Page 30 of My Sweet Dollie, You Have to Love Me
I can’t hear him.
I hear Shane, and my shoulders slump.
“This is gonna fuck my wheels, you think?” He sits on his leather seat, in the driver’s position, and waits for an answer.
The eyebrow I’d asked to pluck this morning rises up to his combover.
I swallow my nerves, letting my eyes wander from him to the house on the hill, all peeling black paint and turrets. It looks like something from a horror movie trailer. The trailers always show the creepy parts that make my skin crawl.
I shouldn’t be here.
My breath stalls, eyes on a flickering light as it flashes on, off, and on with a yellow glow in one of the upstairs bedrooms.
“Wow, I’m not sure if that’s bad wiring or great bulbs. What do you say?” Shane asks, following my gaze. “Has anyone been here since that night?”
“Maybe the police or vandals.” Shane doesn’t notice the cold sweat I feel glossing my skin.
“Do you think we can get up this hill in this car without wrecking it?”
Choosing to remain silent on this. I don’t want to be blamed if his alloys get scuffed.
With my eyes down, I turn the ring on my finger that promises forever before fidgeting with the lace glove beneath it. It’s not my usual glove. This one is itchy and rubs uncomfortably against the scars below, but somehow, the material still brings me comfort.
As if finally sensing my disquiet, Shane’s hand covers my cold thigh, lifting my dress and painfully brushing against the goosebumps lining my skin. “You’ll be fine, Lancie.”
Shane doesn’t get it, the anxiety that comes with being here.
I swallow it down, and it’s a painful gulp that also takes my hatred for the nickname Lancie.
Shane’s hand leaves me, and he turns the wheel to avoid the craters in the dirt road.
When did he start biting his nails again, I wonder, as he shifts the car into gear.
His brown eyes squint at the reminiscent tire tracks as he follows them up to the house.
The town’s signature bad weather causes us to skid, and it’s hard to know the worst fate: going over the ledge sideways or entering my childhood house.
I’d choose the ledge over the house.
Shane grapples for control of the gray Mercedes, all the while moaning about the mud splashing the side skirts.
“This fucking road is a joke. We’ll need to get it fixed if we expect to sell this shithole.” He rolls to a stop, finally on flat ground, and doesn’t wait for me as he hops out to inspect the dirt on his wheels, whining like it’s the worst thing in the world.
Turning my ring once more, I stare at the yellow-gold band and glittering diamond. It doesn’t look right with the rosy-gold nail polish I’m wearing on my other hand, it doesn’t look right with my glove, and it doesn’t fit properly. It’s at least two sizes too big, but it’s not something I complain about. In the grand scheme, it isn’t worth it.
I step out of the car, and the door clicks shut behind me. Party noise can be heard from three hundred yards away, and it feels just like my first ever day here when little Dahlia Dixon was having her party.
I’d wanted so bad to go to that damn party.
This one looks fun, too, until a guy at the party shouts something vulgar. I turn away from them, the party people thatI can just about see splashing about in a jacuzzi under a giant yellow parasol.
One step takes me under the shadows of the overhanging trees that make the evening appear darker than it is.
The old curtains in an upstairs room twitch, reminding me again how haunted I feel just by being here.
“Ready to go inside?” I nod, pulling the jingling keys from my pocket. Fumbling with the lock, it takes three attempts before the key wiggles in.
I can almost feel Ambrose close. Almost see his smile over his lucky number opening the door.
