12. Dollie—present day
Dollie—present day
“ D id we message this one already? I lean across the table, narrowly avoiding croissant crumbs, at the local diner.
It had taken some coaxing, but I managed to get Shane out of the house and away from paint fumes.
I really needed to get away from that place where tears were an inevitable daily occurrence.
He needed it, too, because after a morning of my tantrums, as he calls them, we were under each other’s skin.
I’d say that’s what upset me about him shifting around all my personal belongings that are starting to take over the house, but him moving my stuff when he knows I need them close always hurts.
Either way, breakfast was a good idea and the perfect bribe.
“I think so.” Shane eyes my phone and the hundreds of photos I scroll through on the social media page.
The venue is a fancy garden, complete with a glass dome for dinner in the center. So different from all the churches and castles we’ve looked at.
“I really like it. I mean, yeah, it’s smaller, but how many people do we actually wanna invite?”
“With how that bitch is acting lately, the list is getting smaller.”
“Shane, I’ve told you not to speak that way about your mother.” I tuck my phone into my purse, keeping my serene potential venue from his toxic energy.
“I know, but she’s driving me fucking nuts. She’s questioned everything I spend this week because of this wedding, and it has nothing to do with her.”
“So, tell her that.”
“What, and have her sulk for the foreseeable future?”
He’s right, and usually, when I say this, he makes out that I hate her and shouldn’t have such opinions. So, I stay quiet, eating what’s left of my croissant while he huffs and puffs.
“Dollancie darling! When did you get back in town?” A waitress appears at the side of our table, placing a hot mug of coffee in front of Shane.
I wanna say I know this woman from somewhere. I vaguely remember my dad and her talking while he bought me balloons.
“We got in around a week ago.” I blink her in, feeling as awkward as I look while staring at her name tag and not her face.
Clara.
“And who’s your fella?”
“This is Shane. He’s my boyfriend—well, fiancé.”
“Are you staying at your parents’ place?” Her tone drops to one of sympathy.
“Yeah.” Shane smiles. “We’re fixing up the house to sell.”
“Oh, you don’t wanna keep it? I mean, I guess that’s understandable. But it could be a lovely home once restored.”
“We’re sure it will be, but for someone else. And the money that we make will allow me to have a fresh start and an amazing wedding.”
My smile gets lost in the distance between Shane and me. His interest in this conversation has lowered, pulling his attention back to his phone.
Please, God, don’t let him be arguing with his mother . I sigh.
“And how does your brother feel about that? It’s half his home, too.” My blood runs cold at her words.
“We haven’t spoken about it yet. I’ll get to it. I know I will have to do it sooner or later.” And it makes me feel sick.
“Yeah. Go easy. You never know. He might have his own plans.”
“Maybe.” I place down the last bite of my croissant, no longer hungry, as the sick feeling inside me swirls over Ambrose and me screwing him out of our house. “But maybe a fresh start might be good for him, too.”
“Well, I guess so. Would you like any more drinks?”
“No, thank you. Just the check.”
“Of course, hon.”
Clara drifts away, stopping by another table on her way to the register.
“I’m glad you ordered that and didn’t insist on ice cream like usual.” Shane finishes off his second coffee, the froth sticking to his lip.
“It’s a little early for ice cream.”
“Yeah, and I saw the prices in the window. We really should watch what we spend until we’re done with renovating.”
“Is that why you had a second coffee?”
Shane’s face falls flatter than my one and only soda. “Am I not allowed a treat? I work hard.”
“Maybe you need something stronger to help you chill.”
“I’m fine. Do you think that house is safe to bathe in? I can’t be fucked for another shower.”
“The downstairs bathroom is surprisingly clean.”
“Yeah, I noticed.”
“And there’s hot water. We could maybe take one together?”
“Maybe another time? I wanna be in and out. You know I like quicker baths than you do.”
My soul deflates a little, knowing the truth that there’s more than one reason why he won’t take a bath with me.
“Shall we go?”
“Sure.”
“Great. I’ll go take care of the bill.” He rises from his seat. “Get your stuff ready.”
When we get back to the house, Shane leaves me alone with the shadows of those who haunt me. And they have been all week.
I started seeing things a few days ago. Shadows here and there that move with me as I creep around the downstairs rooms.
At first, I thought it was Shane playing tricks, but he denied it then, and he’s still denying it now.
It’s been fifty minutes and counting since he left for the bathroom, the little clock on the mantle confirms.
I’ve never seen it before—it looks like an old telephone, but it has a face and two ticking hands going around and around.
Surely, a clock wouldn’t still be working after all this time?
That thought lasts a split second before my mind goes back to the shadow in the corner. The one that could either belong to the old, heavy drapes or something hiding behind them.
Dipping the brush into the half-full can, I turn my attention back to applying the first layer of paint.
The eagerness to hide the horror stories written on the wall has me smearing the paint too thickly.
But the mess I make helps me ignore the shadow, hoping that if it is something sinister, it’ll grow bored with my lack of attention.
There are new lies sprayed across the walls today.
A sigh of frustration leaves me as Shane and I had painted over each message throughout the past week. I did so while tears secretly streamed down my face. And Shane did it while sneering at the culprits and Ambrose because he especially hates my brother.
And yet, more words appeared within the hour we slipped out this morning.
Shane pointed them out the second we got back, capping his lack of amusement with a false laugh. It brought me stress, causing me to give up the day of wedding planning and pull out the paint cans.
My paintbrush smothers the words that imply a seedy relationship with Ambrose. I freeze on his name, just like I did that first day here. The first three letters lost to the new shade of pink.
Amb rose.
My skin prickles, but I feel too hot.
The feeling of someone watching me grows, and my eyes flick back to the shadow, which hasn’t moved at all.
With another stroke over those three letters, I watch them fade into a new word. Rose.
This place will look good with roses.
Maybe if I advertise more cupcakes in town, I’ll be able to buy some.
We’ve only had one order since last week’s giveaway, and that was for a child who wanted a single yellow cupcake. That child reminded me so much of myself that I agreed with a smiley emoji when her mother texted.
But since, I’ve felt kind of deflated.
Maybe Shane was right. Maybe people will only be interested when they’re free.
There goes my flowers. I sigh with defeat.
Flowers won’t make this place pretty , something hisses from the corner of the room. From the shadows.
Turning around and acknowledging whatever I heard is not happening. I move the brush again, covering the rest of Ambrose’s name, and chant to myself…
“It’s not real.”