Doll Hearts

by Colleen Clayton

  He looks at me and his face looks pained. I hold my breath, brace myself for what’s coming next.

  “I know I haven’t handled things the right way with you this summer,” he says. “Or since your mom and I split for that matter. I was selfish in a lot of ways. Melody and I were starting this new life and so in love, and we had all these plans for the new business. And I…I…”

  “Left me behind,” I say, trying to contain the emotions welling up.

  He walks over and sits down next to me on the chaise. He continues on and I wonder how long I will be able to listen without running back into the house.

  “I wasn’t there for you. I’m so sorry—and then seeing the house, I should have seen the signs but I didn’t. And then when I did realize it, I didn’t know how to process it. I wanted to fix the damage, be this super-involved dad, and I only had a few months to do it. You were right, I swooped in and joined the race full-time and it wasn’t fair to you.”

  He rubs his fingers over one eyelid and takes a breath. After a few quiet moments, I rest my head on his shoulder. He kisses my head and nudges my knee with his. “This is your home, J-Bear. You know that, right? I want you stay. We both do. And you’re an adult now so I won’t smother you like I’ve been doing, I promise.”

  I look out at the lake and try to imagine living here full-time. After the ferry shuts down in November and the ice ring hardens around the island, a person is basically stranded for three months. I’d end up going to the K through 12 school on South Bass that has about four teenagers.

  “Thanks,” I say. “It means a lot to me, you saying all this. But, I’m going home at the end of summer.”

  He doesn’t reply.

  “You know you can’t stop me, right?” I add. “You can’t stop me doing anything anymore.”

  “I know,” he says, and takes a deep breath. He wipes his hands over his face in an attempt to erase the frustration. Then he gets up to stoke the fire some more.

  He grabs his drink and stands next to me, just looking down into the flames, one hand in his pocket. After a few moments, he holds out the glass to me. I smile up at him and take it, drink a sip like when I was little. The whiskey slides down my throat in a fiery trail, heating me up with a long-forgotten memory. I remember being about seven and running up to his knee and asking for a taste. He just held the glass out and let me take a sip. I remember shuddering and then running away making gagging noises and laughing. I was so proud of myself and amazed that my dad would allow it; thrilled that he and I had a secret.

  23.

  Its morning and Melody and I are on the ferry sitting in her SUV on the lower deck. We’re heading to the mainland for our spa day girlie brunch. The lake is nauseatingly choppy so I’m glad to be inside the vehicle instead of up on the passenger deck. The wind and rocking is less of a problem when you’re tucked inside of a vehicle drinking hot cocoa and listening to acoustic rock on Sirius. My phone vibrates with birthday texts from my friends and Brandon.

  “Happy Birthday, Julianne, he writes. “Belated birthday ride tomorrow after work?

  Sure! Where to?

  The lighthouse and then breakfast for dinner at I-Hop?

  Yes! I love breakfast for dinner!

  I wish I could see you today. I have something for you.

  Birthday prezzie for ME?

  Ha. Yes.

  

  I tell Melody about Brandon and bring up his Facebook profile. I’ve decided to just try and be friends with her. My dad is right. She’s a good person. Egh. It pains me to admit that but it’s true. I’m tired of resenting Melody and playing games with her. I’ve been a bitch of a stepdaughter for a long time. For her to like me and say those nice things about me, and stick up for me to my dad after how I’ve treated her over the years? Yeah, Melody’s all right.

  “A Harley boy,” she says, smirking.

  Of course, the one picture of Brandon on his bike and she zeros right in on it.

  “Oh, uh…don’t tell dad he has a motorcycle. Even though he says he’s done smothering me, I don’t want to push him over the parental cliff the first day.”

  “I won’t,” she says, smiling. “Besides, I don’t blame you. What girl can resist a cute boy on a motorcycle? I was young once too, you know.”

  “You’re still young. You’re only thirty-one,” I say.

  “Yeah, I guess,” she says, shrugging, looking out at the lake.

  “So have you kissed him yet?” she asks.

  “Not really. But soon. I can feel it.”

  “That’s exciting. First kisses are the best. Especially if they’re a good kisser.”

