Doll

by Juniper Bell

  And nearly ran over Chloe Garwood.

  She was standing as if in a trance, staring at the Christmas wreaths on the shed. He got out and stood in front of her. It took a moment for her eyes to focus on him. When they did, she smiled in that shy way that had enchanted him all those years ago. He felt a shiver go down his spine.

  “Dustin MacDougal,” she said in a quiet, delighted tone.

  “Chloe Barnes. I mean, Garwood.” He watched the smile drain from her face at the name Garwood. Interesting. “Are you okay there?”

  “Oh! Yes, sorry. I’ve never seen Christmas decorations on the wharf before. It must be fun here during the holidays.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s practically the North Pole. Can I give you a ride to the Garwood place?” Again, that shadow passed over her face.

  “No. I’m just going as far as my parents’ house.”

  Her mention of her parents rang a bell. “I heard they passed on. I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks. Anyway, I appreciate the offer, but…”

  She made a move to walk past him, but for some reason he didn’t want to let her go. “The house is shut down, you know. Electricity’s off, water’s off.”

  “Oh, dear. I didn’t…think of that.”

  Dustin was now convinced something was wrong. In his memories, Chloe had never been this out of it.

  “How about if I take you up there in the truck, and get everything turned on for you.”

  She gave him a careful look, as if trying to uncover some secret motivation. He kept his face open and cheerful. Finally, she nodded. “I’d appreciate that.” But when he moved to take her backpack, she flinched.

  Definitely, something was wrong. He made no comment on her skittishness, just opened the door of the truck. “Hop in. Sorry for the mess. I would have straightened up in here if I’d known I was having guests.”

  Chloe smiled again, not her shy smile, but the wide, beaming grin that had nearly knocked him off the wharf the first time he’d seen it, when she was about six. It had a similar effect now. “I promise not to use the white glove test on it.”

  “Thanks, you’re a doll.”

  Her smile vanished.

  What had he said wrong? Stiff and distant, Chloe didn’t say another word to him as the truck rattled down the gravel road to the Barnes’ cottage. She might as well have been in another world. Then again, they were from two different worlds, weren’t they? What could a lobsterman and a future Senator’s wife possibly have in common?

  Chapter Two

  Her parents’ house, a small Victorian cottage with gingerbread trim nestled in a grove of bare-branched maple trees, looked like it was hibernating for the winter. The storm shutters were closed tight. The house looked dark and lonely. Chloe was surprised to find she was glad Dustin was with her. If she had approached the house alone, she probably would have fled for the next ferry back to the mainland. Instead, she watched as he opened shutters, lit a fire, turned on the electricity and the water. He went out the back door to turn on the propane for the stove.

  “I remember when your parents winterized this house,” he told her as he came back inside, hair ruffled from the wind. “My dad did a whole bunch of sheet-rocking up in the attic.”

  “Did he? We never came out here in the winter, I don’t know why my parents bothered.”

  “Resale. There aren’t too many winter houses out here.”

  Resale. They’d done it for her. For her inheritance. Tears filled her eyes. Had they known, after all? Had they anticipated this moment? She looked up to see Dustin’s curious frown.

  “Did I say something wrong?” His eyes were the deep blue of a midnight summer sky. They made her think of chasing fireflies on the lawn, or rolling down the hill, getting grass in her hair.

  “No, sorry. I’m—well, I’m selling the house.”

  He continued to frown at her. For some reason, it didn’t bother her. It wasn’t like Andrew’s frown, which made her quake in her shoes. Dustin’s frown was thoughtful, as if he were trying to figure things out. She braced herself for more questions, but he let it go. He kneeled by the wood stove, took a poker, and moved the crackling logs around. A spark flew onto the stone hearth, and she took a quick step forward to stamp it out. Then she realized that would bring her right next to him, so she stepped back. The spark burned itself out. Had Dustin noticed her absurd skittishness? She let herself look at him fully, for the first time since he’d faced her at the wharf.

