realized what she’d done, Ann’s limp body was splayed out on the floor like a rag doll.
Back at the house, Ann was in bed, propped up on two pillows. Gloria had dressed Ann’s swollen nose in gauze, lain a cool cloth over her head, and offered a thousand apologies before August was finally able to send her home.
When Ann finally regained consciousness, August was seated in a chair, which he had dragged in from the kitchen and set across the room against the wall.
Ann’s eyes fluttered open. The room appeared to be draped in tissue and August looked like an apparition.
“Ann?”
She gently touched her bandaged nose and winced. She was grateful for the pain, the pain allowed her to know that she was not dead.
August stood and crept across the room. “Ann?” he called again, this time from the foot of the bed. Their eyes locked and Ann’s stomach turned over. She thought she would be sick.
“August,” she began in a surprisingly even tone, “she didn’t have any bloomers on.”
August winced at her words.
“Don’t tell me you didn’t … notice.”
He looked off to the window and muttered, “I didn’t.”
Ann smirked. “You’ve been my husband for ten years; you think I don’t know when you’re lying to me?”
“I’m not lying.”
“Look at me.”
August’s gaze swept quickly across Ann’s face and settled on the bare wall behind the bed.
“Are you fucking her?”
August gasped. She had never used that type of language, ever.
“Ann!”
He wasn’t fucking Doll, but he had, in all fairness to you, dear reader, dreamed about fucking her.
You see, four months earlier, on Easter Sunday morning, August had seen Doll primping in the looking glass that hung on the wall in the bedroom she shared with Vesta. He happened to be walking by and the door was ajar, open just enough for him to glimpse Doll standing before the mirror straightening the bow in her hair and smoothing her hands down the pleats of her skirt. The girl pursed her lips and demurely batted her eyes at the vision that looked back at her, and August couldn’t help but chuckle.
Doll went stiff, and August thought she sensed him standing there. But the moment seemed to come and go. Doll brushed a speck of lint from her collar and then brought her hand to her neck and started to stroke it.
August watched, mesmerized, until Ann called the family for breakfast.
In the church that day, on the pulpit, August made eye contact with everyone except Doll. Only when he uttered the first lines that would close the day’s service did he chance a glance in her direction and was stunned to find the girl was not just looking at him—she was glowering.
An Easter egg hunt followed Sunday service. On the front lawn, the elders sat at picnic benches and younger members spread blankets. Children squealed with delight as they dashed from one discovery to the next, gathering dyed eggs. Doll was too old to participate in the hunt, but was more than happy to shadow Vesta in her pursuit.
The beautiful afternoon faded into a spectacular evening. The North Star was the first of its clan to make an appearance. Loons struck up a serenade and scores of fireflies pulsated through the night air. One by one, people gathered themselves to leave.
Good night, Reverend.
Happy Easter, Reverend.
August and Ann were seated at one of the picnic tables, holding hands and gazing up at the night sky.
“It was good day, wasn’t it?” Ann said as she rested her head on her husband’s shoulder.
“It was a glorious day.”
Ann grinned.
“Where are the girls?”
Ann straightened up and looked around. “They’re around here somewhere,” she said. “I just saw them a moment ago.”
“They’re probably in the back. You wait here; I’ll go and get them.”
August rounded the church and spotted Vesta and Doll seated on the grass with their legs stretched out like matchsticks. A wicker basket heaped with colorful eggs rested between them. Doll’s arm was extended over her head, the tip of her index finger trained at the sky.
“That there is the Big Dipper and the one over there is the Little Dipper …”
Vesta cooed with wonder.
“Okay, my little stargazers, it’s time to head home,” August announced upon his approach.
“Daddy, I think I got a splinter,” Vesta said, and curled her right foot onto her lap.
“You did?” August eased down, took Vesta’s foot into his hand, and examined the sole.
“Do you see it, Daddy?”
August shook his head. “It’s too dark. Your mother will take a look at it when we get home.”
“I looked and I didn’t see no splinter,” Doll murmured.
August patted the top of Vesta’s foot. “Come on now, your mother’s waiting.”
Vesta rose to her feet, grabbed her shoes, and limped across the grass. August stood, brushed torn blades of grass from the knees of his trousers, and peered down at Doll.
“You too, let’s go.”
Doll demurely presented her hand and said, “Please help me up, Daddy August.”
She had started calling him that just days after Coraline had abandoned her on his porch. Daddy August. She’d said it a million times, but never in that slithering tone. The hair on August’s neck and arms spiked.
He took her hand and tugged, but Doll snatched it away and tumbled down to the ground, laughing. Her dress flew up, revealing smooth thighs and the pyramidshaped mass of pubic hair between them.
August’s eyes popped with surprise and he began stupidly stammering: “What … why …”
Doll’s laughter turned raucous.
“Shut up,” he whispered, looking fearfully over his shoulder. “Shut up and pull down your dress.”
August wanted to slap her, kick her, and stomp her face until her mouth was swollen shut. The visions flashed recklessly through his mind, though he couldn’t bring himself to do anything other than demand her silence.
“Shut up! Shut up!”
Finally, Doll stopped laughing.