  Oh, please god…I’m trying my best to forge a new friendship here, but I do NOT want to hear about—

  “Relax, I’m not going to talk about kissing your dad,” she says.

  “Oh, thank god,” I say, sighing.

  Then she tells me about the worst kiss in the history of kissing.

  “I was twelve,” she says. “A group of us were playing seven minutes in heaven. My school was hosting a mixer with this all-boys companion school and the boy—Harrison Faust the Third his name was—farted in the middle of kissing me. It stunk up the whole coat closet. I started crying and came bursting out of the closet like it was on fire.”

  “Oh, god. That’s awful,” I say, laughing.

  “I know,” she says, laughing, too. “Poor Harry. I told everyone. Practically screamed it from the rooftops of Spencer Prep. He was ruined. He never had a single date through the rest of school. Pbbblt…finished.”

  “Stop!” I say, covering my ears, and we laugh and laugh.

  This story leads into other stories and for the whole forty minute ride, we end up sharing crazy stories we’ve heard, howling our butts off. I tell her how Celinda caught her ex-boyfriend using her lipstick. She tells me how an old roommate of hers used to save the hairs that she plucked from her own eyebrows. We laugh until our sides hurt; we laugh the whole way back to the mainland.

  When we drive the car off the ferry, I’m expecting to just head straight through and out of the parking lot. My mouth drops open when we roll by a bunch of balloons and a big sign that says HAPPY BIRTHDAY YA SLAG! It’s being held by Celinda Monroe who is screaming her head off. Lindsey and Natalee are here, too and as Melody drives slowly to find a parking space, the three of them jog alongside the car, banging on the windows, hooting and hollering like maniacs. Dana is standing up ahead, laughing and taking pictures with her phone.

  “I thought we were going to the—what’s happening?” I say.

  “Surpriiiise,” Melody says.

  I get out and after I’m done hugging everyone and freaking out, I learn that Melody and my dad have bought four VIP park passes for me and my friends. Dana has to work today but she’s driven up for the welcoming party. The girls walk to Lindsey’s car to wait for me as I say goodbye to Dana and thank Melody.

  “VIP passes cost like two-hundred fifty dollars each,” I say to her. “It’s…god, it’s a lot.”“You said you haven’t ridden any of the rides yet. We decided that for someone who works at an amusement park that was just too sad.”

  “Why don’t you come with us?”

  “Noooo,” she says. “Jet-skis are as daring as I get.”

  “So, what do we do after the park closes? Where do we go? Are they driving home? There’s no ferry.”

  “Slumber party at my place,” Dana says, smiling.

  “Cool!” I say, squealing.

  “Okay, I need to get going,” Melody says, walking to her vehicle. “I have an appointment with a woman in Toledo about a horse. Call to check in at some point if you don’t mind.”

  “I will,” I say, and then before she gets into her car, I call out to her.

  “Wait!”

  I hurry over and hug her before I chicken out. It’s the first time I’ve ever initiated a hug with Melody and I can feel her surprise.

  “Thank you for this,” I say, “We can still do our spa day some o
ther time, right?”

  “Sure!” she says, hugging me back.

  Then I wave to her as she drives out of the lot. She’s smiling so hard that it makes my heart ache. I think about our funny conversation in the car and how she saved me and feel ashamed of myself for shutting her out for so long.

  “I have to bolt, too,” Dana says, as we cross the lot. “Alberta the Hun has me shredding old employee files today and I’m really anxious to get started.” She rolls her eyes. “Plus, I still have to pick up the Man Whore.”

  We walk toward Celinda’s car where the girls are waiting for me. We’re going to breakfast first and then straight to the park at ten when it opens.

  “File shredding. Riveting,” I say. “Maybe you can meet us for dinner after your shift?”

  “Okay. Let me know where you’ll be,” she says, “I’ll see if Hutch wants to come, too. Wait, no. Scratch that. That Celinda girl is graduated, right? Fair game in Hutch’s book. He’ll be swooping in on that action in no time.”