  He was not a particularly tall man, but obviously he was strong, with the broad back common to lobstermen, who spent so much time bent over the side of their boats, hauling up traps. No coat, just a well-worn black flannel jacket open over a thick gray sweater. Work pants, Carhartts, she thought they were called. There was an air of proud independence about him, like an ocean storm wind, a sense of freedom that she envied from the bottom of her soul. No one told Dustin MacDougal what to do.

  As he poked at the flames, she could see only his profile, but the firelight made his cheekbones stand out and emphasized his stubborn jaw line. No doubt about it, Dustin was a gorgeous man. But then, he’d always been a heartbreaker. All the island girls had been after him. There’d been plenty of gossip about him, and her ears had always perked up when she’d heard his name at the post office or the little general store.

  “How’s Lisa?” she asked. He’d married young, she knew, and had a child almost right away.

  “You’re asking the wrong guy.”

  “Oh. You didn’t…?”

  “Last? Nope. Only until Brian got to school age. Then she couldn’t take it anymore. Long, lonely winters out here. Not much going on.” He added another log to the wood stove, and closed the door. Behind the glass, the orange flames leaped and danced. He moved to the wood box and began sorting through it.

  “It must be beautiful, though.”

  “Not enough for Lisa. We moved into town for a while.”

  “Did she like that better?”

  “Oh, yeah. Turned out she liked her trainer better too. That was the end of that.” He dumped a pile of split wood next the stove. “This should last you through the night, until the furnace kicks in.” He wiped his sooty hands on his Carhartts. “Sorry, I guess I’m making a mess in here.”

  “Oh, no, don’t think about that for a second! Thank you so much for helping me out. I feel like a bit of an idiot. I should have known it wouldn’t be all set up for me.”

  “I bet things usually are, for the wife of Senator Garwood.”

  “He’s not Senator yet,” she said, with a sharpness that surprised her. It didn’t seem to faze Dustin.

  “Not yet. But I’ve never seen Andrew Garwood miss out on something he wanted.” Again, his midnight-blue eyes held hers, and she felt a flush come over her face.

  “You don’t sound like you like my husband very much.”

  “Let’s just say I’ve had my run-ins with him over the years. So, anything else I can do for you here? I should get my boat to the mooring.”

  “No, no, I’m sure I’ll be fine. Thank you so much, Dustin.” Should she pay him? She dug into the pocket of her coat for her wallet, but when she looked up, his frown was back.

  “Out here, we help each other out.”

  She turned red again. “Right. Well, thank you again.” She offered him her hand. He took it, and the warmth of his rough palm sent a flood of feeling through her. A memory flashed through her mind. At age thirteen, she’d climbed onto a pile of lobster traps so she could watch Andrew race one of his friends across the channel. Her foot had gotten stuck, and Dustin, who must have been about seventeen, had freed it. His hands had worked so cleverly, maneuvering her foot from the tangle of string. They’d felt warm on her skin, and as he’d lifted her leg free, a thrill had shot through her. Of course, as soon as she was free, she’d hopped back on her bike and taken off for Hook Point, for a better view of Andrew’s race.

  “Did I ever thank you for the lobster trap?”

  “What?”


  “You freed me. That time I got stuck.”

  “Oh, that. Your parents sent me a note.”

  Of course they had. She smiled, and saw the answering twinkle in Dustin’s eyes. “Well, here’s my chance to thank you in person. You were very sweet to me that day.”

  “My good deed for the year, probably.”

  She doubted that part, she thought later as she boiled water for instant hot chocolate. That twinkle in his eyes kept popping into her mind. So did the feel of his warm hand shaking hers. How long had it been since she’d felt any kind of attraction for a man? Wariness, fear, humiliation. That was all she felt for Andrew any more. To him, that translated as frigid. Ice princess, that’s what he called her. Was she frigid? She’d certainly never gotten any pleasure from him. But sometimes, late at night, when her nipples still burned from his relentless teasing, and something pulsed in her lower belly, she used her own hand to release the tension. Didn’t that mean she wasn’t frigid? Maybe she could only enjoy sex by herself. With no one else there to make her do things she didn’t want to do.

