by Mike Hopper
Mr. Felphul leaned back in his chair, laced his hands across his stomach. He pursed his lips, shook his head and raised his left eyebrow. He looked over his glasses at Sam, “You are fortunate that doll is still in your possession.”
“Fortunate?”
“Yes,” he nodded. “Does little brother have one too?”
“His name is Steuart, sir.” Nervously, Sam asked “One what?”
“Doll—does little brother have a doll?”
“Steuart?” Sam asked with extra emphasis.
“Steuart.” Mr. Felphul nodded, “Does little brother Steuart have a doll too?”
“Yes, he does, but we don’t call them dolls.”
“What do we call them?”
“The Wayward Gifted, sir. Steuart has Ed Camino.”
Mr. Felphul leaned closer. Well, I’ll tell you Sam, these dolls are hard to come by. I know these dolls. Only special people are given these dolls.”
Sam pursed her lips. She looked at her brother and then at Mr. Felphul. “So, you know they’re real?”
“Real?”
“Alive,” Sam said believing that Mr. Felphul understood. She wanted him to tell her what he knew. “Do you take care of any of them?”
Mr. Felphul was silent. Fearing she had said too much, Sam bit her lip and held her breath. Mr. Felphul stared at Sam. Sam showed no expression and stared at Mr. Felphul. Trista did not move. Steuart continued looking at books and making notes.
Mr. Felphul smiled. He almost laughed. “Oh, my, you have quite the imagination little Sam.” He removed his glasses, wiped a lens, and chuckled as he put them back on his head. “I understand why you were given a doll. You have a true creative gift.”
Mr. Felphul stood, turned, and then motioned Sam towards a hallway. He invited her to “Come on back. I’ll show you what I have.”
Sam stood silently. She looked at the dark hallway.
Mr. Felphul continued, “I think we have something back here that will work fine for you and your doll.”
Sam turned and looked towards Steuart who was still looking at books. She looked again at Mr. Felphul, and again down the long, dark hallway. Mr. Felphul turned away from Sam and began walking towards a door. Sam followed. Again, she turned and looked towards Steuart. She could feel Trista’s arms wrapped around her hand. Sam stopped. She stood back. Mr. Felphul opened the door to a room that was as dark as a cave. He walked inside, “Join me?”
Sam gasped and backed away.
“I prefer to stay out here.”
Mr. Felphul flipped the light switch and pointed towards a wall of cigar boxes. Sam relaxed, but remained in the hall. “These are perfect,” she whispered. “How much are they?”
“Seven-fifty each.”
“No,” she shook her head. “That won’t work.”
“No?”
“We’ve found them and now we can’t afford them. We don’t have enough money.”
“How much do you have?”
“Together, or separate?” Sam looked towards Steuart.
“Together.”
“Less than five.”
“What about books? Do you have any books you might like to bring in for a trade? If we can come up with a trade, you can keep your money.”
Sam smiled, “Oh, yes, Steuart does too.” Sam and Mr. Felphul talked about her books and came up with an agreeable figure. She considered trading her copy of Right, Good, and Appropriate. “Do you accept books that have been signed?”
“By the author—always!”
Sam shook her head, “No, I was talking about a book that has an inscription—a gift.”
“It depends on the book and the inscription. Is the signer famous?”
“Only in her mind.” Sam looked away, “I shouldn’t trade that one anyway. I might get into trouble. I have plenty of others.”
“I’m curious about your need for the boxes,” Mr. Felphul asked. “What are you going to do with them?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Not sure? Why are you buying them? Who buys something without knowing the intended purpose?”
“They’re not for us. The dolls made a request.”
Mr. Felphul chuckled and nodded, “I should have known. It’s a secret?”
“Exactly. They didn’t give us the reason.”
“Let’s look through this stack and see what we can come up with. You like pretty colors?”
“I collect them. I love colors. I have this folder. It’s where I keep my swatches. Do you have anything this color red?” Sam opened her folder and pulled out a red that she liked. “I think Trista would like this one.” She turned, looked at Steuart and asked, “Are you okay out there? Do you want me to choose a box for Ed?”
“Go ahead. I’m finding new words.”
“Does Ed have a color preference?”
Steuart shook his head. “I think I’ve found my new favorite place in town.”
“What color do you want for Ed?”
“Anything—but no pink.”
Mr. Felphul looked through several stacks and showed Sam various options. “What about this one? Do you like this? Is this color close?”
“I think that one has too much orange. Can we continue looking?”
“Sure. We’ll look until we find one you like. These dolls must be important to you. I’m curious to know more. How’d you come by them?”
“Our doctor gave them to us.”
Mr. Felphul stopped and listened.
“That’s not right,” Sam corrected herself. “He didn’t give them to us. He lent them to us. We’re using them. We play with them at home and take them with us to appointments. Do you know Dr. Klesel?”
“Oh, yes, Maybell’s a small place. I know almost everyone. That’s why I asked if you were new in town. I’ve known the good doctor for years.”
“He’s very smart. We like him a lot.”
