Page 3 of The Attic on Queen Street
I could tell Nola was fighting the urge to roll her eyes. Ever since Jack had left, she’d been keeping the eye-rolling to a minimum, apparently to stop my ego from completing its downhill slide. “It’s Saturday. Today’s the campus tour at the College of Charleston, remember?”
I was fairly certain she hadn’t mentioned it to me, as I’d already checked my phone and desk calendars and they were both empty. AndI would have remembered it. The whole college question had become a sensitive issue, which she faced with quiet stoicism as she left the house to attend her SAT prep class or college fairs—all done without Jack or me. She didn’t want any “undue influence,” which was ridiculous, really. Jack and I had both attended the University of South Carolina—Jack on a football scholarship—and we only wanted her to find the school where she’d fit in best. Just because Jack had season tickets to watch the Gamecocks and wore cardinal and gold for most of the fall didn’t necessarily mean he wanted her to attend his alma mater. Not that he’d have objected. We’d at least achieved her agreement to allow us to visit colleges with her, as long as we remained silent.
“Actually, I don’t.”
Her eyes moved to the dogs as she studiously avoided my gaze. “Yeah, well, Dad’s taking me.”
“Oh, okay,” I said, feeling more than just a little hurt. I’d envisioned the three of us doing the college hunt together, me with my spreadsheet carefully noting the pros and cons of each institution of higher learning in which Nola expressed an interest. I managed a smile that might have been more wobble than actual smile. “I can print out my spreadsheet for you to take with you if you like. I’ll be happy to type in everything later.”
Her eyes met mine and I ignored the look of pity in them. I wondered if I resembled General Lee when he sat by the table begging for scraps.
Nola’s face brightened. “You know, Dad didn’t say that youcouldn’tcome. I mean, if you want to.”
The old Mellie would have shoutedYes!But that was the old Mellie. After all my false starts and stops at becoming a better edition of myself, I was now working on Mellie Version 107 or so.
Before I could say no, Nola interrupted me. “I’d like you to be there.” She crossed her arms and rolled her eyes so that her meaning couldn’t be interpreted that sheneededme there. “I mean, if you aren’t busy or anything. Youaremy parents, and I know Alston’s and Lindsey’s parents are all going. So it would be weird if you didn’t.”
I tried to keep the excitement from my voice, so I sounded as low-key as Nola. “Well, in that case, I should go. I need to talk to your dad anyway, so I can kill two birds with one stone.”
She picked up Porgy and narrowed her eyes. “Is that an old-people saying? Or do you have something against birds?”
Jayne entered the foyer, interrupting my own eye roll. She carried a stuffed plastic garbage bag over her shoulder like Santa Claus, awkward knobs and the stray twig protruding from the plastic. “Hi, Nola,” she said, dumping the bag on the floor between us. “You ready for your college tour today?”
I glanced at my stepdaughter, who shrugged. “She knows only because she was here yesterday when Alston and Lindsey and I were talking about it. We may have discussed your spreadsheet.”
I glared at my sister.
Nola tugged on my sleeve. “Why don’t you go have breakfast? I bought you Froot Loops. Plenty of processed sugar and empty calories, just the way you like them.”
I was oddly touched. Nola was usually on a stealth mission to restrict my diet to cardboard and sawdust disguised as health food.
“Thank you. But I’m going to run upstairs to shower and get dressed since we have that college tour. Jayne brought doughnuts, too, but I’ll save those for later.”
Nola’s phone pinged. “The tour isn’t until one o’clock. You have three hours,” Nola said as her thumbs flew over her phone screen.
I considered her with open admiration. I could barely type one letter at a time when fully focused on texting.
Jayne’s eyebrows rose as her gaze scanned me from head to toe. “It might take her that long.”
“Ha,” I said, turning to head up the stairs.
“Oh, wait,” Nola said, calling me back.
I turned and watched her pull something out of the large pocket of her plaid pajama bottoms. “Did you put this on my nightstand?”
Jayne inhaled sharply. I squinted and took a tentative step forward tosee better, Jayne’s reaction making me glad for once of the vanity that kept me from admitting I needed to wear glasses. “What is it?”
Nola held her hand closer so I could see better, and I immediately wished she hadn’t. An iron coffin-shaped box filled her outstretched hand, a small round window at the top showing the sallow pixie face of a small doll-like figure inside. Its eyes were black ink-drawn dots with a red circle to indicate an open mouth caught at the moment of surprise. Bold, raised letters on the lid read:LISTEN TO YOUR MOTHER.
“It opens, too,” Nola said.
I lifted a hand to stop her, but she’d already flicked up a clasp on the side of the box to reveal a small porcelain doll, its pale arms crossed over its chest. The tiny white body lay upon what appeared to be a bed of antique buttons made of pewter and mother-of-pearl.
Jayne kept her distance—she was eight years younger than me, with apparently better vision. “I think that might be one of the most hideous and horrifying things I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen a lot.”
“Worse than the Edison Doll in your attic?” Nola asked, referring to an antique talking doll with the unnerving habit of appearing unexpectedly.
“I’d say it’s a tie. And this was on your nightstand?”