  I look over at Celinda who’s wearing the shortest short-shorts ever and has the tannest, most well-toned legs in all of Legdom. Then I think of Hutch with his burgeoning beer gut and southern drawl and almost laugh. Celinda with Hutch? No way.

  “Don’t worry. Celinda has a very specific type. Spray-tanned gym rats who shave their arms and look down at their own abs all day long. She’s taking a gap year to train for fitness pageants. I don’t care how funny and charming he can be, Hutch doesn’t stand a chance with her.”

  “Oh, okay. Maybe I’ll bring him then,” she says, “Text me.”

  Then we part ways; she heads towards her car and I head over to my friends who are tying my balloons to Celinda’s bumper and taping my birthday sign to her back rear window.

  “So, what are we going to ride first, ladies?” I say, as I walk up to them.

  “We have golden tickets to the chocolate factory, slag!” Celinda says, blowing a party horn in my face. “We can ride anything we want!”

  24.

  I’ve had a perfect birthday.

  Well, almost perfect.

  90% perfect because it’s nine o’clock and my mother still hasn’t called.

  I’m trying not to dwell on it because there’s nothing I can do. I’m certainly not calling her because I shouldn’t have to remind my own mother to wish me a happy birthday. After everything she’s put me through so far this summer, the least she could do is give me a birthday shout. I mean, I’m used to her parental indifference at this point but this is pretty rotten even for her. It’s a milestone birthday. I’m eighteen.

  Whatever. I’m not dwelling. I’m supposed to be having fun with my friends which I am. They are too from what I can tell. Although, it was hard getting Natalee on that first ride. She’s kind of the reserved one in our group and so strapping her into that first coaster was like shoving a cat into a bucket of water. But she powered through and has numbed to the fear at this point.

  As for Celinda, she’s discovered amusement park love over at The Matterhorn. That’s one of the more popular, spinny rides with a DJ that plays hip-hop tunes while yelling things like: “Fasterrr? You wanna go fasterrr!?” His name is Tyler, he’s nineteen and lives in the dormitory. He’s very tan and has many muscles. After we rode four times, he finally asked for her number.

  My glucose is a bit high from the massive amounts of crap I’ve eaten all day. I’ve been pretty good about not pigging out on elephant ears and funnel cakes all summer but I couldn’t help myself today. Lindsey’s been giving me looks here and there but has held her tongue; she’s trying not to be a nag.

  We’ve just finished dinner and are in Frontiertown killing time at a target shooting game; waiting for Brandon to shut down his kiosk for the night. We’re all going to walk to the main carousel together and make that our last ride before the park closes.

  The shooting game is this life-size Western diorama scene of a saloon-slash-brothel-slash-jailhouse that lights up to the tune of “The Maple Leaf Rag.” Little bulls-eyes tag all of the interactive props; spittoons with rattlesnakes popping out of them, whiskey jugs tipping over. When you hit the tags with your laser rifle, it makes the props and mannequins move and make crazy sounds. Like the saloon girl covered in foam bubbles in the claw foot tub purrs things like “Hey mister, ya gotta dime?” when you hit her wine glass. We’ve played twice and I’m creaming everyone.

  “You’re a cheater! You play this all the time on your breaks, I know it!” Natalee barks, trying desperately to hit something while I pop, pop, pop away at the bulls-eyes, racking up points.

  It’s true. I’ve played this game many times. There’s a system to it, some of the targets are worth more than others or are closer together making for quicker shots. I don’t tell them any of this. It’s my birthday; I figure I can show off if I want to.

  “She’s been duck hunting with her dad! We stand no chance!” Lindsey says, also trying to shoot for some points.

  This is also true. I’ve been duck hunting and trap shooting. My dad is an outdoorsman, what can I say?

  “I want a rematch! There’s something wrong with my gun!” Celinda whines.

  Poor Dana’s stuck down on the end, next to some middle-aged guy who’s decided to insert himself into our fun.

  “What the—I have no points! Zero points! This game sucks!” she says, throwing down her rifle.

  Hutch, who’s standing next to me and coming in a close second, looks down the barrel of his rifle. “I’m taking you out, girl,” he says. “I’ve shot wayyy too many swamp rabbits in my time. I ain’t about to lose a gun fight to a Yankee.”