Mr. Felphul nodded.
“Does he buy books here?”
“Yeah, he buys, and he sells books from time to time.”
“We call him the Shark Yeller.”
“Shark Yeller? That’s an odd name, care to explain?”
“It’s an anagram. I’m Samantha Leigh DuBoise—ghoulish abased inmate.”
“Where will you use that one?”
“Halloween,” Sam nodded.
“It’s definitely good for ghosts and goblins. Are there any others you like?”
Sam frowned, “Imaginable head shout—none of mine are very interesting.”
“I like anagrams too. Unfortunately, some work much better than others.”
“I like yours.”
“It doesn’t provide many options, but I find that it works well for my profession.” Mr. Felphul picked up a cigar box, lifted the lid and looked inside. “And, purists might argue against it.” He held the box for Sam to see. “I’m serious about your need to be careful with these dolls. My friend Ceil lost one several years ago. She never found it. You should be cautious.”
“Ceil Nunstern?”
“Yes, do you know Ceil?”
“She’s our friend. We play in her tree house. Ceil had a doll?”
“Now that I think of it, I may be confusing her with someone else. You know, perhaps I’m thinking of another customer.”
“But you said Ceil Nunstern.”
“I know what I said, but I was wrong. Maybell’s a big place.”
“It’s not that big. Besides, you just said it’s a small place.”
“SAAAAMMMMMM!” Steuart called out to his sister. Books flew in multiple directions as he reached for the closest shelf. Steuart hit the floor with a loud thump. The room became silent. Steuart let out a groan. Sam and Mr. Felphul raced to the front of the store in time to see Della Ivy at the window. She turned and walked away. They quickly turned their attention to Steuart who lay on the floor holding his arm. “My arm, my arm.”
“Don’t move him.” Mr. Felphul looked at Steuart, “Don’t move. I’m calling for assistance.�
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TWELVE
Olivia pulled Sam out of bed before the sun was up. “Dress quickly. We overslept.”
Sam yawned, “Yes, ma’am.”
“We should be in the car now. If we don’t hurry we’ll miss seeing Steuart before his surgery.” Olivia walked into the hall and turned back, “Bring your hairbrush with you. Don’t worry about your bed.”
Sam leaned down for Trista. “And leave those nasty dolls here.”
“I’d like to take them with me.”
“Samantha Leigh, leave them here. We don’t want to contaminate the hospital.”
“I’d like to take you with me,” Sam whispered to Trista.
“You don’t want to get into trouble.”
“I’m already in trouble. She blames me for Steuart’s accident.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Sam shrugged.
“Samantha Leigh,” Olivia called out. “Let’s go.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Trista smiled at Sam. “Tell Steuart I’m thinking about him. We’ll see you tonight.”
* * *
Visitors came, went, sat, stood, paced, and walked around the busy surgical waiting room. Some were alone, others in groups; each waiting to hear about a friend or loved one. Sam and her mother sat together. Olivia talked on the phone while Sam sat quietly thinking about Steuart. One family, seated just across from Sam, alternated between praying and arguing. The group discussed religion so loudly that she found herself unable to think. She shook her head, closed her eyes, and wished they would go away. Three seats over, a lady with two friends sat eating snacks, reading tabloid magazines, and talking, “We have a family rule,” one of them said, giggling. “We’re only allowed to read trash at the hospital or the lake. The rest of the time we glance at covers in the check-out lane.” Up front, a woman and an older man, both wearing pink vests, sat at a counter shuffling small stacks of paper, answering the phone, and providing information to visitors. Sam yawned.
After surgery, but before Steuart was out of recovery, Olivia handed Sam money for the cafeteria, “I’m going to see Dr. Klesel.”
“When?”
“Now.”
“Can I go?”
“No, I’ll be back in a few hours.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Stay here.”
“When can I see Steuart?”
“When I get back. Don’t worry. Whatever you do, do not leave the hospital grounds.”
Sam sat for a long while watching the crowd. Ready to close her eyes, she opened them quickly when a deep purple gift bag grabbed her attention. She jumped from her chair and followed the bag-carrying stranger, turning and moving throughout hospital corridors onto the elevator, and up several floors. She walked through a skywalk and into another part of the hospital before entering the cafeteria.
Keeping the bag in sight, Sam bought a small carton of milk, a sandwich, and a cupcake before finding a seat by the window where she waited for the bag-carrying stranger to finish lunch. One behind the other, the stranger and Sam exited the cafeteria. Sam continued following the stranger down another hall and then waited quietly outside a ladies room before following further towards the elevator, up two more floors, and midway down a long corridor where the woman finally entered a hospital room. Careful not to be seen, Sam walked past the room, turned back, and silently waited. Eventually, the woman, no longer carrying the bag, exited the room and disappeared.
Sam peeped into the room and saw a young girl sleeping. She had a large, brightly colored bandage across her head. The purple bag sat on a bedside table at the far end of the room. Quietly, Sam walked towards the table, sat next to the bed, and unzipped her backpack. An aide walked into the room just as Sam took out her scissors and began reaching for the tissue. Sam held her scissors and smiled as she pretended to be a visiting family member. The aide walked out. The little patient, now slightly awake, looked at Sam and asked, “Are you from my school?”
