Free Time Windows by Kathryn Reiss Page A

stay here until you can learn deportment. I will not have a clumsy, disobedient child in this house!" She stalked across to the door, the heavy robe swishing behind her. A moment later she was out of the room, pulling the door shut. An iron key grated in the lock. In a flash Dorothy was on her feet, flying to the door.
    "Mama, Mama!" she screamed, kicking the heavy door with her small, bare feet. "Let me out!"
    At that moment Miranda was wrenched sharply away from the dolllhouse. Nicole glared at her, one hand tight on Miranda's T-shirted shoulder.
    "Miranda Browne, you are the
worst
hostess in the world!" she shouted. "I come all the way from New York to visit you and instead of talking to me, you sit up in a spooky old attic and stare into a stupid dollhouse!"
    "Nicole, I'm sorry..." Miranda felt a bright flush start up her cheeks. "I was just—"
    "Just
nothing!
You were totally ignoring me!"
    "No, I was watching—" She stopped and lowered her head. "I'm really sorry, Nicole."
    "I thought we were still best friends, Mandy!" Nicole stormed out of the attic and clattered down the stairs.
    Miranda hesitated, hating herself for having been rude, yet wanting to stay at the dollhouse to learn what happened to poor little Dorothy. She stooped for one last look but encountered only the black curtained attic windows of the other family. Sighing, she brushed off her shorts and hurried down the steps after Nicole.
    She found her friend in the living room. Helen and Philip looked up when Miranda entered the room, and Philip put aside the magazine he had been reading. "Mandy," he began, "Nicole is very upset—"
    "Please don't go," Miranda begged. "I was just—daydreaming! I'm sorry. I
said
I was sorry."
    "You looked like you were watching television or something," Nicole said in a small voice.
    "Please stay, dear," said Helen. "Mandy has apologized, and I'm sure she didn't mean to be rude. I know—why don't you come with me to the kitchen, and we'll make everyone a snack. Then you and Mandy can start catching up on each other's news."
    Nicole followed her out of the room, looking back once at Miranda.
    Philip shut the living-room door. "What's up, Mandy?"
    Miranda shrugged.
    "You've been spending an awful lot of time up in that attic," he pressed. "Why?"
    "I just like it."
    "Well, look. We've invited Nicole for the whole week—and I'm going to ask you to stay out of the attic until she's gone. How about it? You two must be able to find plenty to do around here without having to sit up in the attic."
    She couldn't let him see how great a sacrifice it would be to stay away from the dollhouse that long. She shrugged again. "Sure, Dad. Don't worry." But she knew she'd have to go to the attic. It was like an addiction, this fascination of hers. Forbidden or not, she must watch.
    In the kitchen, Miranda pulled out a chair at the table and plucked a grape from Helen's edible centerpiece. Nicole kept her back to Miranda and stood at the stove watching Helen fry cheese sandwiches in the heavy skillet. Philip sat across the table from Miranda; just above his head was the exact place where the 1904 calendar hung.
Had hung,
Miranda corrected herself mentally. Past tense. An uncomfortable silence filled the kitchen; no one spoke until the smell of burning bread wafted through the room and Helen exclaimed, "Damn! I've burned yours, Mandy!"
    The stove stood in the same corner of the kitchen where Lucinda's cast-iron "monster" had stood. The smell of burning bread was the same smell that permeated this same kitchen almost eighty-five years ago. The sense of déjà vu left Miranda feeling giddy. "What do you mean, you burned 'mine.' Do I get a special one?"
    "Yours doesn't have any tomatoes, of course."
    "It doesn't? Why not?"
    "You don't like tomatoes. You know that, Mandy."
    "What are you talking about, Mither?" Miranda stared at Helen. "I love tomatoes!"
    Helen glanced over her shoulder. "Nonsense. You've always hated