2. Ambrose—age eight #2
“No.” She cringes, too. “It won’t be the most comfortable sleep tonight, but your dad is blowing up pool mattresses.
Probably wise, as I’m sinking into the carpet like it’s made of water.
“Come to me, baby.”
The crutch takes me closer, and her arm is around my shoulder, pulling me onto her knee. Her other hand fingers the bedsheets, and an unpleasant sound leaves her mouth when she feels the dampness kissing them.
I lean into her, feeling a little misplaced but more content than I have since coming to America. Mom makes more effort with me than Dad does. It hurts and warms me at once to have someone who loves me, but that person is not one of my real parents.
Her fingers rub my back, and I put an arm around her shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze.
She laughs. “Oh, baby, you do make my heart burst sometimes.”
Sometimes, meaning when I’m not distant and avoiding family time, like I do most days.
“I know it’s a big change,” she continues, “and I know you feel there are lots of germs, but I’m sure you’ll grow to like it here.”
“I do like the house.”
“Do you not like living with your dad and me?”
Fighting the urge to shrug again, I do no more than take in a big breath of the musty air.
“Maybe I’ll get used to that, too.”
“Maybe spending some time as a family will help? Maybe when we paint over this ugly blue?” Her smile is back once more, and mine is, too.
She kisses me on the cheek, leaving a mocha stain behind, and then she’s on her feet, helping me with my crutch again.
She only takes one step before the sinister doodle catches her attention.
“That’s kinda grim, wouldn’t you agree?”
My head bobs as she turns back to me, telling me again that we can paint over it.
“Mom.”
She stops at my door, twisting back to me.
“Can I really have any color?”
“Of course.”
“Then I’d like black.”
The wide O-shape to her mouth tells me she wants to object, but words I’d never expect slip out.
“Okay. Black, it is.” Her lips lift, and she’s ready to leave, but then she stops again, convincing me once more that she’ll object to my color choice, but again, she doesn’t.
“Ambrose, it might be nice for you and Dollancie to spend some time together. You don’t know any other children here yet.
So, it’s nice that you have each other. It’s really a great thing to have a sibling. ”
Is it? Neither she nor Dad talk to theirs.
I don’t answer.
Mom has said this pointless babble before, and I’ve said that Dollie and I have nothing in common.
She reads my answer on my face and shrugs. “One day, I’m sure you’ll love your little sister. I hope you do. She really loves you already.”
I feel guilty for her sad smile.
“Anyway, come downstairs in a few minutes. We’ll order a pizza for tonight from the place we saw on the way in. There’s a table with benches in the kitchen. It’s wooden, so I can give it a wipe down first. No germs.”
A smile tugs at my lips, big and bright, not letting her know that a wipe down will never be enough.
The pizza is ugly, to look at, at least. The burned crust sits in a small pool of grease.
Hawaiian is what’s on offer, and it’s never been my favorite. Dollie got her way again, so Dad and Mom could have a quiet night after the long drive. For whatever reason, she’ll only eat foods that are either shades of pink or yellow.
Anything else is unsafe.
The pizza looks anything but safe—unhealthy and tasteless, just to name a few.
Opposite me, Dollie lifts her first slice, and the soggy dough flops downward to the grease it left behind
“Not hungry, buddy?” Dad asks me from my side at the rectangular table.
Mom dusted the table twice, and it still looks filthy.
It’s hard to look away from all the lingering specs and stains, but I do it, my eyes landing on a chunk of meat that’s paler than it should be as it stares up at me from the lid of the box.
Our plates are still in storage, and the moving van won’t arrive until morning.
Luckily, there wasn’t any in the kitchen when Dad looked, as the cupboards were rotting and hanging from the walls. He would have said they’d be okay after a rush of tap water.
I’d have disagreed. Strongly.
And we’d have argued over it.
I take a slice to please my father.
“Mommy, where’s Duggan?” Dollie interrupts.
