Goodbye Dolly

5

One night at the turn of the twentieth century, Rosie O'Neill dreamed about tiny imps and began to sketch them from her imagination. Plump, mischievous babies with laughing eyes and wisps of hair standing straight up. She called them Kewpies, short for Cupid, because they did good deeds in amusing ways. The series began with magazine drawings accompanied by short stories and poems. Next, she designed Kewpie Kutouts, comic pages, and books. At the request of adoring children, she created a special doll. By 1913 Kewpie dolls could be found all over the world.

– From World of Dolls by Caroline Birch The Kewpie's grinning baby face seemed to be showing appreciation for Gretchen's efforts to repair it. She had to look carefully to detect the thin, glued line reconnecting the doll's head with its body. An expert fix, she thought with satisfaction. Her mother couldn't have done much better. But her fingers could feel the telltale ridge. Her repair wouldn't fool a professional, but she'd done the best anybody could. Blunderboo was her favorite of all the Rosie O'Neill designs. He was the clumsy Kewpie, always falling, tumbling, or rolling. Gretchen turned the three-inch doll upside down and examined the fake O'Neill mark on its feet, then studied the red heart label painted on its bare, chubby body.

Why had Chiggy attempted to make her own Kewpies?

Based on the woman's vast collection of dolls at the auction, her tastes ran more toward reproductions of rare antique dolls than the fairylike Kewpies.

'I feel bad about the doll,' Gretchen told Nina with genuine regret. 'Especially since it isn't mine. I hope the elusive Mr. Wilson isn't an expert. Unless he picks it up and runs his fingers along the neck, he won't know that it's been repaired.'

'If he had expertise in the field, he wouldn't have purchased the dolls in the first place,' Nina said, peering into the box Gretchen had placed on her mother's worktable.

'It's a motley lot anyway. Every one of them seems to be broken.'

'Or repaired,' Gretchen agreed. 'Why did Chiggy keep such a box of junk? It looks like a practice batch that should have been thrown out.'

'From what you said about her reproductions, the whole auction was filled with garbage.'

'Not the box of Ginnys. Those were exquisite. I have to get them back.'

Gretchen gently scraped a tiny dot of glue from the doll's neck with her X-Acto knife. 'The first doll I ever owned was a Kewpie. I called her Lucy. Dad gave her to me.'

Gretchen felt an acute sense of loss. Her father's death had left an immense hole in her life. 'I miss him every day.'

'The car accident was a horrible shock,' Nina agreed.

'It's been two years, but it takes a long time to get over something like that. At least you survived.'

Gretchen laid the X-Acto knife on the table. 'Yesterday when Brett stepped out in front of the SUV, it brought back memories of the accident.'

Squealing tires, screams, breaking glass, metal collaps- ing, moans.

It had all come rushing back-the fear, the horror of crawling unharmed out of the rolled car and finding her father lifeless behind the wheel. The screams she'd heard had been her own.

'I wish you hadn't been at the auction when it happened,' Nina said.

'I wish the same thing.' Gretchen rose and cleaned off the table, returning the glue to its assigned spot.

'Well, we're off for our hair appointment,' Nina said, clipping a pink leash to Tutu's collar. 'I'll pick you up for lunch in a few hours.'

'Is Tutu getting a new hairdo, too?'

'Of course,' Nina said, breezing out, leaving a vacuum of silence behind her.

In spite of the heat, it was good to be in Phoenix, away from the complications associated with Boston. Gretchen liked her renewed relationship with her mother and the comfortable presence of the workshop.

Gretchen glanced around her. Dolls had played an integral part in her life. They were the glue that bonded her to her roots and especially to her mother.

Feeling a need to connect, Gretchen picked up the phone. Her mother answered, her voice light and happy.

'A book tour,' Caroline said, 'is exactly what I needed. I'm meeting new readers, seeing the coast, renewing acquaintances with doll collectors. It's marvelous.'

Now was not the time to start whining and complaining.

'That's great,' Gretchen said, forcing the same easy tone.

'I just wanted to hear your voice. Everything is fine on my end.'

Fine? Brett was dead, Steve had turned up in Phoenix, she'd lost three hundred dollars and the Ginny dolls, and she wasn't sure she could handle the doll show by herself.

'Everything's fine,' she repeated.

'Okay, what's wrong?'

'Nothing. What makes you think something's wrong?'

'You're part of me. I can tell.'

Gretchen sighed. 'I'm worried about the show,' she said, picking the least complicated of her concerns to share with her mother.

'I have absolute confidence in your ability to handle the doll show,' Caroline said. 'It's Brett's death that has you upset.'

'How did you know about that?'

'I'm not entirely out of touch. California isn't on Mars.'

'Nina told you.'

'Nina called to ask if I'd received her telepathic signals and if I had been able to decipher them.'

'And?'

'Of course I didn't get Nina's unique but faulty wireless message. I told her I'd felt something special that I couldn't identify just to keep her happy. She suggested that I try harder next time.'

Gretchen laughed, feeling her gloomy thoughts dissipating. She and Caroline chatted a little longer, and after hanging up, Gretchen turned her attention to creating a sign to display at the doll show announcing her restoration service. Making room on the table for a yellow piece of poster board, she went to work with colored Magic Markers. As she finished the sign, she heard someone clearing his throat behind her.

Startled, she turned quickly.

Steve Kuchen stood a few feet inside the workshop door. He wore an expensive pair of khakis and an air of confidence that only the really rich carried off well. He'd probably leased a Beemer at the airport.

'How did you get in?' she said.

'The door was unlocked.'

Thanks, Nina.

She felt her face flush. How long had he been watching her?

'Do you know what day it is?' Steve asked softly, a hesitant smile on his face, a few blond locks falling loosely across his forehead. He was as handsome as ever.

'It's October first.' Gretchen laid the marker on the table. 'Friday.'

'That was a rhetorical question, Gretchen. Today is day number sixty-two since you left Boston. You refused every one of my calls. You can't hide forever.'

Why not? Gretchen was a master at dodgeball. Confrontations weren't her specialty. She considered herself more the ostrich head-in-the-sand type.

'You should have knocked at the front door,' she said to fill the uneasy void.

'Would you have answered?'

'Another rhetorical question?' Gretchen felt angry, and her anger energized her. She had nothing to explain. She was the injured party, and he wouldn't force her into a conciliatory role, as he'd done so many times in the past.

'There's someone else, isn't there?' he said. Predictable.