“Everyone will understand if you don’t want to do it.”
“I didn’t say I won’t. I said I’ll think about it,” I snapped back. “I meant I would think about what to wear,” I told her, even though that wasn’t true.
“Oh. Great. See you in the morning,” she added, and quickly hung up.
I guessed I had sounded like a ticking time bomb. My nerves felt like they were sparking. Any moment, I might just explode as if I was made of the same ceramic material used to make my old dolls. I swallowed back the urge to scream and scream but sat there until I realized I was still clutching the telephone receiver like someone desperate to keep in contact with the world outside. Finally, I took a deep breath and returned to my math. The solution to the problem was obvious to me this time around. I felt a sense of accomplishment, closed my books, and prepared for bed. As I was brushing my teeth, I heard a knock on my door. For a moment, I considered pretending I was asleep, but then I wondered if it was Grandpa coming to say some nicer things to me.
“Just a minute,” I called, and put on my robe before opening the door. I was only in my bra and panties, and whenever Grandpa saw me that way now, he practically lunged out a window.
It was Dorian Camden, however. She could tell immediately that I was disappointed. Grandma Arnold had always accused me of failing to disguise my feelings. “Women, especially, are at a disadvantage when they do that,” she told me. “Don’t look so pleased so quick
ly, for example. Boys take an inch to mean a foot. You’ll find that out quickly enough.”
How much I missed her.
“Just checking to see how you are feeling after eating,” Mrs. Camden said.
“I feel fine. It’s over. Whatever it was.”
“May I come in for a moment?” she asked. I was still holding the door, poised as though I might slam it in her face at any moment.
I nodded, relaxed, and retreated to my desk chair. She entered, closing the door softly behind her.
“I suppose this comes under the title of extracurricular activities,” she began with a smile, obviously trying to establish a lighter mood with me.
She looked around the room when I didn’t smile back or respond.
“This is a beautiful room. I didn’t really look at it when I came in earlier today. You have very pretty furniture. I like that you have an eastern exposure. You wake up to sunshine.”
“When there is any,” I said dryly. “Every day looks cloudy to me, no matter what,” I added, the bitterness so sharp I could taste it.
She ignored me and looked at the books I had on my bookshelf and the collection of small dolls from other countries. It was something my mother had subscribed to when I was five. We’d get one every two months for years.
“What are all these?”
“Dolls from other countries.”
“Can you tell which country each is from just by looking at them?”
“Yes. The clothes give them away, don’t you think?”
“Well . . .”
“If you know the colors in their countries’ flags, that is.”
“Oh.” She nodded. “Very smart.” She smiled. “I had a rag doll forever. I even took it to college,” she said. “The other girls made fun of me, but I didn’t care. As my mother used to say, accept me for who I am, warts and all, or don’t accept me.”
She waited for my response again, but I just stared at her, wondering what sort of wisdom I was missing now that my mother was gone and Grandma Arnold, too.
She turned back to the dolls. “Do you still get these international dolls?”
“They come, but they don’t mean as much to me as they did when my mother was alive. She was the one who started my collection.”
She nodded. Then she sat on the Chippendale side chair that matched the bed and dresser. She pressed the tips of her fingers together and looked like she was taking careful measurement of every word she was about to say. “He might not show it,” she began, “but your grandfather is very worried about you.”
“You’re right. He doesn’t show it,” I said.
“He misses your brother terribly, I assure you. You have to realize he’s a bit lost.”