Duggan is a weird-looking stuffed antelope with only one eye, and Dollie can’t sleep without it.
“Oh, baby. He must be packed in the van.”
Great, now, she’ll cry louder tonight.
Gratitude for the faraway room and super long hallway fills me as I finally take the first bite of pizza.
Yeah, it tastes ugly, too.
“Nice, huh?” Dad will eat anything, and this is proof.
I force it down, smothering the rumbling of my stomach with a heavy swallow of tasteless dough.
“Did you know this place used to be an old orphanage?” Dad asks me. But I did, he’s told me already. His memory isn’t as good as mine. He doesn’t have millions of thoughts trapped in a busy head.
“What’s an orphanage?” Dollie, and her poor table manners flick pizza crumbs from her mouth as she talks.
“It’s where children go to live when they have no parents,” I answer quickly, hoping she’ll say no more until her mouth is empty.
The word, why, almost forms on her tongue.
So, I continue my mission to stop her talking. “Children go to orphanages when their parents have died.”
“Oh…” she drags out the word. “Is that why Katie and Amy are here?”
“Who are Katie and Amy?” Mom asks, and thank the heavens, her mouth is empty. Of course, it is. She’s barely eaten, constantly watching her weight.
Dollie shrugs. “I saw them upstairs. They told me my room would look nice painted pink or yellow.”
Like our coats.
Her imagination doesn’t stretch as far as she thinks it does.
Mom and Dad share a look of concern, almost as if they truly believe that little girl ghosts could haunt this place.
I don’t believe that, though. I wish I did.
Living in a haunted mansion would be a lot of fun.
However, Dollie has had dozens, maybe more, imaginary friends in the time I’ve known her, and I’ve only known her for three months.
“Mommy,” her voice, even while addressing someone else, calls me to her because she’s spitting crumbs across the table again. “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep without Duggan.”
“It’s only one night, sweetie. You’ll be okay.”
“But it’s a new house, and it’s dark and scary. And his tie. I need his tie. I need Duggan.”
“Well, why don’t you and Ambrose stay in the bunk beds tonight? You can put your lilos on the bunks and look out for each other while Mom and I…talk.”
Snapping my head to the left, I feel the rush of heat on my cheeks as I silently fume at my father for volunteering me to play parent because he, the actual parent, doesn’t want to do his job.
“Oh, no, they can’t put those pool mattresses on the high bunk.
What if one of them were to fall? We can talk after the kids go to sleep.
Besides, it’s not fair to Ambrose. He’s probably tired after the long drive.
” Mom’s smile is gentle, and I return it, appreciating her bailing me out.
“I can stay with you until you fall asleep, baby.”
“I’m tired now.” Dollie yawns, but she won’t sleep yet. She hardly ever does.
“Shall I come and tuck you in after I clean this up?”
“That’s okay, love, we got it, right, champ?” Dad believes chores should be shared, and I agree, so I nod, taking another bite of pizza.
“Not scared of Dollancie’s story?” Dad quizzes, only after she and Mom have slid off their side of the bench and left the room.
“No,” I say after swallowing the last chunk of my pizza slice.
“I didn’t think so.”
Rising from my seat, I grip the greasy pizza box and limp to the huge paper bag they arrived in. The bag now acts as a trash can in the corner of the kitchen because we don’t have a real one yet.
The cold in this house affects my damaged joint, and it takes me longer to move around.
Taking in the space, I eye the dirty brown cabinets and the spider webs attached to them.
“I know it doesn’t look like much.” Dad strolls over, carrying everyone else’s boxes and leftovers, dumping them in the trash. “It’s one to fix up, and Mom will have so much fun doing it. Plus, it was a steal, and the school is good here, apparently. Hopefully, you’ll make lots of friends.”
“I like the house. It reminds me of the Addams Family. But I miss Ireland.” We’d only lived there for a couple of years, but we had roots there. I had grandparents. Something called a heritage.
