Chapter 23
Lily walked Woodrow and Jackson to the door after supper. This time, Woodrow gave her a soft, tempting goodbye kiss without being asked. She watched them cross the yard to their house until the cold air forced her to shut the door. Turning toward the doll studio, she glanced at the Economics book on the hall table. She almost reached for it. She never went to class unprepared. It made her feel vulnerable. What if Mr. Doore called on her and she didn't know the answer? She'd be embarrassed. Then she shrugged. So what? Lots of kids in class never raised their hands. They tried to hide behind the person in front of them so that Doore wouldn't call on them. That's why he usually called on her as a last resort. Well, if she didn't know the answer, he'd have to pick on someone else, wouldn't he?
Ignoring the book, she went to the studio and pulled down the brown paper to draw the poet's pattern. That done, it didn't take long to trace his arms and legs and body onto felt. Soul mate dolls weren't the ordinary, one-piece rag dolls that she and her mom made for children. These were stuffed and stitched together like the replica dolls, except the heads were designed from three pieces of felt—two for the front of the face to give it a profile and one large piece for the back of the head. An hour later, she had all the felt cut and the bottom and side seams stitched together. She was stuffing each part when anxiety began to build in the room. It started as a vague worry. How long would she have to see her therapist? Would she ever be healthy? Her mother had visited today. She had that sad, disappointed look again. How did she give birth to a daughter who was so weak, so troubled? Then the worry grew to nervous energy. What was wrong with her? Why couldn't she cope like everyone else? Why was she so afraid of life? So useless? That swelled to near hysteria. When Damian knew the real her, would he stay? What was going to happen to her? Was she going to be one of the homeless you passed on the streets? Begging for money to get her next fix? She'd never been very strong. Would she die in an alley, slumped against a dumpster? Lily felt fear knot in her stomach. Her heart beat faster. What if she lost everything? Her future? Her loved ones? Even herself? She couldn't stop using. She couldn't get her life together. She was doing better, lots better, but it was never enough. She'd lose Damian.
Lily glanced at the doll she was making. Again, the boy's image flooded her mind. She saw him reach out and take her hand. His smile was tender and patient. "You can do this. I'll help you." Lily heard the words whispered inside her head. She felt his touch, and it calmed her. The fears left, and a calmness overtook her. She could do this. No more drugs. No more crutches. She could be strong with Damian. And then it was over. But this time, a sedative didn't knock Blair out. Thoughts of Damian helped her overcome the vast ocean of helplessness.
The studio was just a studio again. Lily finished stuffing the Damian doll. She wasn't sure if Blair would like her own doll. After all, the girl barely liked herself. But Lily thought the Damian doll would definitely help her. Damian was Blair's life saver, the buoy that kept her afloat.
At ten, the doll was stuffed and sewn. It had taken longer than Lily thought. Tomorrow, she'd embroider its face, add yarn hair, and dress him. She was glad she'd glued Blair together early. By the time Woodrow came to drive her to Indy, she'd have both dolls finished and ready to deliver.
Lily walked Woodrow and Jackson to the door after supper. This time, Woodrow gave her a soft, tempting goodbye kiss without being asked. She watched them cross the yard to their house until the cold air forced her to shut the door. Turning toward the doll studio, she glanced at the Economics book on the hall table. She almost reached for it. She never went to class unprepared. It made her feel vulnerable. What if Mr. Doore called on her and she didn't know the answer? She'd be embarrassed. Then she shrugged. So what? Lots of kids in class never raised their hands. They tried to hide behind the person in front of them so that Doore wouldn't call on them. That's why he usually called on her as a last resort. Well, if she didn't know the answer, he'd have to pick on someone else, wouldn't he?
Ignoring the book, she went to the studio and pulled down the brown paper to draw the poet's pattern. That done, it didn't take long to trace his arms and legs and body onto felt. Soul mate dolls weren't the ordinary, one-piece rag dolls that she and her mom made for children. These were stuffed and stitched together like the replica dolls, except the heads were designed from three pieces of felt—two for the front of the face to give it a profile and one large piece for the back of the head. An hour later, she had all the felt cut and the bottom and side seams stitched together. She was stuffing each part when anxiety began to build in the room. It started as a vague worry. How long would she have to see her therapist? Would she ever be healthy? Her mother had visited today. She had that sad, disappointed look again. How did she give birth to a daughter who was so weak, so troubled? Then the worry grew to nervous energy. What was wrong with her? Why couldn't she cope like everyone else? Why was she so afraid of life? So useless? That swelled to near hysteria. When Damian knew the real her, would he stay? What was going to happen to her? Was she going to be one of the homeless you passed on the streets? Begging for money to get her next fix? She'd never been very strong. Would she die in an alley, slumped against a dumpster? Lily felt fear knot in her stomach. Her heart beat faster. What if she lost everything? Her future? Her loved ones? Even herself? She couldn't stop using. She couldn't get her life together. She was doing better, lots better, but it was never enough. She'd lose Damian.
Lily glanced at the doll she was making. Again, the boy's image flooded her mind. She saw him reach out and take her hand. His smile was tender and patient. "You can do this. I'll help you." Lily heard the words whispered inside her head. She felt his touch, and it calmed her. The fears left, and a calmness overtook her. She could do this. No more drugs. No more crutches. She could be strong with Damian. And then it was over. But this time, a sedative didn't knock Blair out. Thoughts of Damian helped her overcome the vast ocean of helplessness.
The studio was just a studio again. Lily finished stuffing the Damian doll. She wasn't sure if Blair would like her own doll. After all, the girl barely liked herself. But Lily thought the Damian doll would definitely help her. Damian was Blair's life saver, the buoy that kept her afloat.
At ten, the doll was stuffed and sewn. It had taken longer than Lily thought. Tomorrow, she'd embroider its face, add yarn hair, and dress him. She was glad she'd glued Blair together early. By the time Woodrow came to drive her to Indy, she'd have both dolls finished and ready to deliver.
