30. Dollie—present day
Dollie—present day
T he smile Lucky brings stays on my lips as I set down my phone, but the feeling of sadness that passed from Ambrose’s face to me lingers, too.
Moving from the table, I head to a counter where green fondant sits atop non-stick paper, rolled and ready to be designed.
Time has started to fly by, and if I want to be done in time for my afternoon drop-off, I need to finish up soon.
I press a special cutter into the pre-rolled sugar and create a small four-leaf clover. Carefully, I place it on top of one of six very special cupcakes that will travel in their own box.
These are a thank you gift for Lucky, not just for being my friend when I needed one most this last week, but without him, I wouldn’t have money to afford food for the next couple of weeks.
So, I guess his luck is rubbing off.
I could use a little more of that luck because I have no idea how to get the cupcakes to their destination, and an Uber with four hundred and six cupcakes sounds like a nightmare.
The thought of asking Lucky to pick them up and help me deliver them has crossed my mind, and I’d be a liar if I said it had only happened once.
But then again, he’s always on my mind these last few days. Maybe that’s why last night got as raunchy as it did.
He’s just a needed distraction , I lie to myself.
A needed distraction who lives close by. If he didn’t, the app wouldn’t have shown us to each other. All the creeps I’d come across on that thing live within walking distance. Or, at least, they would if I were having an energetic day.
These cupcakes have kinda sucked the life out of me.
Yes, it’s the cupcakes, not my brother being in the house.
Except it’s definitely not the cupcakes.
I ignore the urge to ask Lucky as it presents itself again.
Ask Lucky to help. Do it now while you know he’s on his phone.
Part of me thinks he’ll agree, and part of me wonders if that’s true because he hasn’t offered.
Those thoughts are interrupted by the doorbell.
I make my way through the house, not checking every corner and shadow because I don’t feel the need to do that right now. The lack of ghostly visits from my mother and father may have helped slightly with my nerves.
Maybe they’ve realized I’m traumatized enough with another one of my relatives at home.
But I can’t help but wonder if their absence is because I start my morning with a stretch and a lap of the downstairs with a sprig of burning sage, or if it’s because they saw things I didn’t with Shane and didn’t want me alone with him, or maybe they’re avoiding Ambrose.
It isn’t the latter, as the last time I saw Daddy, he led me to his son.
But whatever it is, I’m happier with them resting and at peace.
My peace disappears for the second time today when memories shift me back in time, and I feel calloused hands closing around my throat. I feel sharp porcelain scraping through my chest.
I didn’t realize at the time, but Shane sawed at my skin, desperate to hurt me.
It’s finally healing, a painful, crusty memory beneath rubbing fingers.
If I think about it too long, it’ll hurt me all over again.
I push Shane from my head as I approach the door. New thoughts about who’s here to check on me fill the space.
Could it be him?
Who else?
Annabelle is still at her meetings.
She likes to play catch-up, which usually includes her gushing over my new friend. She had lots of thoughts this morning when I relayed all of last night’s messages to her. It was better than yesterday when all her questions surrounded Ambrose.
Unlocking the door, it’s a surprise when, only a second later, Annabelle jumps into my arms from the other side.
“Yay! You survived! I knew you would,” she says as she flings both arms around my neck, hitting my loose updo.
“You’re home early!”
“Well, I’m glad I am! So I don’t have to miss your birthday.
The last clients canceled.” She lets go and moves into the reading room, looking over her shoulder to talk to me.
“I can’t say I’m disappointed. They’re such a drag.
I’m happy to be home. Well, here, in your home. Girlie night and pizza to celebrate?”
“I actually have a job tonight, remember?”
Before another word can be exchanged, Bubbles comes pounding in, circling our guest and sniffing her out.
“Meet Bubbles!”
“Hi, pretty pup!” Annabelle smooths over her dirty ears.
“I’ll be giving her a bath this weekend.”
“She needs one! No offense, poochy.”
The mere mention of a bath has Bubbles rushing back out to the yard. “Anyway, the cupcake thing! That’s amazing. And so is this wall.”
Distracted by Nyx’s handy work, Annabelle runs her fingers over the new plaster on her way to the kitchen. It’s been painted to perfection, too—this room and every other one downstairs. In the last week, I’ve done the reading, kitchen, and music rooms.
“Any more intruders?”
“Well…”
“No, he doesn’t count. He lives here… apparently.”
