Dad filled a bowl with raisins and put his face in it.
When he got back from the hospital, he had a shopping bag. He reached into it.
Out came a tin truck for my brother Tom. He’d always wanted a truck.
Out came a sawdust rabbit, for Hannah.
Dad looked at me. I looked at the bag.
“I got you a doll,” he said.
I felt sick.
He pulled it out.
A doll has a solid head and body, and arms and legs that you can move.
This was not a doll. It was a composite doll. The whole body was soft and one piece. Only the face was hard.
“Say thank-you,” said Mom.
I looked at my dad. He looked terrified.
“Thank-you,” I said.
Tom and Hannah played on the floor all day.
Dad lay on the floor but didn’t say anything.
Mom didn’t say anything.
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