Page 12 of My Sweet Dollie, You Have to Love Me
“It really does,” Mom agrees.
“Anyway, we must be going. We have a big party this afternoon with all the local kids, and we have a clown, and someone is very excited.”
Yeah, someone at my side.Dollie is on her knees, and her favorite pair of pajamas are thinning in that area, which makesus look poor. She leans on my shoulder with the biggest smile on her face as she holds her breath, no doubt praying for an invitation.
“Do you want to go?” She startles me when she cups my ear and asks almost silently. “If you don’t end up grounded.”
I turn to her, and she looks away from me quickly. Avoiding eye contact is something she does with everyone.
“I am very excited.” Dahlia’s high-pitched squeal pulls my attention back to her. She’s already got her eyes on us, sharing a look that tells me we aren’t invited to her stupid party.
Dollie doesn’t see that, and not just because she’s looking around Dahlia. She’s too innocent.
“Is there really a clown?” my stepsister wonders aloud. “Will he have balloons?”
“I don’t know.” The spoiled brat shrugs. “Probably. Come on, Mom.” Dahlia grips her mother’s hand and leads her out.
Mom follows them, thanking them again for the cookies, and Dollie deflates against my side.
“Doll, it’s okay. You don’t want to go to her party.” Dad’s phone is finally out of sight, tucked in his jeans pocket, making sitting on his wooden chair look uncomfortable.
Dollie doesn’t turn to acknowledge my father, but she replies quietly, “I did, Daddy. I like clowns. I like balloons.”
“Yeah, but he’s probably a mean old clown anyway. All those kids there, he’ll run out of balloons.” Dad makes his way over and lowers to our level, his knees clicking like old people’s knees do whenever they bend down.
Dad spins Dollie around to him, and I twist the same way.
“How about I take you into town later, and we’ll get a balloon…and an ice cream?”
A smile appears, but I’m close enough to see the tears still in her eyes. “Can I get something else, too?”
“I’m not sure,” Dad teases. “It isn’t your birthday.”
“Just one thing, Daddy, please,” she pleads, her tiny hands clasped together like she’s praying.
“What is it you want?”
Her eyes wander around the room as she takes a minute, wondering how to ask for whatever it is she desires so badly.
The silence is filled by the sound of the mover’s van, signaling that it’s reversing up the hill to our house, which explains why Mom hasn’t come back in yet.
“Now that we have this great big house,” Dollie begins, “can I get a poodle? I’ve wanted one for the longest time, and I would like a pink one.”
“No,” Dad answers quickly as he stretches to look out of the window without leaving our proximity. “No pink poodles. Sorry, love.”
“Okay, I don’t mind blue, but I was worried she’d blend in with the walls.” Dollie laughs.
“No blue ones, either.”
“Then I guess Black or White is fine. Any poodle.”
Dad pops her bubble of happiness when he says, “No dogs at all, Doll.” Then he stands and heads to the door, signaling us both to follow. “Come on, shoes on, let’s help your mother.”
Mom makes some jokes about child labor. Dad laughs at them all as they carry boxes from one room to another. I carry stuff, too. My injured leg isn’t an excuse for the lighter boxes, apparently.
After leaving a small box of stuffies at the stairs that I hopped to without my crutch, I take a seat on the bottom step and stretch out my aching leg.
“Can you sort through these, Champ?” Dad signals for me to follow him into what he’s been calling the reading room.