  Gary was waiting at Dustin’s fish house for his box of liquor. Thin, hunched, dragging on a cigarette, he lurked at the door of the small cedar-shingled shack. His face, wrinkled as a prune, lit up when he saw Dustin’s truck pull up.

  “’Bout time you got your ass back here. Wanna glass of rum? It’s on me.”

  “Sure, Gary. Help me unload this stuff first.” Might as well make him work for his liquor.

  Inside the chilly fish house, Dustin started a fire in the ancient cast-iron wood stove. Ice gathered at the corners of the single window, which dated from a time before double panes and insulation. Gary cleared a space in the clutter of junk—coffee cans filled with screws, cribbage boards, old fuel receipts—and plopped two old coffee mugs on the tiny, weathered table. He wiped them with a paper towel and sloshed rum into them, not bothering to get ice from the mini-fridge in the corner.

  After settling onto a work stool, he took a long drink of rum and smacked his lips. “Heard Miss Barbie High-and-Mighty got off the boat today.”

  “Who?”

  “You know, Chloe what’s-her-name.”

  For a moment, Dustin was surprised Gary even knew Chloe’s name. He’d only come to the island a few years ago, as a stern man, hiring himself out on various lobster boats. But he’d always been a gossip. He must have heard talk of the Garwoods.

  “Chloe Garwood. Yeah, she’s here.”

  “What’s she doing back? You talk to her any?”

  “A bit.” Dustin poked at the fire one more time, then grabbed a stool and pulled it next to the stove. Until it got going, the stove only warmed the area within a six-inch radius.

  “Well? What’d you find out?”

  “I didn’t interrogate her. You want to give her the third degree, you’ll have to do it yourself.”

  Gary bumped Dustin’s arm with the second mug of rum. “Don’t get riled up. Not often we get a stranger out here, is all. Have a swig o’ this.”

  Dustin shook his head to the rum. His days of drinking the night away in the fish house were long over. “She’s not exactly a stranger. She’s been coming out here since she was born.”

  “Cute little thing, was she?”

  “What do you care?” Suddenly Dustin was intensely irritated by Gary’s presence. He got to his feet. “I gotta get some work done. You should too. You need to get that firewood under cover.”

  “Yes, boss. Jay-sus. Nobody got time for socializin’ no more.”

  After Gary had taken himself off, Dustin puzzled over the conversation. Why had it seemed so strange? Gary usually wandered from one topic to another. But he’d seemed so focused on Chloe Garwood. After a moment, he shrugged it off. Like Gary said, it was unusual for anyone to show up mid-winter. He went to stow away his supplies, and thought no more about it.

  Hot chocolate was only going to get her so far, Chloe thought as she sat in the cozy attic and confronted the boxes stacked in the corner. At some point, she’d have to go search out some food. The only other possibly edible item in the house was an ancient can of A&M Baked Beans. Hadn’t that company gone out of business years ago? That can probably belonged in the Smithsonian. She’d have to be pretty desperate before she opened it.

  She took another sip of the soothing chocolate, and pulled an old crocheted afghan around her. The attic was the warmest place in the cottage. It had one small, circular window that looked toward the ocean. With the maple trees bare of leaves, she caught a glimpse of gray waves. Even in winter, Bellhaven had a special quality. The island was in a different mood, a slow, mournful kind of state, which certainly suited her. She found it comforting. On Bellhaven, she didn’t have to pretend. She didn’t have to plaster a smile on her face. Or stare up at Andrew with fake adoration. If only she could keep this place.

  But, no. She needed a divorce lawyer. A real lawyer would know what to do with that sickening document lurking in her tote bag. The confidentiality agreement that said if she ever spoke to anyone about her life with Andrew, she’d never see her kids again. Could he really do that? She had no idea. But she knew enough to know she needed a lawyer. But in order to afford one, she was going to have to sell the house. Before she sold the house, she had to go through all the stuff her parents had left here. Which meant that, if she wanted to be free, she had to tackle these boxes.

