The Hanging Noose

Sixty-Three

Arthur's knuckles were bloody and bruised. He has a few cuts split open across his hands, however Dottie was unsure whether it was because of Billy or because of another fight.

Sensing her discomfort, Arthur sighs. "You know I would never hurt you, don't you, Dots?"

"I know," Dottie responds.

"I cant stand people talking about you, not when they don't know you," Arthur continues, his grip on the steering wheel tightens as Dottie scratches at her neck.

Dottie lets out a breath, "is he dead?" She asks, the heaviness floating across her chest. "Arthur?"

"No," Arthur reveals, "he's got a few bruises, nothing that won't heal up."

Dottie tilts her head, "you didn't have to do that for me, you know? I don't care if people talk about me."

"Well I do," he responds dryly, "you're my baby cousin, Dots. You and I are in the same boat."

Raising her eyebrow, Dottie questions, "the boat that's tipping?"

Humming in response, Arthur grunts, "it's always tipping, ain't it?"

Dottie nods back, "the boats never fucking stable."

Arthur grunts as he turns on the indicator, he begins to turn the car.

"I'm not even part of the family business, Arthur, and I've already killed two people," Dottie says quietly as they begin to drive out of Small Heath, "Micheal's killed as well," she looks down at her hands, "when I'm alone, it's all I think about... his hands are forever on me."

"You know, Dots, Linda told me something the other day. She said our skin cells, the things in us, change every three weeks. Three weeks, Thea."

Dottie doesn't respond.

"It's been longer than three weeks since he died... he hasn't touched you, has he? Not your new skin."

Dottie hums as she frowns.

"Linda told me that, didn't she?" He grunts, "she's a good teacher. She teaches the kids at the local church. Teaches them sciences and how to read. She said to suggest to bring your girls down, said they would get on well."

Dottie lets out a snort, "is she fucking on drugs, Arthur? When have I ever gone to a church? When would I ever let my children go in to a church?"

Arthur shrugs, "only the messenger, Dots. Only the messenger."

                                    —

The following morning, Jeremiah and Isiah dropped Eliza and Florence back to Dottie's house. Exhausted and warn out, Eliza and Florence spent the day on the sofa, curled up in a blanket Polly had brought them with Mabel in between them. Dottie had ordered Micheal and Gina to keep quiet, she didn't want to deal with two grumpy children.

When dinner was cooked, Dottie called for Polly to come over. She convinced her on the phone to come for dinner, to spend time with Eliza and Florence, and once Polly had agreed, Dottie woke up the sleeping girls, carrying a groggy Florence over to the table.

Both girls were too tired to argue back to Dottie, so neither of them convinced their mother to let them eat on the comfort of the carpet. Florence stayed in Dottie's lap as Polly spoke to Micheal, ignoring Gina completely. It was only when Eliza spoke up did she cause for the room to be quiet.

"Mama, is Siah my daddy?"

Dottie nods, "of course he is. Why do you ask, sweetheart?" She resists the urge to frown upon hearing Eliza call Isiah Siah once more.