The Dollhouse

by Charis Cotter

  She nodded grimly.

  “But this time, I can’t tell what’s real. There’s no difference between being asleep and being awake. I don’t know if I’m day dreaming or night dreaming or if it’s really happening.”

  “What is it you’re dreaming about?” asked Dr. West.

  Uh-oh. I couldn’t tell them about the dollhouse. If Mom found out that I had stolen the keys and gone into that room, I’d be in the worst trouble of my life.

  “Your mother said something about a doll and a ghost?”

  “Um…yeah. That kind of thing. Ghosts.”

  “It’s a spooky old house, I’ll give you that,” said Dr. West. He glanced over at my mother, who was looking on with a worried frown. He lowered his voice. “She said one night you dreamed you were dead?”

  “Yes,” I said, fear filling me up again. “That’s what I’m afraid of. That I died in the train accident, and I’m a ghost too!”

  “Oh for goodness’ sake, Alice,” broke in my mother. “There was no train crash. Just a little bump.”

  Dr. West put up his hand to stop her. His glasses were slipping down his nose, and he had the kindest eyes. He took my hand and smiled. At that point, even my heart gave a little pit-a-pat, and I could see why my mother liked him so much.

  “Look,” he said. “Like I said before, you and your mother are having a hard time right now. If you want to talk to someone— to a counselor, or even just to me— just say the word.”

  I shook my head, unable to speak.

  “That’s fine too,” he said, giving my hand a squeeze. “But remember, the offer is always open. Any time. And meanwhile, just take it easy, stay out of the sun, and try and relax.” He winked at me.

  He was cute. He really was cute. What would it be like if he was my dad, as I had imagined on the train? If he was there every night for Mom and me, cooking on the barbecue, making little jokes, listening to every word we said with that sweet expression on his face? And Buttercakes nearby, knocking things over with his big tail. Dr. West would never be too busy or too preoccupied to come to my choir recitals, help me with my projects, take a walk in the park.

  “Alice?” said Mom.

  I surfaced from the vision of happiness with Dr. West and Buttercakes. Mom was frowning.

  “You’re off again, aren’t you?” she said. “In la-la land.”

  Dr. West laughed. “I’ll just have a word, Ellie, and then you two can go home and catch up on your sleep.”

  He and Mom went out into the hallway. I could hear them muttering away. Talking about me, no doubt. Or else setting up a date. Yikes. A date! But would it be so bad if they did?

  I sighed. I was very tired. All I wanted to do was sleep.

  All the way home I kept nodding off. The sun was so bright, glaring in the windows of the car. The day was already hot and stifling. I thought about getting back to my room, climbing into bed and sleeping for a long, long time. With no dreams. Definitely with no dreams.

  When we finally turned off the road and started up the steep road that led to Blackwood House, Mom was yawning too.

  “We’ll both need a nap,” she said. The car reached the top of the hill, and as she steered it around the circular drive in front of the house, we noticed a man standing on the doorstep. He had his back to us and his hand up as if he was about to knock on the door.

  “Now who could that be?” asked Mom, irritated.

  Something about the back of his head looked familiar. He was wearing a rather wrinkled black suit.

  “Oh my God!” said Mom and hit the brakes hard. At the sound of the screeching brakes, the man turned to look at us.

  “Dad!” I scrambled out of the car and threw myself into his arms, tiredness and concussion and Dr. West all forgotten.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  MONEY ISN’T EVERYTHING

  I started to cry. I couldn’t help myself. It was so good to feel his arms around me and smell that comforting Dad smell that was only his. A mixture of soap and his peppery aftershave. Though there was a whiff of musty clothes, too, coming from the suit.

  Dad nearly lost it too. I could hear a crack in his voice as he murmured, “Ally. Ally-Bally.” My nickname from when I was little. He hadn’t called me that in a long time.

