Page 35 of My Sweet Dollie, You Have to Love Me
CHAPTER 8
Ambrose—age eight
Dahlia’s house isn’t down some old dirt road. It’s the biggest in town, aside from ours, but all that is ahead of me is some shack made from wood that looks like the wind could blow over.
Stained white paint and filthy windows don’t show the wealth Dahlia Dixon and her family have. I’ve never seen it up close, but it always looks big from our place, and I know in my soul it would never have a hole in the roof big enough to let rats in, and yet, that is the vision ahead.
“Where are we?” I have to know. “This isn’t Dahlia’s house.”
“I just have to stop here to get some balloons for the party. They’re kinda big. I’m gonna need your help to carry them. I store them in my basement, you see. Are you happy to help?”
“There looks like there’s lots of germs. I don’t like germs. And I can’t walk down steps. I have a bad knee.” And a bad feeling rumbling in my stomach.
“You manage at home,” Dollie says from my side. “You’re just a little slow.”
Snapping my head to her, innocently gazing at my chest, I shake my head and feel my cheeks flush with fury. I’m sure she doesn’t see it.
“You’re doing so good. I think you’ll be able to dance again soon.”
“I…I…” There are no words in my mouth willing to come out.
And then Chuckles is at the door, holding it open and sending a chill up my spine.
Stone still, I refuse to move, facing straight ahead.
“Do you want to help instead, Dollancie?”
“No!” I answer for her, spinning to him. I let out a breath, and then words follow almost involuntarily. “I can manage.”
“You can! That’s great! I’ll lead the way, and I assure you, I clean often.”
I nod a slow nod and scoot toward the open door. Chuckles takes that as compliance and heads off with that jolly walk he does, leading the way.
Whipping around, I see Dollie’s innocence still on her face. She has no idea of the feeling in my gut or the resentment in my head as I stare back at her.
The pounding in my chest stops the words from coming out clearly as I take Dollie’s shoulders in my hands. “Dollie, if I’m not back in five minutes, I need you to run and find a neighbor and get help, okay?”
“I didn’t see any houses?”
“Then go back to the road, okay?” Stress claws its way into my mind, triggering the voice in my head. I have to repeat myself, or something bad will happen in that house. “Go back to the road, okay? Go back to the road, okay?’
I shake away the shame, but Dollie doesn’t look at me any differently.
“Okay, but what about the big cars? Mommy doesn’t like me on the road.”
“Stay on the grass and wave. Someone will help.”
“How will I know when it’s been five minutes?”
Luckily, Chuckles’ car has a regular clock and not the weird kind with numbers that flash.
“Watch for when the big hand hits the number nine, and then run for help. Do you know what a number nine looks like?”
“I’m not sure.”
“It’s that one!” I whisper-shout, pointing to the number. “The one that’s closest to the steering wheel. Promise me, Dollie.”
Blonde hair falls into her face as she nods, and I’m out the door, hobbling after Chuckles.