“No,” Sam answered. “My name is Samantha Leigh DuBoise. I’m a volunteer.”
“I’m Dotsie Caples. I guess you know that.”
Sam nodded, “It’s a pretty name.”
“Do you deliver cards or flowers?” Dotsie looked around the room. “I don’t see anything new.”
“No,” Sam shook her head.
“You said you’re a volunteer.”
“I am. Actually, I’m visiting my brother. He broke his arm. I decided to do a little volunteering while I’m here.”
“I’m sorry about your brother. I hope he gets well very soon.”
“Thank you.”
“What do you do?”
“I deliver songs.”
Dotsie smiled. “Do you know the song Love Makes You Feel Happy?”
“No,” I don’t know that one.”
“How about I’m Happy Today?”
Sam shook her head, “No.”
“Sing, Sing, Clap Your Hands?”
“I don’t know that one either.”
“What songs do you know?”
“I have one that I made up just for you.”
“What’s it called?”
“Love Is Here With You.”
Dotsie smiled. Sam took a deep breath and sang,
Please don’t feel bad
Please don’t be sad
Love is here with you
Don’t feel lonely
You’re not only
Love is here with you
Days can be sad
Days will be bad
But there are happy days too
You’re not only
Please never feel lonely
Love is here with you
With Dotsie once again sleeping, Sam bent down and snipped the color, slipped it into her pocket and stood to leave the room. A nurse watched from the doorway. Sam walked slowly to the door, looked up, and whispered, “I’m sorry. It was just a color snippet.”
“It’s okay,” the nurse nodded. “Your song was sweet, but I think you should go now.”
Sam walked quietly down the hall. Along the way, she stopped an aide and asked directions to surgical waiting.
* * *
The first three minutes were silent as Dr. Klesel waited for Olivia to speak. Time for her family update, she sat miserably on the sofa, her feet side by side, elbows on her knees and her head in her hands.
The doctor began, “How’s Steuart?”
“He’ll be fine.”
“What did they do?”
“Two pins and a plate in his right arm. It was a terrible break.”
“Sounds like it.”
“We’re looking at a lengthy recovery.” Olivia shook her head and sighed, “I don’t understand these things.”
“You spoke with his surgeon? He didn’t answer your questions?”
“I’m not talking about the surgery. I’m talking my life. I’m talking about why these things always happen to me.”
“What things?”
Olivia looked up. She let out a deep sigh, “You know, the broken arm.”
“He’s fortunate it wasn’t worse.”
“True enough, but there are families who sail through daily life without ever confronting these types of issues; families where things never go wrong. I don’t understand.”
“We don’t always see what others are dealing with.”
“I know that. I’m not brain dead,” Olivia let out a sigh. “I’m just saying that a lot of people never have to deal with the type of things that are continually thrown on me. I never get a break. It never stops.”
Dr. Klesel listened.
“I love my children. You know that, don’t you?”
“I do.”
“I do my best every day. I give more than one hundred percent. But, it doesn’t seem to matter because things continue to happen.” She sighed again. “I don’t understand why everything always happens to me.”
“Is there something you’re not telli
ng me?”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Olivia snapped. “Why do you always insist on giving me this crap?”
“What crap?”
“That crap. The what things, the what crap. The what comes to mind, and how does that make you feel crap? I feel like you’re running me in circles. I’m completely exhausted. I’m tired. This move has not been easy for me. I am totally worn out, spent—do you hear what I’m saying?”
“I hear you.”
“Why don’t you just tell me how to keep them from doing these things?”
“You’re talking about the children?”
“Who do you think I’m talking about? Why don’t you tell me what I need to do? I want my children fixed. Better than that, why don’t you just do what a real doctor would do?”
“I’m not a real doctor?”
“Of course you’re a real doctor.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Write prescriptions. Give me a prescription. Real doctors write prescriptions.”
“I just told you I’m a real doctor.”
“And I just agreed with you. Why are you so defensive.”
“You seem combative.”
“I’m saying that most doctors actually write prescriptions.”
“I write prescriptions.”
“Not for me. You refuse. You never write prescriptions for me.”
“Are we talking about you or the children? I’m confused.”
Olivia exhaled loudly, “Steuart has a broken arm. This is a nightmare. I am completely exhausted. We need drugs.”
“What does Steuart’s broken arm have to do with your wanting prescriptions? What type of prescriptions do you want?”
“I have no idea. You’re supposed to decide what type of prescriptions we need. Why are you asking me to diagnose myself? You just told me that you’re a real doctor.”
Dr. Klesel pointed to the diplomas and certificates on his wall.
“Write a real prescription for my children. Give me a prescription—or both. I need to relax.”
“I thought you were here for family updates.”
“No—maybe—no,” Olivia sighed again. “Forget it. I don’t know. I’m tired of these things always happening to me.”