Doll's Eyes

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“Higher! Higher!”

He was out on the swing again, demanding to be pushed, and her meek, mild, stupidly accommodating son was pushing him. Up and down the little one went; she could see excitement on his face even from there.

“Higher,” he screamed, “higher, Mikey...”

She backed away from the window, and the voice faded. The house was quiet and finally clean. The floor shone, the rug nap stood up, the air smelled of pine oil out here and of butter cookies in the kitchen.

She went back to the kitchen and looked up at the ceiling again.

She still couldn’t believe it was there. They’d been in this house almost a week and she’d seen it every day, but it was one of those things you keep having to reassure yourself about because it’s too good to be true.

A pulley.

She went to the brown paper bag on the counter and pulled out the roll of clothesline she’d bought in town this morning. It might be too thick for the slot in the wheel, but she wouldn’t know until she tried.

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