Because she’s getting farther away.
Oh, shit.
“Dollie!” The only thing that responds is my own echo. Then, my own voice, as I repeat her name twice.
I should head the other way and get onto the main street where the school is, where there is traffic, stores, and people. Where I could scream for help because my gut is still churning. In my throat, I taste the frozen yogurt I had at lunch.
But I can’t leave Dollie.
Slowly, I drift into the trees, just about to call her again, when I hear Chuckles over the sound of my feet crunching on twigs. “Is your brother coming?”
“I’m here,” I shout, a little louder than I need to, hoping someone will hear me.
I hope that anyone will hear me.
CHAPTER 6
Ambrose—present day
She lies in the bed, this frail older woman whose body is getting eaten away by cancer. She doesn’t move when I enter from the kitchen with a bowl of oatmeal and take a seat on a tiny chair that creaks below my weight.
A mix of emotions swirl inside me as I look at her. Hate. Pity. Those things rise to the top.
Her dog, a young poodle named Bubbles, tries to steal my attention by putting her paws on my lap.
And she succeeds.
The muddy prints on my denim pants make me cringe, and I look at her questioningly. Yes, I look at the dog that way. In my defense, she still has what looks like half of the backyard between her toes.
Her shaggy hair blocks her beady brown eyes and prevents her from seeing me wave her down.
When she’s back on the floor, I take the spoon to her owner’s dry lips.
“Not today, Ambrose.”
It’s the first time she’s used my name since I started visiting her two weeks ago.
It was a request made by my cellmate. And while I shouldn’t have agreed, in return, he gave me what I needed: a written admission for crimes too heinous to think about.
For a while, I’d ignored it. Then, one night after a drink, I showed up here with questions I couldn’t voice and a baseball bat that some vandal had left behind at my house.
I’d intended to destroy this house like someone had destroyed mine when this woman proved herself useless.
But that never happened.
The living room looks exactly like it did before I came here—shabby-chic furniture scattered throughout it. The two-story home is small yet still too big for this woman, who only uses this one room.
“I can’t face food. Not today. Don’t feel you have to stay. The nurse will be here soon.” She smiles, but it’s sad. That pity, I feel, she feels it for me, too. It’s in her glassy stare.
“Why do you keep coming here, boy?”
Keeping my eyes on her in the hospital bed that takes up one side of her living room, I sigh.
I have no fucking clue why I’m here.
“It was wrong of him to ask you.”
It was so fucking wrong, my head bobs in agreement.
