Page 48 of The Last to Let Go
WINTER
DOLLHOUSE
“YOU SEEM NERVOUS.”Dani looks at me in the passenger seat as we drive away from school. She’s taking me to her house for the first time. Her parents wanted to meet the “friend” she’s been spending so much time with, and honestly, I’m happy to be away from home for an evening. The trial is about to start and none of us—not me, Aaron, Callie, or even Mom—are on the same page anymore.
“That’s because you’remakingme nervous,” I tell her. “What are your parents like?”
“My parents are accountants.”
“That’s what they do. What are they like?” I ask again.
“They’relikeaccountants. They’re nice. They’re not cool. Our house is boring and looks the same as every other house on our street. And I have two guinea pigs,” she adds, as if owning guinea pigs signifies something unredeemable about someone’s personality.
“So?”
“So I’m just giving you fair warning. You might have been under the false impression that I’m more interesting than I probably really am, okay?”
“Stop,” I tell her as I stroke her hand. “I’ve never seen you like this. What are you so freaked out about?”
“I should live somewhere more like your neighborhood. It has so much character. It’s eclectic and funky. The buildings are old—”
“Yeah, old and dirty?” I interrupt. “It’ssogreat. You have to make sure you lock up all your doors and windows. You get to take the bus everywhere... it’s really funky. Walking up a thousand stairs to get to your house every day—now, that’s character.”
“Why do you sound like that?” she asks. “All sarcastic or something?”
“Because. Come on, my neighborhood is not cool, I promise. You know, it’s not abadthing to live in a nice neighborhood,” I tell her, but I hear it too—a tinge of something in my voice—not sarcasm exactly. Something more sour than sarcasm. I swallow it down. “Hey, stop worrying, this will be fine.” I rub her shoulder and smile sweetly, burying that bitterness somewhere deep in my gut.
“Okay... this is me,” she says, pulling her car into the driveway of a house that looks like something out of a magazine. Tall, made of brick and siding, with a big, beautiful wraparound porch, complete with a swing and wind chimes and bird feeders, shutters flanking every window, a big tree in the front yard that’s lost all its leaves. And, sure enough, it really does look pretty much identical to the houses on either side. It reminds me of Jackie’s neighborhood, except everything is a lot newer, a lot bigger, fancier.
When we walk through the door, everything is neat and clean and orderly, just as it was on the outside. And bright. Lots of windows with matching curtains. Smells like flowers—lavender, maybe—though I don’t see any. We take our shoes off in the entryway, and Dani hangs our heavy jackets on the coatrack next to the door.
“Okay,” she whispers. “Brace yourself.”
“Danielle?” I hear a woman’s voice call. “Danielle, is that you?”
“Yes, it’s me,” she yells as I follow her through her living room, decorated almost entirely in blue—all different shades of it. Blue couch with blue pillows, a blue abstract painting on the pale blue wall. “And Brooke is here too.”
“Hold on!” I hear, the voice sounding like it’s getting closer. I hear a small crash in the next room and then a muffled “Ow, damn!” before a woman emerges from the doorway. She’s a full head shorter than both me and Dani. As she comes closer, I can see bits and pieces of her in Dani—the same smile, the same voice. She has amazing deep-brown eyes and shiny black hair pulled back into a french braid, her skin the same bronze tone as Dani’s, except deeper. She’s wearing a skirt suit with panty hose and no shoes, her jacket unbuttoned to reveal a white satin shirt underneath that it looks like she was in the process of untucking when she ran in here.
“Brooke, finally!” she shouts, walking right up to me and throwing her birdlike arms around my neck, as if we’ve just been reunited after years of being apart. I feel a jolt, a spark in my chest, a small electric shock—trying to remember the last time someone hugged me like this. Even though this woman is essentially a stranger, I don’t want her to let go. I try to gather this up for my memory, save it, and store it somewhere cool and dry. There for me to pull out another day when I need it.
When she releases me, she still holds on to my arms, as if she senses, somehow, how much I’ve been longing for a mother. “We are so happy to have you,” she tells me, her voice soft, like she’s talking to a little kid. “Danielle’s father isn’t home yet, but he’s looking forward to meeting you too. Danielle never brings friends home anymore. We keep asking her, ‘Where’s Brooke? Why don’t you invite your friend Brooke over?’?”
“Okay, Mom—let her breathe, please.” Dani steps in between us and gives her mom a hug. She’s so casual about it, but I guess she must get hugs every day. She mumbles “Sorry” to me under her breath. A petty monster of jealousy begins to creep up my spine, one vertebra at a time.
“Oh, stop!” her mother tells her, swatting at her arm lightly. “I’m a mother—it’s my job to embarrass you. Right, Brooke?”
“Right,” I agree. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”
“There. See?” she says to Dani, waving her arm in my direction. “She said it’s nice to meet me.”
“Yes, yes, yes,” Dani moans. “I heard. Mom, look, we’re going to go upstairs and study until dinner, okay?”
“Fine, hide her from us—that’s fine. I just got home myself. I need to get out of these clothes!” she calls after us, already halfway out of the room.
Dani narrates for me as we move from space to space: “Dining room, where we never eat unless we have company.” Then she leads me from the formal dining room through a kitchen with shiny new appliances and a sliding glass door that leads outside to an enormous backyard. “Kitchen, obviously. Kitchen table, where wealwayseat. Outside, grass, garden, pool, blah, blah, blah.” She talks fast and walks even faster, as if this is all too humiliating for her to bear. Then down a hall she points to doors: “Basement, where there’s a game room nobody uses. Bathroom. My parents’ room. Their office—where they keep the good liquor,” she whispers behind a cupped hand. “Now. Upstairs. Almost there,” she says, lowering her voice, taking the stairs two at a time.
“Okay, we’re in the sanctuary now,” she announces, slightly out of breath as she reaches the top step.
