my arms. “I was worried about you. I couldn’t find you anywhere. I called out your name but you didn’t answer.”
She bites her lip, a guilty smile on her face. “I’m sorry. I’m listening to Chloe’s music,” she whispers.
“You better not let your sister find you with her iPod,” I warn. “You’ll be in big trouble.”
“I know.”
I sit next to her on the carpet, and watch her play. She seems so small standing next to the huge doll house. She holds the mommy in her hand and sits her at the kitchen table. Her little pudgy fingers work delicately to tuck the small figure’s legs under the table. She sets a tea cup and saucer. “She’s having some coffee,” she tells me.
I smile and marvel at the details of the kitchen; an old fashioned stove with a large boiling pot and pan resting on the burners, a box of cereal and a carton of Tropicana juice on top of the refrigerator. There’s also an island sink and a tiny toaster. And there’s even a high chair for the baby. But no dishwasher though — this mommy has it tough.
“Do you have Baileys for her coffee?” I ask.
She makes a face. “What’s Baileys?”
I smile at her. “Never mind.” But seriously, the mommy probably needs it. She has a baby and two kids, and her husband seems to be AWOL, and she has no dishwasher.
“You really like this doll house, don’t you?”
She takes the baby out of its crib and she strokes his little tiny head — so sweet. “I do,” she says. “It was nice of your friend to give it to us. He’s a nice man…your friend.”
“Yes,” I say, trying not to think about him. Yes, it was a nice gesture. Yes, Weston’s full of nice gestures, with all the best of intentions.
She puts the baby on the bed with the little dog.
“Oh, I don’t think that’s a good idea. The baby could fall off the bed, and I don’t think the dog…”
She looks at me with big playful eyes. “Yep, the dog’s not ’sposed to be on the bed, but he likes it. And the baby likes it too,” she tells me with a playful smile.
I smile. She’s a rebel, that one. Just like her father.
As I take in the details of the master bedroom; the tiny mahogany dresser and matching headboard and night table, the wall mirror and old fashioned lamp, I think about Gabe and I can’t help but smile.
A while ago, we dubbed the doll-house family the Browns. Claire even gave them all names, ‘mommy’, ‘daddy’, Kelly and Kevin, baby Matthew, and ‘Jakey’ for the dog. One night, I was cleaning up the kitchen and Gabe came in and shot me a mischievous smile. He said I should go check out what the Browns were up to. I smiled, knowing it would undoubtedly be something silly. I walked up the stairs to the guest room, curious. And then, of course, there was Mr. Brown propped up on the tiny bed behind Mrs. Brown, in a compromising position, doggie-style, no less. I laughed my head off, and then I proceeded to immediately place Mr. and Mrs. Brown in a less scandalous position. I wrapped Mr. Brown’s arm around his wife’s shoulder, and made them cuddle. Romance wasn’t dead after all.
“You are so juvenile,” I told Gabe, a smile practically splitting my face in two.
He grabbed a hold of my waist. “You like it,” he whispered in my ear. “And I think they’ve got the right idea, the Browns.”
I laughed, and he pulled me in closer and kissed my neck softly.
I shake my head a little, trying to clear the memory from my mind. I miss him so much. I miss the way he used to make me laugh like that, and the way he’d touch me just right.
“Where’s the daddy?” I ask Claire.
“He’s gone,” she says simply with pursed lips, not quite looking at me. She sits the little girl on her pink bed, and gives her a tiny little bear to play with.
“Oh, he’s staying at a friend’s for a little while, right?”
She turns to me. “No, he’s gone because he’s mad at the mommy.”
My heart sinks. Sometimes, we underestimate how much children really take in, how much they understand. She’s only seven but she knows what’s going on and it’s probably breaking her to pieces. I should have known, of all people. I’m a kindergarten teacher. I should have known how intelligent and perceptive children