When Ibby slipped off the twine, the paper fell away to reveal a small transistor radio.
“That’s from Queenie and me,” Doll said. “I know how you like music. Music makes everything better, don’t you think?”
Ibby stood up and hugged Doll around the neck. “Thank you. I don’t know what to say. It’s the best birthday present ever.”
“Here, hand it to me. Let me see if I can find a station for you. Hard to get reception up here sometimes.” She fiddled with the dial until she found one. “There you go.” She set the radio down on the table next to the bed.
“Up next,” the announcer said, “a hit song by Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons, one we all love to sing along with, called ‘Rag Doll.’”
Doll grabbed the doll and started dancing around with it as the song played, then grabbed Ibby and got her up and dancing, too. When the song was over, they both collapsed onto the bed, giggling hysterically.
“See what I told you? Music makes everything better.” She kissed Ibby on the forehead. “Now I got to go. I’m sure Queenie’s downstairs waiting on me.”
“Doll?”
Doll stopped on the threshold. “Yes, Miss Ibby?”
“Is Fannie going to be all right?”
Doll scratched her head with her fingernail, trying to figure out how to answer. “Sure she is. She gone be fine. Just one of those days.”
Ibby was staring at Doll as if trying to decide whether to believe her. She got the same eyes as Miss Fannie, Doll was thinking.
“Now you get some rest, and I’ll see you in the morning,” Doll said.
As she went down the stairs, a thought occurred to Doll. What if Miss Ibby is like her grandmother? What if she got that crazy gene, too? Like Mama say, you can pick a fight, but you can’t pick your family.
Sometimes that was the part that hurt the most.
When Doll and Queenie arrived at the house the next morning, there was a low whimpering coming from inside the house.
“What is it?” Queenie asked.
“Miss Fannie. I can hear her—she’s in the bedroom,” Doll said.
“I best go check on her.”
Doll followed Queenie to Fannie’s room. Queenie twisted the knob, but the door was locked. They could hear banging on the other side.
“Miss Fannie. It’s Queenie. Open the door.”
There was no answer. Queenie went to the kitchen and returned with a key. When she opened the door, Doll let out a gasp. It looked as if someone had taken a sledgehammer to the room. The dressing table was turned over and the mirror broken, pieces of glass were scattered over the floor, and the photos that had once stood on the dresser were ripped from their frames and strewn about. A white slip dangled from one of the arms of the ceiling fan and was swinging around in circles like a flag. Fannie had a mirror shard in her hand and was brandishing it like a knife as blood dripped onto the floor.
“Now calm yourself, Miss Fannie.” Queenie held her hand out in a conciliatory fashion. “Why don’t you drop that piece of glass and come in the bathroom and let me get you cleaned up?”
Fannie swung the shard around in the air as if she were looking for something to stab.
“Miss Fannie, ain’t no use getting all worked up.” Queenie took a step closer.
Fannie jabbed the glass in Queenie’s direction. Then she began to laugh. A few short laughs at first. Then she threw her head back and began to spin around in circles, her nightgown billowing out around her, her whole body shaking as her laughter grew manic. The dagger of glass fell from her hand. Queenie rushed up and kicked it aside, then grabbed Fannie around the waist and pulled her away from the broken glass on the floor. Fannie collapsed into her arms as if all the life had been stolen from her.
Queenie cautioned Doll to stay back. “Go call Doc Hathaway. Tell him to come right away.”
“You gone be all right in here with her?” Doll had never seen Miss Fannie this bad.
“Just go!”
A few minutes later Doll appeared at the bathroom door. “They coming now. Good thing Doc Hathaway’s on call this morning.”
“Thank the Lawd that hospital only a couple blocks away.” Queenie tied a washcloth around Fannie’s hand. “Help me get her up and dressed before they get here.”
She spoke to Fannie in a low voice and stroked her hair as Doll helped her into her clothes. Just as Doll slipped a shoe on Fannie’s foot, there was a knock at the door.
“Go answer it before Miss Ibby comes down,” Queenie said.
Doll returned with three men in white coats.
“How is she?” the doctor asked.
“Take a look around, Doc. See for yourself,” Queenie said.
Dr. Hathaway placed his bag on the floor next to the bed, took out a syringe, and gave Fannie a shot. Fannie didn’t move.
“Doc,” Queenie said, “this the worst one yet.”