Chapter 5 - The Missing Doll Shoe
The morning smelled like coffee and cold grease. Evelyn was in the kitchen with her back to us, her pulled-back hair already fixed and her maroon dress changed for a fresh one just like it. She was scraping something into the trash with short, hard strokes. The radio was on low by the sink.
Milo tipped his head toward the hall. We didn't have to say it. We slipped past the kitchen doorway while the water was running.
The hallway was grayer in the morning. The warm light from last night was gone and what came through the high window looked dusty. The double doors were still closed. The brass handles caught a little light and threw it back. I didn't look at them long. I looked at the wallpaper.
The tape we'd put over the tear was still there. Two strips crossed crooked. Under the bottom edge, a dark wet line had come through again overnight. It wasn't dripping now. It just sat there, glossy.
"Don't touch it yet," Milo whispered.
I nodded. My doll was tucked under my arm. I'd carried her out of Milo's room because I didn't want to leave her alone. On the way down the hall her foot kept hitting my ribs. Bare. Cold plastic.
I stopped walking. "Where's her shoe?"
Milo glanced back. "What?"
"Her shoe." I turned her around. One pink shoe was on. The other foot was bare. I patted my pockets though I knew they were too small. "She had both yesterday."
"You probably dropped it in my room," he said.
I shook my head so fast my hair hit my face. "No. I had her here. Yesterday. When I was crying." My voice got thin. "She was with me right here."
Evelyn's spoon hit a mug in the kitchen. We both froze. The scraping stopped for a second, then started again.
Milo crouched down by the wood trim under the tear. "Look for it now, quick. Before she comes out."
I got down on my knees. The dark floor was cold through my pajama pants. I checked along the baseboard first, running my hand slow where the wood met the floor. Nothing but dust. I looked behind the trim edge where it stuck out a little. I lifted the doll and checked under her, like the shoe would just be under her somehow.
"Milo, it's not here."
"Check again. Under."
I leaned closer. That was when I saw the dust. Not the regular gray kind. It was white and clumped, piled in a little ridge along the top of the baseboard right under the tear. Some of it had fallen to the floor. When Milo touched it with his fingertip, it smeared damp.
He held his finger up. White paste. He sniffed it and wiped it fast on his dark shirt.
"Plaster," he whispered. "It's wet."
I stared at the tape. Last night we'd pressed it flat. Now the left side was lifted, just a corner, like something had pushed from behind. The white dust was stuck to the sticky underside.
My chest got tight. I remembered yesterday so clear it hurt. I'd pressed my back to that floral wallpaper and cried with my hand on the wood trim. The flowers with their red and green scratched at my cheek. I'd set the doll down to wipe my face with both hands. I'd set her right by the trim because I didn't want Evelyn to see me holding her.
"I left her here," I said. My breath caught. "Right here. The shoe came off. I saw it by the trim. I left it."
Milo looked at the bare doll foot, then at the floor, then at the tape.
"It's not here now," I whispered.
He didn't say someone took it. He didn't have to. We both looked at the thin gap where the tape had lifted and the dark line underneath. The shoe was small enough to fit in my palm. Small enough to fit in there.
From the kitchen, Evelyn turned the water off. The house went quiet.
May you like
Milo grabbed my wrist. "Get up."
I held the doll tight to my chest. Her one bare foot pressed into my shirt. I was sure then, more sure than last night, that the wall hadn't stayed still while we slept.