  “You mean a girl Yankee!” Dana says, coming up behind to cheer me on. “Kick his ass, Julianne!”

  And I do.

  Three more times.

  When Brandon’s shift ends, we all walk together to zone one. While we wait in the line at the carousel, Brandon asks me how my day went and we chat for a bit. Then he pulls a small box out of his pocket.

  “Happy Birthday, Jules,” he says, holding it out.

  I smile and open it up. It’s a bracelet made of blue lapis stones from the shop where I work.

  “Shurice told you I like this one, didn’t she?” I say, smiling and holding out my wrist so he can put it on me. It’s true, I’ve been drooling over it for days.

  “No, she did not,” he says, fastening the clasp. “Shurice, your co-worker at the gem shop, did not tell me that you’ve been admiring this bracelet since you started there.”

  I smile and hold my wrist up. The blue stones light up against my tan. It really is a beautiful bracelet.

  “It’s perfect,” I say and we do the awkward head-bobbing thing that people do before an ill-timed kiss. Everyone is around us, gabbing and eating cotton candy, so this is not exactly the best time to try and make out. Finally, he darts in, lands an off-center peck and then hugs me into him.

  The line opens up, forcing us to move forward. He stands behind me, putting his hands on my shoulders as we inch along toward the entrance of the carousel.

  We climb aboard and I pick the tiger. When the brightly-lit, old-fashioned pipe organ in the center of the carousel starts cranking, we start spinning around to the sounds of the music. I bob up and down on my tiger and look around at all of my friends who are laughing, talking, and being silly. I want to shrink this moment; put it into a bubble where time stands still and I can live forever on this carousel having my 90% perfect birthday.

  It’s like a hot knife to the heart when I immediately picture that carousel waterglobe in the gift shop that my mother would have loved. The one that plays “You’ll Never Walk Alone.”

  I pull my phone from my pocket and check it.

  9:50 and I have no messages.

  As we are walking into Dana’s apartment, all ready to sack out from a hard day of fun, Celinda gets a text from Tyler. A last minute after-hours party has cropped up over at the dorm and he’s invited us over. I call Brandon, to let him know that I’m comi
ng his way again but he doesn’t pick up. I leave him a message.

  We all freshen up and change our outfits. Celinda and Natalee take over the bathroom and Dana, Lindsey, and I stand in front of the dresser in the bedroom, jockeying for mirror space.

  “Oh, god,” Dana says, putting her piercings in. “I get to wear real clothes and go somewhere that’s not the park for a change.”

  She’s wearing black, skin tight short-shorts and a red spaghetti strap top with laces down the front. Her tattoo is on full display for a change and her bob is pulled back on one side with a red rose hair clip. She looks like a rock star vixen pinup girl that should be inked into some guy’s chest until the end of time.

  “Where did you get those shoes?” Lindsey says, looking down at Dana’s chunky pumps.

  “Village Thrift,” she says, beaming, “Six bucks.”

  I look down at what I’m wearing. Shorts, an OSU tee-shirt and flip-flops.

  “I thought I was going to the spa with Melody. I didn’t really bring anything that would look good for a party.”

  “I got this, Jules,” Dana says, rifling through her closet, “I’ll find you something. I’m gonna sex you up tonight.”

  Dana’s bigger and more…I don’t know…va-va-voom than me. I worry that I will end up looking ridiculous in her clothes. Like a kid playing dress up.

  “I don’t know,” I say, when she hands me a black one-shoulder top and what essentially looks like a thick, hot pink rubberband.

  “Is this a skirt?” I say, holding it up to me.

  “You really need to stop dressing like you have nothing to work with,” she says, pulling my hair out of its ponytail holder and running a brush through it, “Don’t overanalyze. Do what I tell you.”

  “Seriously,” Lindsey says, brushing on mascara, “You were going to wear that roller skating hooker get-up all summer and now you’re being shy?”

  “That was a work uniform,” I say, taking the brush from Dana and doing it myself because she’s yanking me bald. “A person has to wear a work uniform. This get-up is optional. It implies choice.”