  I stood back, crying my head off, and he managed to come up with a handkerchief from an inside pocket in that remarkable suit. It looked just like the one Lily had put on the Dad doll, wrinkles and all. And he’d been knocking at the front door, just where I had placed the Dad doll, outside the dollhouse.

  A faint memory came back to me of leaving the party in the dollhouse, climbing up the stairs, feeling dizzy…and someone at the door asking for me. Dad?

  Freaky weird. Had I brought him there? Had I brought him here? Me and Lily? And the magic dollhouse? I’d wanted him so badly…and here he was. Almost as if I’d wished him here.

  Like when I thought of the perfect dad on the train, and then the next day Dr. West, Sam, showed up. Could I make things happen? Just by wanting them?

  I blinked at my dad through my tears, afraid he would disappear.

  “Stephen?” said Mom. She looked as if she might lose it too. “What on earth are you doing here? And where did you get that ridiculous outfit?”

  Dad actually laughed.

  “I know. It’s crazy…but I kind of like it. It’s vintage, honey. The airline lost my baggage and all I had was the clothes on my back. I got it at a little secondhand store in Lakeport, near my hotel.”

  “Your hotel?” asked Mom.

  “Yeah. More of an inn, really, but it’s not too bad for such a small town.” He smiled at me and ruffled my hair.

  “But, Stephen, why are you here?” Mom was getting desperate.

  “Oh,” he said, as if he suddenly realized what she was asking. “I’m…uh…well, I have a lot to tell you, Ellie. Can we…um…go inside? It’s awfully hot out here.”

  Mom pulled herself up. “Stephen,” she said in her sternest nurse voice, “this is my place of work. I can’t be bringing our family problems in and parading them around. Mrs. Bishop would not appreciate it and it’s not professional.”

  “Mom! Give him a chance!” I pleaded. “Mrs. Bishop already knows about you and Dad, and I’ve been waking her up every night with my nightmares, so I think the least you could do is let Dad come in for a drink of water and—” I was getting worked up again and the sobs were coming back.

  “Alice,” said Mom quickly. “It’s okay. Take a breath.”

  I took a couple, trying to stop that hiccupping kind of crying that was about to take over.

  “You need to rest,” she said. “Okay, Stephen,” she said coldly, “you can come in for a few minutes, but Alice and I have been in the hospital half the night and we need some sleep.” She pushed past him and opened the door.

  “Hospital?” bleated Dad, putting his arm around my shoulders and looking into my face with concern as we followed her into the cool, dark hall. “Are you okay, Ally? Was it the concussion Mom told me about? From hitting your head on the train?”

  “She’s fine,” said Mom over her shoulder. “It’s a slight concussion, just as we thought. But we had to go through a battery of tests to confirm it, and we haven’t had much sleep.”

  “That’s a relief,” said Dad, and then stopped in his tracks. “WOW!” he said, gazing at the splendors of the hall. “A preserved Georgian. A genuine, well-preserved Georgian.” He spun around, his face alight with enthusiasm. “This place is incredible, Ellie! Do you have any idea how rare it is to find a house this old in such impeccable condition?” He was walking up and down, taking in the details of the door moldings, the wide floorboards, the curving staircase.

  “Yes, Stephen,” said Mom crossly. “I do know. It’s rare, it’s wonderful and it’s beside the point. We’re tired. I’m going upstairs to chec
k on Mrs. Bishop and Mary, and you can look around until I get back, then we’re going down to the kitchen and you can tell me what you’re doing here.” She humphed up the stairs.

  Dad and I looked at each other and made the same oh-my-god-she’s-scary face we used to make whenever Mom would get mad and start bossing us around. We hadn’t made that face for a long time. Then we laughed.

  It felt so good to have Dad back. I mean, really back. The old Dad, the one who cared about us.

  “Come on, Ally,” he said, taking me by the hand. “Give me the five-minute tour.”

  I took him through the rooms downstairs, and he was even more impressed than I had been the first time I saw it.

