The Dollhouse

Chapter 5

I woke up with a start.

The sound of faraway voices could be heard downstairs.

It was late afternoon. I had fallen asleep with a copy of To Kill a Mockingbird open at my chest. The nap left me feeling drugged. I stumbled over the look out the bedroom window. Below, an unfamiliar red automobile was parked in the driveway.

They were already here.

Daddy's jovial laughter could be heard downstairs. I checked my appearance quickly in the mirror. My stomach had already started to turn.

I opened my bedroom door with hesitation, and started to go down the staircase. My bare feet descended slowly with each cautious step.

The voices were louder now. I could hear a woman talking, clear and calm.

"– it's just too busy in Chicago," she was saying. "I don't mind driving around, but it's such a hassle. I would have much preferred you had come with us."

"You know I couldn't, honey."

"Sure. I know. The circumstances were unfortunate."

"Next time. I promise, and we'll go to that restaurant you like."

"If you say so ... oh. Hello there."

I froze at the bottom of the staircase.

The woman was by far the most intimidating person I'd ever seen.

She was a few years younger than Daddy. At once, there was no denying there was a prominent air of grace and sophistication about her. Still wearing her coat and gloves, they have clearly just arrived. Even from where I had halted, it was obvious she was dressed expensively.

Her black hair rested at her collarbones, rolled and coiffed in a clean style. Pearls glinted at her throat. Pearls. Now why did that trigger an old memory?

Raising her immaculate brows, she removed a glove and held out a hand.

"Nice to meet you. My name is Arabella."

I took it with hesitation.

That was it. The woman in his car, from all those years ago. So it was true.

"Lydia." My reply came out as a squeak.

I glanced around. Daddy was busy bending over a steamed-up oven. He had already dedicated himself to this dinner. Violet was nowhere to be seen. However, a teenage boy was loitering by the front door.

"Rudy," his mother prompted.

Haughty and bored. Those were the words that came to my head as Rudy Benedict strode over. His hand felt cold as he shook my own. He released it quickly. As pale as the moon, he had inherited his mother's dark hair and elegantly arched eyebrows. His exterior showed he was already regretting my company. I began to feel the same.

"This is Lydia," Arabella informed him. She had a very curt manner under that mask of pleasantness.

Rudy's eyes met mine. "I know."

"Where's your sister?" Daddy had wandered over, wiping his hands on a tea towel. His eyes skittered between the three of us, as if monitoring our reactions. "Still in her room?"

"Yeah. Oh yeah, it appears so."

Everyone's eyes were on me. Foolishly, I felt myself turning pink from the sudden attention. My stepmother and stepbrother had a kind of casual elegance. I wondered what they thought of me, with my faded dress and plain face.