Chapter 23 - GAGE GETS OLD
I turned sixty-five and Poppy gave me fireplace tongs.
I stared.
She laughed until she cried.
They were engraved:
FOR DOLLS ONLY.
“Terrible child.”
“Trauma humor.”
Claire said:
“Both of you need supervision.”
The original fireplace remained in the house.
We never removed it.
People expected we would.
Why?
It burned wood.
Celestine made the choice.
The fireplace did not.
Poppy eventually bought the house from me when Claire and I downsized.
She renovated.
Kept the stone hearth.
Changed everything else.
Dolly lived in a glass-front cabinet sometimes.
Not museum.
Dust protection.
Poppy became a children’s book illustrator.
People tried to connect it to Mara’s textile company.
Maybe partly.
Mostly she could draw.
Her first published book featured a crooked cloth rabbit.
Not Dolly.
Everyone assumed.
She got annoyed.
At thirty-four she became a mother.
One daughter.
Mara.
Middle name, not first.
Her daughter was Sophie Jane.
Poppy said:
“I’m not making a memorial child.”
Good.
She asked me before using Mara as middle name.
Did she need permission?
No.
May you like
Still kind.
I cried anyway.
