Page 52 of She’s a Doll

“That’s two down. If you get three, you get a bingo.”

You’re . . . you’re angry at Ginger? I guessed.

Nicola didn’t answer at first. “Huh.”

What?

“I am,” she said. “Which . . . huh. I never realized it. But yes, I guess I’m angry at her too. I’ve been angry for a very long time.”

Why? Because she wasn’t sweet on you?

“No, you shit. Because she didn’t believe me. No one did, but . . . well . . . she married him, didn’t she.”

That was when everything slid into place, like a video of a shattering teacup played in reverse, all the pieces spinning and snapping together. It was all so obvious I didn’t know how I hadn’t been able to see it before.

Kyle hurt you too, didn’t he?

“Bingo,” she sang out, voice hoarse, smile toothy and fake. “That’s one point for the cursed haunted doll.”

Kyle had hurt her too. That was why she’d reacted so strangely when I first said his name. That was why, when she thought I was a hallucination, she told herself to stop thinking of him. That was why she was so convinced I was a product of her brain, her trauma.

Nic, I thought, softer. Why didn’t you tell me?

“Because what he did to me was nothing compared to what he did to you.”

Shut up.

Nicola’s smile stretched. “Yeah. That’s what everyone says. Not in so few words.”

That’s not . . . I mean . . .

“This is fun,” she said. “A little bit of role reversal. I get to be the traumatized one while you try to figure out what’s going on.”

What did he⁠—

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

OK . . . That’s OK . . .

“I talked about it after it happened,” she said, voice disconcertingly cheery. “I talked a lot, to whoever would listen. And it didn’t matter. No one believed me.” She settled back on her haunches and blew out another mouthful of smoke. “And then I thought about killing him. I thought long and hard about it. I still think about it. But here’s the thing: I can’t. Even if I was some kind of awesome assassin⁠—which, let’s be real, I had to get a wrench to open a jar of pickled onions the other day, I wouldn’t be able to do it. The truth is, I’m not like you, Lu.”

Not a haunted toy?

She smirked. “Not yet. But that’s not what I meant. What I meant was, my anger isn’t pure, or clean. I don’t want him to die. No, that’d be too easy. He’d become another big tragedy, like you were. A young person gone too soon. I don’t want to see people cry over him, I want them to see him for what he is, I want them to know.”

Ginger, I muttered.

She laughed a dry sort of laugh that sounded like it hurt. “She doesn’t want to know. She’s happy. Everyone’s happy. Everyone is living their perfect little lives in this perfect little town. I . . . I can’t . . .”

Ever thought about leaving? I asked. Starting over?

“In New Zealand like your grandma? I don’t know. This is where I’ve been my whole life.”

Is that reason to stay?

She laughed again, more maniacally this time, a harsh, barking sort of laugh that bounced off the nearby buildings.

A middle-aged couple walking a dog down the street slowed as they passed, faces creased with concern.