In the beginning, there was no cage for Penny. She simply slumped in my mother’s old rocker, which my father dredged up from the basement and situated in the corner of the living room. Same as the cross on the wall, the desk in the corner, the drapes over the window, Penny remained positively, perfectly, one hundred percent inanimate. Strange as I found the doll’s sudden arrival into our lives, she had no effect on my behavior. Her mere presence, however, did something to my sister. In the way paint can peel from a house, revealing the true color beneath, the fa?ade Rose had maintained since the night my father dragged her from that hotel room peeled away too.
The erosion began almost immediately on our car ride home from Ohio. Except for the occasional soft humming of that song I still did not know the words to, my mother spent the ride in silence. She cradled the doll in such a way that Penny’s head propped over her shoulder, and so Rose and I found ourselves staring at those blank eyes hour after hour. We did our best to look away out the window at the 18-wheelers rumbling by in the dark, but while rolling through the hills of Pennsylvania, I noticed Rose’s hand reach slowly forward. She grasped a strand of Penny’s red yarn hair, tugged—hard, fast—and it came free. We went still, waiting to see if anyone noticed. My father was listening to a religious program on the radio, which put him in a trance. And my mother had been in her own kind of trance since coming down the stairs on Orchard Circle. When it was clear neither noticed, Rose set the yarn on the hump in the middle of the backseat and reached forward again.
“Stop it,” I whispered, after watching her grasp and tug five strands free.
“It’s not like I’m hurting her,” Rose whispered back. “She’s a doll, Sylvie.”
“Yeah, but if they catch you, they’ll—”
“I know what they’ll do,” Rose said, her old self shimmering beneath those words. “But you know what I decided just now? I don’t care anymore.”
“Care about what?” my father said from up front.
“Nothing,” I answered.
We were quiet after that, listening to the voice of a radio preacher boom through the speakers, “Say to the people of Judah and those living in Jerusalem, ‘This is what the Lord says: Look! I am preparing a disaster for you and devising a plan against you! So turn from your evil ways and reform!’ ”
“By the time I’m done, that thing will be bald,” Rose whispered, leaning close to my ear. “Shove a lollipop in her creepy puss and we’ll call her Kojak.”
“Ko-who?”
“You know, Sylvie, you really should sneak downstairs with me and watch reruns some night. It might help you see the world the way everyone else does.”
Sneaking downstairs to watch TV, scalping that doll—those things would only lead to trouble, and I told her so. But a few minutes later, her hand reached forward and then six strands rested on the seat. Soon there were a dozen. I worried she might keep her word and not stop until the doll was bald, but eventually Rose must have grown bored, because she fell asleep.
I slept too.
How much time passed before I opened my eyes to the sensation of the car stopping and the engine going silent? I was not certain. But I looked around and saw more 18-wheelers idling by a row of fuel pumps. WELCOME TO SENECA HILL TRUCK STOP read a sign above the glass doors of a shingled building not far from where we parked. My father got out and stood by the car. I expected him to make a show of kneading his hands on his back the way he did after sitting too long, but he simply let out a yawn. Rose and my mother had yet to stir. Same as before, Penny smiled in my direction, her blank black eyes holding my gaze until I looked down and noticed the yarn in my hand instead of on the seat.
“Very funny,” I said to Rose, poking her awake.
She sat up, rubbed her eyes. “What?”
I opened my palm to her. “Putting these in my hand while I slept.”
“Sylvie, I nodded off before you. And in case you didn’t notice, I just woke up. So don’t look at me.”
“Next stop, Dundalk,” my father said, ducking his head into the car. “Pee now or forever hold your pees.”
Rose and I shoved on our sneakers while he walked to the passenger door and pulled it open. My mother finally opened her eyes and got out. She was about to start toward the building when my father suggested that it might be best if she carried Penny along with her. When Rose saw that in her sleepy haze our mother was actually going to do as he suggested, she shook her head and began walking ahead toward the truck stop. I hurried to keep up. Through the glass doors, past the counter where men shoveled eggs in their mouths—Rose and I kept going until we entered the oversized ladies’ room. After ducking into the stalls around one wall, we emerged to find our mother standing in the middle of the restroom, cradling the doll. A uniformed waitress with smudged makeup and tired eyes bent over a sink, washing her hands.
“Do you need me to hold her, Mom?” I asked, even though I felt nervous about the idea. “That way you can use the bathroom.”
My mother didn’t respond. With her pale, papery skin, crosses in her ears, and black hair threaded with gray, she looked the same. Yet something about her felt altered.
“Mom?” Rose tried. “Why didn’t Dad let you just leave that thing in the car?”
“Pardon, dear? Well, I guess he has his reasons. I mean, we both do.”
“Are you okay?” I asked, before Rose could speak again.
“I think so.”