant mistake.

Phil began walking toward a black pick-up. I plodded behind him, stalling. I did not want to get in this guy’s truck. I’d recently started watching horror movies, and it seemed like all the characters put themselves in harm’s way – failing to call the police, hiding in obvious places, getting into strange cars – while I screamed at them for being idiots. I vowed not to be an idiot twice in one day.

‘How far is the diner?’ I asked.

‘Two-minute drive. Not even,’ Phil said, clearing phlegm from his throat.

‘Maybe we could walk over,’ I said. ‘I’ve been sitting for, like, twenty-four hours.’

Phil glanced at me sideways. ‘No problem,’ he said. He stopped walking, so I stopped too. ‘You don’t think I’m out to hurt you or anything, do you?’

I gave him a small smile. ‘Of course not. Just want a little fresh air.’

We walked the rest of the way to the restaurant in silence. Phil offered to carry my suitcase, but I declined, although I didn’t have anything valuable inside. If I had to leave it behind in an emergency, so be it.

At the Crispy Biscuit, an apathetic waitress seated us in a sticky booth and handed us menus. Phil took off his beret to reveal a receding hairline that made me wince. He hummed to himself while he examined the menu. Meanwhile, I planned an escape route.

I’d get through this meal, then make up some excuse about having an aunt in town who would pick me up. In fact, maybe I should tell him about the aunt now so he’d know someone would notice if I was missing. But how many times had I told him in past conversations that I had no living relatives but my mother? Maybe this could be a long-lost aunt. Or, wait, I’d told him about finding my dad. I could say my dad was on a business trip in Denver, and he was picking me up after his meeting. Maybe I should actually text Dad to let him know I was in danger. He’d said he needed space, but I doubted that included emergencies. Maybe this could be the thing that brought us back together. He’d feel guilty and forget all the stuff he’d said. He could be the proverbial dad sitting on his porch with a shotgun, waiting for his daughter’s sixty-year-old boyfriend to bring her home. I tried to imagine Dad holding a gun. I couldn’t.

‘What’s it gonna be?’ Phil asked, watching me. I bet Phil owned lots of guns.

I started. ‘Sorry?’

‘I’m going to have the Denver omelette. Anything sound good to you?’

In spite of my nerves, I realized I was starving. I hadn’t eaten a real meal in two days. I glanced at the menu and picked the first thing I saw. ‘Blueberry pancakes.’

‘Good choice.’ Phil smirked and leaned in. ‘You know, you don’t have to look so scared. I’m not some crazy axe murderer or something.’

I squawked out a laugh. ‘Isn’t that exactly what a crazy axe murderer would say?’ I sounded like my mom.

‘You invited me to meet you,’ Phil reminded me.

‘You’re just …’ I faltered.

‘Old?’ Phil guessed.

‘You said you dropped out of high school.’

‘I did. A long time ago.’ Phil chuckled.

‘You said you live at your aunt and uncle’s house.’

‘I do. They sold it to me a while back.’

I scowled. ‘You’re different than I expected.’

He gave me the once-over. ‘So are you.’

What was that supposed to mean? Was I uglier than he’d predicted? Flatter-chested? Scrawnier? I wondered if he was sizing me up, guessing how much I weighed, how much of a fight I’d put up if he carried me to his truck. Or what if he wasn’t forceful, but instead tried to woo me? Under no circumstances did I want to have sex with this man.

‘I never wanted to become a lifelong bachelor, reading Kafka alone in my cabin in the woods.’ Phil paused. ‘I’m kidding – Kafka’s full of shit. You ever read him?’

I shook my head.

‘Don’t bother. I’m more of a Margaret Atwood fan myself. I’ve read The Handmaid’s Tale at least thirty times. Gives you something different to chew on with every read, you know? But I’ll be the first to admit I like a little Eat Pray Love as much as the next guy. Elizabeth Gilbert is a national treasure.’ The way Phil was babbling, I wondered whether he had spoken to anyone in the last sixty years. I had to admit he didn’t strike me as an axe murderer.

‘Do you really live alone in a cabin in the woods?’ I asked.

He chuckled again. ‘That’s all you took away? I told you I live in a cabin.’

‘Yeah, with your uncle and aunt.’ I glared, becoming less scared of him.

‘Let’s be honest.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘Nobody wants to talk to an old guy online, even if he’s a nice old guy. Sometimes we have to get creative with the truth. You understand, don’t you, Katie?’ He was enjoying himself, as though this were all some master prank.

I guessed it was. I’d spent five years of my life thinking I was in a real relationship, yet I was no closer to my first kiss. I wanted to both laugh and cry.

‘I take it you don’t snowboard either,’ I said.

Phil belted out a laugh and slapped his belly. ‘Not since I threw my back out in ’oh eight. I did take a lesson once. Hunter said I was a natural.’ He beamed.

Hunter – now that was the name of a plausible twenty-something snowboard instructor. I wanted to smack myself.

‘Don’t you get lonely, living by yourself?’ I asked.

‘I thought you said you live alone too,’ Phil said.

I stared at my hot chocolate. ‘I never said I wasn’t lonely.’

Phil’s expression softened. ‘Sure, I’d rather have a wife and kids, and even grandkids by now. But I strike out every time I try courting someone in real life. Had my heart broken one too many times, so I’ve accepted the hand I was dealt.’ My face must have been filled with pity because he continued, ‘Look, I make the best of it. I grow vegetables and bake bread. I get my meat from a butcher in Denver. I’m trying to make my house self-sustainable, but I’m not a total recluse or anything. I sing in a church choir once a month. As Thoreau said, “I never found the companion that was so companionable as solitude.”’

In any other story, Phil would be a serial killer. In this one, he was a philosophical hermit.

