Chapter 62 Rosalie
Chapter 62
Rosalie
A sound wakes her from a deep, peaceful sleep, and the dread returns when she remembers where she is. Penny’s standing beside the bed tossing a sweatshirt over her head.
“I have good news!” she says. Unless she tells her she’s just woken up from a bad dream, she doesn’t want to hear it. “Your mom’s awake. Get up and get ready. I’m taking you to the hospital.”
Rosalie’s conflicted. She feels relief skipping through her body, but another emotion looms nearby. She can’t shake it, but she powers on as she’s always done. It doesn’t matter that she wears the same clothes as the night before. She bolts upright and grabs her sneakers with an urgency to move she can’t yet understand.
When Rosalie exits the inn, Penny’s waiting for her in the Mustang. The sky is bright, and she squints to avoid the glare. Penny hands her a muffin and tells her to eat, but she can’t think about food at a time like this. She wonders if Jean-Paul told Renée. She wonders if they’re fighting. She wonders if they’re going to throw her out of the inn. Her worries clench her throat, preventing anything from going down. But she thanks Penny, this woman who is nothing but kind.
As they wind down the driveway, she spots Jean-Paul and Renée in the distance sitting on the wooden fence. The conversation looks serious. She can tell by their faces that Renée is sad; her hands hang by her sides. And Rosalie hates that it’s most likely her fault.
Six days. That’s all it’s been, but she knew. She knew the minute she laid eyes on Jean-Paul that the report wasn’t wrong. Could never be wrong. Jean-Paul was the father she had dreamed about: kind and easygoing, thoughtful and patient. The similarities were obvious. The eyes, the way they both loved to cook, the fact they were both lefties.
She only now understands what this news means for the De La Rues. If Cassidy had had a one-night stand, and Jean-Paul was her biological father as per the ancestry report, that could only mean one thing: Jean-Paul had cheated on Renée. This doesn’t bode well for Rosalie finally having a father. Not when his wife, her potential stepmother, would have reason to resent her.
Penny parks the car, and Rosalie thanks her for the ride. “You don’t need to come up. I won’t be long.”
“I’ll wait downstairs.”
Rosalie hops out of the car and skips toward the entrance. Passing through the sliding doors, she smiles at the front desk security and they wave her in.
Rosalie’s heart clatters when she reaches her mother’s door and Dr. Benck walks out.
“Rosalie.” She smiles. “She’ll be happy to see you.”
“How is she?”
Dr. Benck extends a hand toward the open doorway. “I’ll let her tell you herself.”
She hesitates. “Does this mean ... is she going to be okay?”
But Dr. Benck doesn’t answer because Cassidy’s voice carries through the hallway. “Rosie, baby. Come give me a hug.”
It’s her mother’s voice, but Cassidy sounds awfully weak. Rosalie wants to ask Dr. Benck for reassurance, but the doctor’s already gone, and Rosalie feels herself being drawn in by Cassidy’s energy. That’s what her mother did. A tiny woman with a mighty pull.
“Rosie.” She says it again.
Rosalie sucks in her breath. “Hey, Mom.”
She approaches, stopping short of the metal bed rail separating them.
“Come closer.”
Rosalie takes another step.
Her mother looks pale, the skin beneath her eyes dark and sunken. The purple bruise on her forehead has faded to a smudged yellow.
“Rosie . . . baby. You look . . . pretty.”
Cassidy’s fingers reach through the guardrail, and Rosalie knows she should offer her hand, but there’s a hesitance she can’t combat. The anger at Cassidy that has simmered beneath the surface has swiftly reemerged. What’s wrong with her? She should be happy to see Cassidy awake.
A nurse walks in and adjusts the IV bags on the pole next to her bed. Fluid flows down a tube into Cassidy’s arm. The nurse makes some cheery remarks about Cassidy’s being awake, what good news this is, and how pleased Rosalie must be, but Rosalie can’t form a response. She manages a thin smile.