“Yeah…I know, but it’s been three months since you moved back to the States. It’s time to look forward, not back.”
“But this doesn’t feel like home.”
“Really? You don’t want to call this big house that you just admitted to loving your home?”
Another thing about Dad is that he loves fancy things. Things that scream of money he doesn’t have… that’s something Mammy always said.
Sure, I like the house, but it’s just a shell.
It’s not home.
“Look, maybe one day you’ll go back there. Maybe we all will.”
“You think the family will move?”
Move back to Belfast, where I lived for only two years of my life. But I loved those years best.
“Well, no. I have a job here. Commitments.”
“You had a job there when we moved last time.”
“Yeah, but work needed someone to be there. The move back there was never a permanent thing.”
“But Mammy got to stay, and so did I for a while.”
“Yeah, I know. I know you miss her and were expecting us to be together forever. I know you’re confused by this new life and having a new family. I didn’t expect her to pack you up and ship you over to me, either. I know it’s shitty of her not to want you there anymore, and I know it hurts.”
Flinching at the painful reminder, I skulk away. Dad has been back in the States for a year and a half. A lot longer than me. I’m not settled.
“It’s no different from being here.”
“That isn’t true. We do want you here.”
“Mom does.”
“We all do.”
My eyes drop to my leg, and I zip my lips.
“That was an accident, Ambrose, and it’s unfortunate that it’s put a hold on your dancing.”
I nod. He’s said that so many times over the last eight weeks…and just like every other time, a little voice in my head goes, was it?
“I know you’re upset about it, but you wouldn’t have been able to stay in that class anyway, not with the move to this place, and who knows, maybe a teacher here will think there’s hope to move forward. One teacher’s opinion doesn’t mean it’s over. It means try harder. Prove them wrong.”
Something burns down my nostrils, and I feel a lump in my throat. I can’t talk about dance, just in case that teacher was right when she said I will probably never reach my full potential now.
It hurts me because dance was all I could bring to America.
That, and one small suitcase to pack my favorite things, was all I was allowed because of the tiny apartment that we didn’t even stay in.
“Do you need me to do anything else?”
“No. You’re good. And I hope you’re good here.”
Just another nod, no words, and it has him sighing.
“Get some rest. The movers will have us up early, no doubt.”
I’m happy to get away.
“Ambrose.”
I twist to him, between this room and another.
“For now, please try to settle. It’s a great big creepy house, and you love that kinda thing.”
Without a real choice, I nod again, and I start to feel a headache building.
“And to really get you in the feel of it, how about you and I have a horror movie night this weekend?”
My lips pull up, and I can’t fight the smile because Dad rarely makes time for anything I like these days, and despite everything, I miss him. “Definitely, Dad.”
“Seventies or eighties?”
“I want that nineties shit.” I laugh, pushing my luck with the swear word.
Dad laughs, then makes a joke about scolding me for swearing, telling me to get to bed before he ‘ Whoops my ass.’
With another struggle, I creep up the stairs on my crutch, admiring the gargoyles because they are so much more enchanting at this hour. I like them now.
At the top, I hear a whimper and then a little voice breaking out between sobs—something about the pizza and how it’s made her feel ill.
Mom steps out of the bathroom—the biggest of many on this floor. She slumps back against the door, leaving Dollie crying on the other side.
Feeling my eyes on her, questioning her, she glances over. “I guess pizza wasn’t such a good idea.”
Hopefully, that means we won’t have it again. “No. Is Dollie okay?”
“She’ll be fine. Get some rest, honey.” Mom disappears back into the bathroom, and I listen for a moment, stepping closer, as she hushes Dollie’s cries, bribing her with yet another Barbie doll that she’ll buy for her because, sure, she needs another one to add to the endless collection that she doesn’t play with and just stares at.
I head to my room, yawning and missing whatever Dollie says next… but I wonder what it was until I fall asleep on the uncomfortable lilo.