  The first box was stuffed with papers from when she was in third and fourth grade. Or rather, the equivalent of third and fourth grade. She’d been home-schooled all her life. Looking at her childish handwriting on her essay—Why Does Anyone Need Math?—she shook her head sadly. What a sheltered bubble she’d been raised in. Her elderly parents, fifty-one and sixty when they’d adopted her, had adored her, protected her, and generally treated her like a precious baby doll.

  Doll. She shuddered. There was that word again. She didn’t want to be a doll anymore. Certainly not Andrew’s kind of doll.

  She quickly went through the boxes from her school years, and stacked them in a corner. No need to throw them away, she could put them in storage. Maybe someday Halley and Merry would get a kick out of seeing her old school work. Sitting back on her heels, she eyed the wardrobe that stood in the corner, under the eaves. Her mother’s clothes were probably stored in there. All those flannel dresses and Laura Ashley prints. Andrew would have thrown a fit if she’d worn clothes like that.

  On her knees, she shuffled over to the wardrobe and opened the carved wooden door. And there it was.

  The Dress.

  She fell onto her hands and knees, dry heaves wracking her body. Eyes closed to block out the sight of The Dress.

  She’d wanted that dress out of her sight. Out of her life. Her mother had been visiting, and she’d given her the dress and asked her to donate it to charity. She’d never realized her mother had kept it.

  It wasn’t her wedding dress. It was the dress for afterwards, the one meant for getting into the limo with the balloons on it, and the shaving cream spelling out “just married”. It was a lilac-colored silk sheath with a slit up the back of the tight skirt. In it, she’d felt grown-up and sophisticated. And she’d felt nervous but excited about what was about to happen. She and Andrew had done nothing more than kiss up to that point. Sheltered as she was, she had only the vaguest idea of what came next. But she was certainly looking forward to it.

  Now, crouched in the cottage attic, with the wind whistling through the eaves, the moment came back to her as if it were happening all over again.

  “I love you,” she whispered to Andrew, snuggling against his side in the limo.

  “Me too, doll.”

  “I can’t believe how lucky I am. Mrs. Andrew Garwood. Why’d you choose me, Andrew?”

  “Because you’re mine. I’ve always known you were mine, even when you were just a little brat following me around.”

  She pulled away. “I didn’t follow you around!”

  “Oh, yes, you did. You didn’t t
hink I knew, but I did. Don’t worry, I liked it.” He pulled her back against him and ran his hand up her side, his hand settling on her breast. She shivered.

  “Why’d you like it?”

  “Because I knew you’d do anything for me. Right?” He snuggled his nose into the side of her neck and she squirmed. “Right?”

  “Of course I would.”

  He fondled her breasts through the lilac silk. She looked at the rearview mirror, and saw the reflection of the driver’s mirrored sunglasses. There was a clear plastic barrier between the front seat and the back. He probably couldn’t hear them, but he certainly could see them. “Andrew, can’t you wait until…we’re alone?” she asked timidly.

  “Why should I? You’re all mine now. I want the whole world to know it. Don’t you?”

  “Ye-es, but…”

  “I’m going to unzip your dress now.”

  “No, Andrew. Please.”

  But he was already doing it, the cold metal racing down her back. She clutched the front of her dress to her body. Behind her, he unfastened her bra. “It’s about time I got to see your tits. Come on, let go.”

  Again she looked toward the rearview mirror. The driver was studiously looking straight ahead. Maybe he was unaware of what was going on in the back seat. And Andrew was her husband, after all. She didn’t want to start her marriage off on the wrong foot. She dropped her hands and the dress fell away from her body.

  “Ahhh.” He lifted her breasts, rubbing his thumbs across her nipples. “I knew they’d be spectacular.”

  “I’m…glad you like them.” This was such unfamiliar territory. And then the territory changed from unfamiliar to surreal.

  “Burt, check it out.” He turned her body so she faced the driver. Andrew’s hands were under her breasts, holding them up for the driver to admire. The man looked up and gave a long whistle.

  “Nice.”

  “Burt’s hard to please. When he says ‘nice’, that means the best he ever saw.” Andrew chuckled, and so did the driver. Chloe felt dizzy. As if she’d stepped into some kind of rabbit hole, where nothing made any sense.