She isn’t as grateful as a daughter pulled from the precipice of being orphaned should be. She’s furious. At her mother’s carelessness, her selfishness.
The nurse fusses with the guardrail until the metal latch slides down, and Cassidy pats the empty space for Rosalie to sit. Cassidy’s restless. She impatiently waits for the nurse to leave, but Rosalie silently wills her to stay. Gone is the desperation she felt when she unloaded at her mother’s bedside the day before.
“Can you ... can you give us a few minutes?” Cassidy breathes to the nurse.
Their eyes follow the nurse out of the room, leaving a dense quiet that smothers Rosalie. She can’t breathe, and now it makes sense. The anxiety. The constriction in her chest. The anger.
She starts to count, pinching the skin between her thumb and pointer finger.
Rosalie glances down at her mother, taking in her appearance. She’s always been small, but today she’s especially so. Her skin is pasty, her eyes ringed in red. Rosalie sits on the edge of the bed, imagining dashing out of the room. What is that smell? She doesn’t bring it up; she doesn’t want to upset Cassidy. No. What she wants to do is far worse than upset her. What she wants is to shake her, remind her what she put them through, what she put her through. She wants to scream at her, tell her how irresponsible she is for all of it: the pills, the dieting, the recklessness. But wasn’t she always like this? Rosalie doesn’t remember it any other way. Rosalie cleaning up Cassidy’s messes. Rosalie cooking dinner for the two of them. Rosalie covering Cassidy with a blanket when she fell asleep on the sofa fully clothed after a day spent drinking.
This woman denied her a childhood.
Stop. Breathe. Count.
“I’m sorry, baby.”
She’s always sorry.
“I didn’t mean to scare you ... I guess I had too much to drink.”
“You almost died.”
“I’m here.”
“You promised me you’d stop . . . you said . . .”
Cassidy whispers, “I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?” Rosalie raises her voice. “That’s all you have to say?”
“I’m going to get help this time, I promise.”
She wants to believe her, but how can she? Cassidy’s disappointed her too many times.
“Do you remember anything?”
“I remember having a grand old time that night—”
“Here. Did you hear me talking to you?”
She stares blankly.
“I told you something.”
“Rosie, baby, I was unconscious.”
“Can you just focus for a minute?”
She clasps her hands together. “Focused.”
“I found my father.”
Cassidy’s face twists; an eerie shadow clouds her eyes.
“They’re pumping way too many drugs in me,” she croaks. “I thought you just said you found your father.”
“I did.” She hesitates. “That’s exactly what I said.”
Cassidy sinks deeper into the bed. “Why would you do that?”
“Come on. Really?”
“How? How’d you find him?”
“It wasn’t that hard. There’s registries for these kinds of things.”
“Wait.” She shakes her head in disbelief. “You went on a site searching for your dad?” Then she does something Rosalie doesn’t understand. She chuckles.
Rosalie’s voice trembles. “I made a profile ... had to make up some stuff ... sign things that may ruin my chances of going to college, but I managed to find him. We’re a 50.2 percent match.”
Cassidy laughs again. “That’s nothing.”
Rosalie winces. It’s ridiculous she has to explain these things. “There are two biological parents, so 50.2 is a pretty good percentage.”
But she keeps laughing, a raspy laugh. “You went through all that trouble? I knew you were resourceful.”
She drinks in the compliment.
“I could’ve made it easier for you.” Cassidy sighs.
Rosalie barely registers her point. There has never been a time when she made things easier for her.
“You’re old enough ... I should have told you the truth a long time ago ...”
“Oh God, Mom, I don’t want to hear about your one-night stand with Jean-Paul.”
Cassidy freezes. “What did you just say?”
“I don’t want to hear about you and Jean-Paul.”
Cassidy’s face, already pale, drains of all color.
“I guess you two didn’t recognize each other. Maybe that’s what happens in those situations.”
