“Take a handful of the dirt, son. Throw it into the grave, on your papa’s coffin.” I did as asked. But I never broke away from Dolly’s hand. She sniffed, and when I looked at her again, I saw her crying. I rubbed the tear from her cheek with my thumb, then brought the tear to my mouth.
It tasted of salt.
It tasted of her.
It tasted good.
The pastor said something else, and then everyone began walking back toward the main house. I saw Mr. Earnshaw and the “uncles,” his business partners, walking at the front of the small crowd. It was just estate staff. Mr. Earnshaw and his business partners never really left the estate. We were alone all the way out here in the Dallas countryside. But I had Dolly. So I didn’t care.
I was homeschooled, had been since I arrived. But, just like Dolly, I wasn’t actually schooled by anyone. So I spent my days with her, drinking tea at her tea parties and trying to teach her how to read and write. She tried, but she wasn’t too good. She knew the basics, but she struggled with most things.
It pissed me the hell off.
“You want to go to my bedroom, Rabbit?” Dolly held on tighter to my arm, her cheek against my jacket. I nodded, not saying a word, and let her lead me to the house and into her quiet room. I heard the sound of the adults in the main room on the floor below. But I didn’t wanna be around them. I didn’t like them. Being around them made me want to hurt them. Being around anyone but Dolly made me want to take a gun and pierce a bullet through their thick skulls. I didn’t know why. Those were just the daily thoughts I’d had about people ever since I could remember. Most nights I fell asleep imagining what they would all look like dead.
Dolly sat on her bed, her china-faced doll, as always, pulled tightly to her chest. She was wearing black today. She looked weird not dressed in her blue dress, white socks and white apron.
I hated it.
I went to her closet and pulled out one of her many identical blue dresses. Her big shimmering blue eyes were fixed on me as I held out the dress. “Change into this.”
Dolly looked down at her black dress and coat. “Papa said I had to wear black today. To honor your papa. Like I did at my mummy’s funeral.”
“I fucking hate you in black. You belong in color.” I pushed the dress out again.
Dolly scowled. “You’re always in black,” she said and pouted her full lips. “Why can’t I wear black too?”
I was getting annoyed. “I live in shade. You don’t. You live in the light . . . now change.”
I kept my eyes fixed on hers until she sighed dramatically and took the dress from my hand. The only bit of emotion I’d felt all day came flooding to my chest as she marched past me to her bathroom, stomping her feet. I felt my lip tug up at one corner. It was as close to a smile as I ever got.
And only ever for her.
She was always dramatic. Full of life. Pushed every one of my buttons.
Throwing the long black jacket Mr. Earnshaw had bought for me for today across a chair, I sat down on the bed. My hand dipped into my vest pocket and pulled out my pocket watch. I ran my fingers over the screen and watched the hands move around. Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock . . .
The bathroom door opened and Dolly walked out, once again dressed in her blue dress. Her Alice doll hung at her side. She smiled and held out her arms to the side, seeking approval for her outfit. She knew I loved her in these clothes.
Only in these clothes.
My living, breathing doll.
She walked to her vanity and sat down on the stool, flicking a glance to me in her mirror, giving me another coy smile. She hummed to herself, yet another song from her mama’s mix tape. I recognized the song. She always sang and danced to this song. Over and over again, every single day. I didn’t care. I loved watching her dance.
I sat back on the bed, my head resting against the brightly painted yellow wall. Dolly reached for the tube of lipstick that sat on her vanity—her mama’s old lipstick.
Pink.
It was bright pink.
She applied the lipstick, squirted some perfume on her neck, then came to sit beside me. When she played, it was always dress-up. Dress-up and afternoon-tea parties. English accents and bright pink lipstick. She had a picture of her mama at the side of her bed. She wanted to look just like her; that was obvious. With her pink lipstick and long blond hair, she did.