  “You know, it’s a marvelous house, one of the loveliest Georgians I’ve ever seen,” he said, turning round and round in the living room. “It’s been well cared for, and as far as I can tell, there have been no major changes made to this house since it was built. That’s very rare. It must have been in the same family. But what’s so amazing to me is the furniture. It’s vintage 1920s, perfect in every detail. Someone went to a lot of trouble to create this look.”

  I looked around. He was right. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble, but not to create this look— someone had gone to a lot of trouble to preserve it. But who?

  “Lovely,” said Dad, running his fingers over the white silk couch, where Harriet had been sitting the night before. “Oh, there’s some sign of wear,” he said, leaning forward to examine the seams in the upholstery. “But very little. Almost like a time warp. I’d say this house looks pretty well exactly the way it did in the 1920s.”

  I could confirm that. At least, I think I could. If the life I was observing in the dollhouse was real, and not a dream. But that brought me back to my dilemma. My head was starting to ache again.

  “Has it been in the same family?” he asked. “Do you know?”

  I shook my head. “Mrs. Bishop bought it last year. No one lived here for a long time before that.”

  Dad examined one of the doorframes. “Uninhabited.” He nodded his head. “That makes sense. This wood has been cared for recently. But before that—” He walked over to the window and gently touched the silky curtain. “I’d say it was all shut up with blackout curtains on the windows for a very long time indeed. Light is the biggest enemy for fabric. Someone must have come in, opened things up, repainted the walls and given the wood floors a gentle sanding and some new stain and here we are. In a beautiful recreation of a 1920s interior.”

  He sighed happily. “What a treasure. You know, Ally, I’ve spent too long with modern buildings.” He leaned in for a closer look at the molding on the mantelpiece. “Older buildings were always my passion. I would have loved to go into the restoration business, but— well— the money just wasn’t there.”

  “Money isn’t everything,” said Mom from the doorway. She was leaning tiredly against the doorjamb, as if she couldn’t hold herself up anymore.

  “No,” said Dad. “No, Ellie, it isn’t.”

  “Come on,” she said with a sigh as she pulled herself upright again. “Lily’s gone to a friend’s house, and Mary is fine to stay with Mrs. Bishop for the morning. Let’s go have some coffee and we can talk. Alice, straight to bed.”

  “Mom!”

  “You heard me.”

  “But this affects me as much as you,” I protested. “You act like it’s all between you and Dad and I have no say in it.”

  “Let her come,” said Dad. “You both need to hear what I’ve done. It will only take a few minutes, and then she can go to bed, and you and I can talk some more.”

  “Fine,” said Mom. “I’m too tired to argue.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  THE ROCKET

  At first Mom wanted us to sit outside, under the umbrella on the patio, but it was way too hot. So we sat at the kitchen table. Mom and I were ravenous after the long night at the hospital, so she brought out muffins, cheese, jam, coffee and juice. I dug in.

  “You don’t look too sick,” said Dad doubtfully as I slathered butter and jam on my third muffin.

  “She’s not that sick,” said Mom impatiently. “It’s been a rough few days for everybody, Stephen, and Sam thinks it’s the stress as much as the concussion that’s affecting her.”

  “Sam?” asked Dad.

  Mom looked away. “Dr. West. He’s Mrs. Bishop’s doctor and he’s been watching Alice too. Luckily he was on duty last night. He was a great help.”

  “He has a dog called Buttercakes,” I added. “And he comes nearly every day to check on Mrs. Bishop, doesn’t he, Mom?”

  “Yes,” she said shortly, concentrating on buttering her muffin.

  “Hmm,” said Dad, looking from me to Mom and then back again. “Well, that’s good news. I’m glad there’s been someone to keep an eye on you, Alice. I was worried sick about you when Mom told me you had a concussion.”

  He cleared his throat and took a deep breath.

  “Honey…Ellie…” He didn’t seem to be able to get the words out.

  “What?” she said.

  He sighed. “This is harder than I thought it would be.”