Cassidy reaches for Rosalie’s hand. “You think Jean-Paul and I—”
“You don’t have to cover for him. That would mean he cheated on Renée, which ... gosh ... that’s terrible—”
“Oh goodness ... Jean-Paul. That’s impossible. Listen to me—”
“You listen to me. I have the report.”
Cassidy shakes her head. “I know those inn people are nice and all, taking you under their wing, but that man is not your dad. I’d know it.”
Rosalie deflates, all the joy exiting her body. A cruel disappointment takes its place.
“Besides, and no offense, but Jean-Paul’s really not my type.”
“You’re gross.”
Cassidy drops her head back on the pillow. She’s drawing on strength when she speaks. “What I was trying to say before you cut me off is that it wasn’t exactly a one-night stand—”
Rosalie feels a familiar annoyance bubbling within. “How can you stand yourself? Is anything you say the truth?”
“It’s semantics, Rosalie Jae. It wasn’t the kind of one-night stand you’d imagine.”
“I never imagine those things.”
“My egg and Addison Fitch’s sperm, well, they had a rendezvous ... one day ... one night ... whatever you want to call it. Technically it was a one-night stand, but not the typical kind.”
Rosalie is thoroughly convinced that the blow to her mother’s head knocked something loose. “You’re not making any sense. Who’s Addison Fitch?”
“No. This is the one thing ... the one single thing in my life I’m not confused about. I wanted you. Desperately. And when I hit a certain age, I thought, if I could do this, make one positive decision, it would be to have you.”
Rosalie watches her mother carefully, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“For someone so gifted, do I have to spell it out for you, Rosie?” her mother whispers. “I went to a clinic, sweet girl. A place where they provide sperm.”
Rosalie can’t believe what she’s hearing. There was no one-night stand. Her mother had lied. Again.
“Biogenics. They do these things. I looked through a catalog. It was like shopping for the perfect donor. I chose everything from his hair color to his eyes, his height and his weight. I saw baby pictures! He had to be the man I’d always wished for myself. And he had to have a certain pedigree, the right gene pool. They don’t provide names, but now that you’re older, I’ve always thought of him as Addison Fitch. You know, like the guy in the book you love so much. To Kill a Songbird. ”
“It’s To Kill a Mockingbird . And it’s Atticus Finch. His name is Atticus Finch.”
“Whatever.” Cassidy waves a hand in the air. “I knew back then I wanted a man of understanding and empathy. Surprising, even for me, I suppose. I picked him out. He checked every box.”
The wheels in Rosalie’s brain begin to spin. And the fact that Cassidy doesn’t see it is alarming. “Jean-Paul must have donated, right? If he’s a match, he must be in the registry?”
“Please.” Cassidy waves a hand in the air. “I saw a picture of the man as an adult. He was not Jean-Paul.”
“But the report—”
“How long have I been telling you that you can’t trust technology?” She raises a hand to her chin, lingering on the hair Rosalie forgot to cut. “This is why you chose this awful place.”
And before she has time to respond, the nurse returns to announce that visiting hours are over.
“Despite what you think, I wanted you, Rosalie. You.”
Which is funny, because in hearing her describe Addison Fitch, it sounded like she’d wanted him.
Rosalie’s back in Penny’s car, and she’s peppering her with questions, but Rosalie doesn’t hear. She has her own questions swirling and most lack answers. Cassidy saw a picture. It wasn’t Jean-Paul. Rosalie doesn’t want to admit she was wrong, that the Ancestry site was wrong, and she feels the loss creep inside. She has found her father only to lose him.
“Rosalie?”
“I’m sorry. It’s just . . .”
“I know. It’s difficult to see your mother like that.”
“It’s not that.”
“What is it?”
She wishes she could tell her, but she’s too upset.
Penny maneuvers the steering wheel with both hands. “Whatever it is, I’m here.”
She knows that. But instead, she stares out the window, already missing the holidays she’ll never have with her father.