Page 238 of My Sweet Dollie, You Have to Love Me
“Well, I have news for you. I can’t.”
Well, I can’t leave you here. I don’t trust anyone around here.
I’m first out of the car. Dollie follows, but she doesn’t shut the door, letting in a chill that’ll greet us when we return.
Figuring she’ll follow me, I step up to the gates. As expected, the door clicks shut.
The gate glows in the light of my headlights, and I point to a spot where her foot will fit perfectly. After a not-so-subtle eye roll, her foot treads metal.
Climbing at her side, I make it to the top before her despite my bad knee. Her foot slips on raindrops from the light shower, and her sweaty palms do little to prevent her from falling.
My tight grip on her arm steadies her, and when I know she’s safe, I jump down. I stumble, feeling the twinge that grips me around the knee and lingers there.
It prevents the mud that splashes halfway up my legs from owning all my thoughts.
I stretch my arms up to Dollie, encouraging her to jump.
Carefully, she lowers herself into my arms, legs locking around my waist until she steadies herself. “Is your leg okay?”
I nod.
Her breasts are far too close to my eyes and every other part of me as she slides down my body and makes it to the ground.
I feel parts of me stiffen as she steps away, my eyes trailing parts of her I shouldn’t be looking at.
She’s your sister,I internally sneer at myself.
Waiting on the road for me, I limp towards her. She notices the worsening of my leg, and pity fills her eyes. I step past her because I don’t want to see it, and I guide her across to dozens of bunches of pink flowers.
Seeing our parents’ names in bold gold writing, Dollie freezes at the foot of the grave. She’s unmoving, aside from the shiver that could be brought on by the cold or from some kind of inner turmoil.
A tear falls from her blue eyes that glitter in the dark.
I let my arm brush hers, offering her comfort if she wants to take it.
Before my eyes even have time to read the verse she selected for their headstone, her fingers dig into my arm, one hand squeezing me, the other feeling the material of my jacket.
Daring to look at her, I find her already staring up at me, her lip trembling.
“I miss them, and they haunt me.”
I don’t tell her, but they haunt me, too.
In so many dreams.
“I don’t think Shane even realized the date. He’s out having drinks today with his friends. He hasn’t even asked if I’m okay.”
You deserve better,I mouth, my eyes still on the grave, on that last verse that reads, together in the afterlife, walking with us, hand in hand.
I wonder if she still believes that.
“She set me up, you know. They thought that dating was the normal thing for me to do.”
I doubt they knew what a prick he was—is.
It wouldn’t be the first time our parents had done this, let someone into our lives who turned out to be a monster.
“Their flowers are pretty, but Mom didn’t love roses.”
