55. Ambrose—present day #2
“It’s late.”
Fine. I’ll lock the door.
I’m halfway down the hill to my car when her voice calls to me through the wind. I careen, finding her slipping into her sneakers at the door.
“Can you wait for me?” She struggles with her laces, trying to get her shoes on and keep the dog inside at the same time.
I make my way back up to help with Bubbles, and then I’m the one to lock the door.
She walks in my shadow the whole way down the hill, hating the pitch-black darkness as we rush through it to get into my car.
It’s a quiet ride to the cemetery, neither of us saying anything as we drive past homes with their lights out. On the outskirts of town, a new clown has appeared on the side of a building, beneath a glowing streetlight.
The terrible graffiti is the first I’ve seen in weeks. There’s been a significant decrease since Dollie’s arrival home, but clearly, someone doesn’t care about that.
Her chin tucks into her neck, and her eyes close, avoiding the sight.
“We forgot the flowers,” she says, her eyes still closed.
Doesn’t matter to me. Coming here today wasn’t about bringing flowers. It was about spending time with our parents on the day that stole them from us.
Light rain appears on the windshield as I roll to a stop. The wipers clear the view, and I see the brass gates blocking us from going farther.
There are only ten minutes left until the day is over.
I kill the engine, eyeing up the fence, knowing I have to get inside.
“We can’t.”
We can.
“You think I can scale a fence?” Dollie looks at me.
If I can with a dodgy leg, you definitely can.
“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.”
You do.
“Don’t steal from the grave.” Her grip feels impossibly tighter as I lean forward.
It’s Mom and Dad, they’d give you anything.
“But they aren’t here to tell us that.”
My eyes roll at her goody-two-shoes attitude. I return to her side, and we stand in silence, letting minutes pass by.
We don’t move until the wind and rain pick up. A quick glance at my phone reveals the time has ticked past midnight, and we’ve spent the last minutes of our parents’ anniversary with them.
The weather worsens, rain pouring down on us both.
“It’s gonna ruin their flowers,” Dollie shouts over the wind.
As if by magic, an even bigger gust approaches, so strong it blows Dollie into me.
Dollie’s hair hides both of our eyes, and it’s a struggle to see anything until she reins it in, tucking it in her hood, then pulling it up. I help her tie a bow under her chin to keep it in place.
She hasn’t noticed it yet, the single rose that’s blown from the flowerpots and sits just before her muddy pink sneakers.
With a struggle, I bend to get it.
Her eyes light up at the sight.
All the other flowers huddle perfectly at the grave, the stone protecting them from the approaching storm.
I guess they really wanted you to have your rose.
Our fingers brush as I hand her the stem.
Excitement prevents her from watching for thorns, and one pierces through her thumb.
She whimpers in pain and takes her thumb to her mouth, numbing the injury with the heat inside her mouth.
I can’t pull my eyes away from how she sucks.
Luckily, she hasn’t noticed how my chest strains against my jacket, or anything going on lower, too enamored by her new gift.
Dollie tries to shield her flower from the rain, but her pocketless clothes make it hard.
Unzipping my jacket, I take it off and guide her arms through it. I take the flower from her, shielding it in an inside pocket, and then zip up my jacket.
Her smile lingers, eyes drifting between me and our parents.
Do you want to leave or stay?
“If we stay, we’ll catch our death and be joining them soon!”
It’s your call, I sign.
“I’d like to think they wouldn’t want that. I’ll race you to the car!”
We get to the car, and we’re both soaked to the skin as we drop inside.
Fog comes from our mouths, and our bodies move involuntarily in the cold. Water drops from my eyelashes as I start the engine and fumble with the dials, trying to blast the heaters.
Cold hands move to Dollie, and I unzip my jacket for her to shrug out of it.
Take this off, or your hoodie won’t dry, and you’ll catch a cold.
She nods, too cold to talk.
Before tossing my soaked jacket into the backseat, I collect her flower.
Our wet clothes are heavy on our bodies as I turn to her again, but I feel lighter as I hand Dollie her rose, and a smile breaks through the chattering of her teeth.