Page 235 of My Sweet Dollie, You Have to Love Me
It’s hard to ignore the hate being yelled across the otherwise peaceful resting grounds.
“You’ve no right to be here!”
“Your parents would be turning in that grave if they knew you were here!”
It’s hard to swallow that down.
“Ignore them.” Clara’s smile matches her voice. Small and gentle. “I can walk down with you. I’m sure they’ll move along.”
“You shouldn’t be here, you monster!” Clara steals my tight smile when another person disrupts the peace.
My mouth opens, and I lick my lips like a wounded animal. Those words hurt enough for me to feel like one.
I can wait,my lips move, and then the tight smile switches faces again.
Her eyes lower to the gash on my throat as she silently questions if I can speak. I don’t take offence. Everyone is guilty of glancing there at some point: Valaria, Annabelle, even Mom and Dad.
“I’ll see how long the locals are going to be.”
Clara’s little Wellington boots do little to help her on the slopes in these grounds as she slips and slides through mud.
She makes it back to those she considers neighbors, and words about me are exchanged.
Everyone in town likes Clara, but that isn’t enough for her to win a fight when she’s standing in my corner.
I can’t let another word seep into my head.
Drawing the window to a close, I try to block out the reasons why my parents wouldn’t want me here.
One comment is particularly hateful and leaves behind a random string of words that repeat in my head.
Scumbag. Vile. Murderer. Rapist.
It’s too much for me today, on the tenth anniversary of my parents’ death.
Twisting the key, I save Clara further trouble of defending me and take off down the flower-lined road.
To make my day better, Dollie is avoiding me. When I step into a room, she steps out of it, leaving behind her candles, crystals, and what looks to be a beat-up small altar. For that reason, I don’t speak to her when I cross her and all her witchy things for a second time in the reading room. I continue to the hallway, Bubbles in tow, the flowers I’d bought and a vase half full with water in hand.
I place them on a small table near the bookshelf in the foyer, and I ignore the worries about moisture transferring as I arrange the pink flowers.
Mom would like them.
A weak smile crawls to my face.
“Are they for Mom and Dad?”
My head bobs before I turn to face Dollie in the doorway. She reeks of burning sage and old paper, so different from the perfect scent of roses and chocolate.
I use my hands to ask a question of my own.
Are you done ignoring me?
It’s been days since our last encounter. Maybe I shouldn’t take it personally, as she isn’t responding to Lucky, either. Even Annabelle hasn’t stayed over, not even the day she picked up and brought the cupcakes to The Funhouse for Dollie. For a while, I considered that maybe Annabelle had blabbed, but I asked, and she denied everything.
This is something else.
And, maybe I shouldn’t take it personally, but I do.