  My heart sank. Was he going to tell us he was moving to California? That he had another family there? That he was abandoning us forever? That he had got a quickie divorce in Reno? I had heard about that in a movie.

  Mom was also feeling the strain.

  “Stephen!” she yelled. “For God’s sakes, just tell us. What the hell are you doing here? Last time we spoke you said you’d be in LA for a month, and we agreed that we were going to both get lawyers and start the divorce proceedings. Why are you here?”

  She was standing up now, shouting and stamping her foot. I figured she had pretty well forgotten about not bringing our family troubles into her workplace.

  Dad held up a hand. “Ellie, calm down. Just calm down. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.” His voice trembled, like he was going to start crying. “I quit, okay? I quit my job. I want to be with you and Alice. I don’t want a divorce. I don’t want to lose you. Nothing in my work is that important. I just didn’t realize it.” And now he was crying, and Mom was standing there staring at him. My insides started twisting. I’d never seen him cry before.

  “You quit? You quit your job?” she said, as if she didn’t believe him.

  He started to laugh, so he was laughing and crying at the same time. “I did, Ellie, I really did! It’s crazy, I know, but I did.”

  “But how can you just quit? I mean, what about all your projects? How can you just leave?”

  “Well, I can’t just leave,” he said, swiping away the tears on his cheeks. “I have to give them six months’ notice. That’s in my contract.”

  “Right,” said Mom, snatching up her plate and mine, even though I hadn’t finished my muffin yet. “Right. Same old story, Stephen. You’re always saying it’s only going to be another few weeks, or next spring, or next year, and that time never comes. I don’t believe you.” She turned her back and headed toward the sink.

  Dad jumped up and caught her by the arm. “Put those down, Ellie. You’re not listening to me.” He took the plates and returned them to the table.

  “Just sit down and listen,” he said.

  Mom sat down and crossed her arms and looked at him the way she looked at me when I said I’d do the dishes later, promise, right after my TV show.

  “I have quit, Ellie. My job is over. At least, it will be. By Christmas I’ll be done, and I’m going to find something to do that doesn’t take me away from you guys. I promise.”

  Mom looked unconvinced. But I felt this leaping, soaring hope inside me that was sparking like those engines at the bottom of a rocket. If only he meant it this time, if he really meant it, if he kept his promise and quit his job and came back to us. If only— and then the feeling of dread about our family breaking
up that had been growing inside me for months would just fall away like the structure that held the rocket in place and the whole hopeful, happy rocket would lift up and shoot away into infinite space. We’d be a real family again. Not broken. But could it be true? Could it really be true?

  Dad went on. “After we talked on Monday, I couldn’t concentrate on work. I didn’t sleep a wink that night. I couldn’t believe that I was going to really lose you. I thought about everything you said, and I realized that you were right. I haven’t been there for you, and I haven’t been there for Alice. So the next morning I called Ted and told him I was quitting. I wanted to walk away right then and there, but he pointed out that if I gave them six months, I could finish my projects, train my replacement and avoid a lawsuit for breach of contract. So I agreed, and he gave me till next Monday to come back here and fix things with you. Then I have to be back in LA. But it’s going to happen, Ellie. I’ve really quit and this time I won’t let you down.”

  Mom’s lower lip was trembling. She stood up.

  “I think, Stephen, that it might take a bit longer than till next Monday to ‘fix’ what is wrong between us.” She gathered up the plates again. “Alice and I have to rest. Leave the number of your hotel on the kitchen table and I’ll call you later.” She brought the dishes to the sink.

  Dad just sat there, staring at her.

  “Alice!” said my mother sharply, turning to me. “Upstairs. Now.”

  Part Four

  THE TRAIN

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  SLEEPING

  I slept for hours. At first I didn’t think I’d be able to. My head was full of questions about Dad and Mom. Would she give him a chance? Would he really change, like he promised? Could we be a family again? A happy family?