“Yeah, I feel stupid about that, but aside from him, not a soul.” Literally, not even the souls.
“Good. Then it’s finally over. Have you spoken with your friend today?”
“I have. Luckily, last night didn’t put him off.”
“No, it probably got him off.”
I don’t answer, thinking of the few messages we shared today. Any other day, we’d easily talk every hour as we read together, separately.
“Maybe. But we haven’t talked as much today.”
“Don’t let your mind run away with you. It’s probably because of the job.”
“Well, yeah. I’ve had to make four hundred cupcakes for the event tonight. It’s at some place called The Funhouse. Do you know it?”
“Yeah, it’s a bar on the outskirts of town. Really out there kinda place. Funky. Sometimes, they dress up as clowns, just a warning. Though I believe that’s only on Fridays.”
“Then, thank fudge, it’s Wednesday! Anyway, I have to get all four hundred cupcakes there for tonight. Do you think they’ll fit in your car?”
“Well, if they don’t, we’ll make a few trips. The little yellow beast is capable, you know.”
Linking arms with Annabelle, I guide her to the kitchen where all those cupcakes wait in their respective dozens. “And out of my earnings, I’ll buy us a pizza tonight.”
“Wait, they are all accounted for? No spares?” Annabelle says, while practically drooling over my hard work. “Why don’t I have a cupcake?”
“I wasn’t expecting you to be here, remember?” I circle the table opposite my friend, as I move some more cupcakes and place them in their boxes.
“That’s disappointing. I can’t lie.” She sighs. “Did you make one for your brother? If you say yes and he got a cupcake and I didn’t?—”
“No, Annabelle, I did not make him cupcakes. We aren’t exactly on good terms.”
“Yeah, since when was that exactly?”
“He threatened me.”
“When?”
“Years ago. From prison in a letter.”
“Aren’t the letters meant to be checked before sending?”
“I don’t know. But he’s upstairs, and apparently, the walls are thin.” I mouth the next part, “ He spies,” then add, “So let’s change the conversation.”
“Okay,” she drags out the word. “So, this Lucky guy—pun intended.” She laughs, indicating that she made some kind of joke.
My face remains blank.
“Will he be there when we take these?” she asks with a mouth full of frosting as she devours it from the mixing bowl using just her fingers.
“Earth to Dollie. I asked if your friend will be there,” she says with a full mouth of frosting.
“No, he doesn’t start until six. So, I actually won’t see him.”
“What? That’s bullshit! Why aren’t we going tonight?”
“Because the cupcakes need to be there beforehand.”
“I’ll rephrase, why aren’t we going back tonight?”
“There’ll be a lot of people there, Annabelle. Maybe too many for me.”
“So, hang around with just one .” Annabelle talks in a way that makes me think her new teeth have clamped together.
“He will be there to work.”
“And I’m sure he’s entitled to a break.”
“It’ll be dark.” The last time I went to a club, my mind played tricks in the dark.
“There’ll be disco lights. Don’t you want to know who he is?”
“He’s a twenty-seven-year-old reader of classics called Lucky.”
“And he looks like? I mean, he could be hideous.”
“Annabelle!” I snap. “He won’t be.”
I don’t have a clear vision of Lucky in my head. I know he’s got dark hair. It’s wet but visible in the profile picture, which hides all his unique features.
“He could be. He could smell awful. And seeing as you’ve kinda phone-sexed him already, don’t you wanna know if you aroused a gremlin?”
“Shut up.” I toss a kitchen towel at her, and she catches it with one hand, totally expecting it.
“Only if you admit you’d like to see him in person,” she says with a full mouth, shoving in more frosting.
Am I ready to admit that maybe I would?
“He hasn’t asked to see me. He’s like the only guy on the app who hasn’t sprouted out the words, let’s meet up …even after I phone-sexed him.”
“Are you talking to any of the others?”
“Only him. I deleted the app. We text now.”
I continue busying myself by reorganizing cupcakes, trying to keep my mind off why Lucky hasn’t asked to see me. Why didn’t he ask for my address last night so he could come around?
In my drunken state, I may have even given it to him.
“I figured. So maybe we just go for an hour and not hold him up all night. Wednesday is charity night, right? We could make a donation. I could grab a cupcake, and we’ll have a dance. Then, get a pizza on the way home. What do you say?”
I sigh, my eyes on Annabelle.
I should say no, but curiosity gets the better of me.