The waitress dropped off our food. I drizzled a heap of blueberry syrup on top of the blueberry pancakes, cut off a piece, and ate it. A shiver still ran through me when I took a first bite of an especially delicious meal, and this time was no different. The pancakes were thick and fluffy and melted in my mouth. I ate forkful after forkful, not caring if I looked insane.

‘What do you mean, “self-sustainable”?’ I asked between bites.

‘I have my own hydroponic garden for water. I use my own heating and cooling systems. No bank accounts. I pay cash and get paid in cash.’

‘What do you do for work?’

‘Sell my produce, tutor high-school kids, snow removal in the winter.’ He leaned in and gestured for me to do the same. ‘Create fake identities.’

I almost laughed, then realized he was serious. Where was this guy when I’d needed to pretend I was twenty-one so I could join Alex and Whitney at Kirkwood?

‘Is Phil your fake identity?’

Phil raised his eyebrows, suggesting the answer was yes.

‘What’s your birth name?’

Phil shook his head. ‘Sorry, kiddo. No can tell. I changed my name thirty years ago to get away from my past.’ He studied his omelette. ‘I also have a mother I’d like to forget.’

I couldn’t believe real Phil and I had something in common. I had forgotten that all this time I’d been telling him about the horror show that was my own mother.

‘I know what you mean,’ I said, anger creeping into my voice. ‘My mom ruined my life.’

Phil gave me a sad smile. ‘Don’t hold on to that bitterness, darlin’. It’ll crush you.’

‘How do you let it go?’ I asked.

‘That’s the million-dollar question.’ He took the final bite of his omelette.

I realized I probably needed the real Phil in this moment more than the online version I thought I’d been dating. I smiled at him, a genuine smile to let him know I was happy to be there, grateful to be sitting across from another human being with a lousy childhood.

Phil cringed a tiny bit – at my teeth, what else? My cheeks flushed. This whole time, I thought I’d been the only one repulsed. I imagined meeting Phil at this diner again, a few years from now, once I had my gleaming white teeth. I’d never be embarrassed to smile again.

‘Excuse me,’ Phil said, rising from the booth and folding his napkin. He placed it where he’d been sitting. ‘Need to use the facilities.’

When he’d left, I pulled out my phone and texted my dad.

Me: I decided to meet up with a guy in Colorado I’ve been talking to online.

Me: Turns out he’s, like, 60 and lives alone in the woods. I thought he was 20.

Me: He seems okay, but if you don’t hear from me for a while, just call the Denver police, okay?

I reread the texts. Everything I’d said was true. So what if I’d left out some minor details that would have assuaged my father’s fears? No way could he ignore me now. I’d have to wait for his phone to find service; he had warned me he would be out of touch while they were camping. I put my phone back in my purse.

Phil returned from the bathroom and sat. He noted my empty plate, impressed I’d finished. ‘Good?’ he asked.

‘Delicious,’ I said.

‘The Crispy Biscuit never disappoints.’

The waitress brought the check. Phil laid two twenty-dollar bills on the table. I reached for my own wallet, but he waved me off. I didn’t object.

He cleared his throat. ‘Well, I don’t think either of us is hoping for something physical.’

I shook my head. Part of me was overjoyed Phil wasn’t interested; the other part was ashamed I was being rejected by a sixty-something loner.

‘For me, our relationship was never about the physical anyway,’ he said, fidgeting. ‘All those years ago, you seemed like you could use a friend.’

I opened my mouth, but couldn’t think of anything to say. I felt pathetic, listening to Phil describe sixteen-year-old me. Worst of all, five years later, the description still fit.

‘I needed a friend too,’ he tried to reassure me, ‘which is why I didn’t want to leave you hanging at the bus depot today. I was also once a kid running away from abuse.’

Was that what I was doing? The question flickered while Phil kept talking.

‘Here’s my idea. Why don’t I drive you to the airport? I’ll give you four hundred bucks for a plane ticket, and you can fly anywhere you want. You can start over.’

He watched me with hope. I’d read this man completely wrong. He wasn’t out to hurt me – he wanted to help. I was too exhausted and overwhelmed to tear up.

‘I don’t want to get back on that bus.’ I laughed weakly.

‘You don’t have to. Let me help you,’ Phil said. ‘When I was your age, someone helped me get back on my feet. And I vowed to do the same someday.’

‘Are you sure?’ I asked.

‘Absolutely,’ Phil said.

We left the diner together. I had the urge to hug this stranger I’d known for so long, but didn’t want to chance sending any wrong signals. Just in case.

The thirty-minute ride to Denver Airport was a quiet one. While Phil drove, I thought about where I’d go. I could fly to California and see the ocean for the first time. Or the Statue of Liberty in New York. I wondered if four hundred dollars was enough to buy a ticket to Mexico – it was supposed to be sunny and warm, and no one would know my story there. I could be Rose or pick a new name, like Phil had.

I allowed myself these fantasies, although I already knew where I’d go when I reached the counter. I’d book the next flight to Indianapolis. From there it would be a two-hour drive to the bus station to pick up my van, and then a five-hour drive home.

I couldn’t give up on my dad or the life I was rebuilding. I had a job, a car, a savings account with actual money in it. In a few years, I would be able to pay for the dental procedure. I was not yet done with Deadwick. I couldn’t up and run away, like Phil had, as tempting as it might have been.

Phil pulled his truck over to the departures drop-off area. From his wallet, he drew four crisp hundred-dollar bills.

He grinned and handed me the cash. ‘Promise me you’ll take care of yourself?’

I beamed. ‘I promise. Thank you so, so much.’

Overcome with gratitude, I kissed his cheek. We both flinched, but pretended not to notice. I got out of the pick-up, waved once, and watched the truck drive away.