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A DOLL'S LIFE

He'd never noticed how quiet the house was. For hours, the rooms had been filled with mourners, everyone coming up to him and shaking hands and saying how very sympathetic they were and how they understood how he felt and that he just needed time to recover.  Recover?  He clutched a tumbler of scotch so hard it shook.  It was so unreal. For ten years she'd slept at his side, complained about his socks, laughed at his corny jokes.  For ten years he'd fixed her dinner, been dragged to art showings, and teased her about her love of stuffed animals.  But now those glassy eyes set into the faces of the toys reflected his mind.  Dull. Lifeless. Dead.
"Lucas?"  his head snapped up as he saw a friend enter. "It's me, Jeremy."
"Oh, hi.  I thought everyone had gone."  Lucas' voice was quiet, strained.
"Anna and I were just wondering if you'd like to stay with us for a few weeks, just until the edge has passed."
"I'm fine, really.  It'll just be a while until I can..can..." his hands shook again, the scotch spilling.  The tears came and he dropped the glass, burying his head in his palms. Jeremy caught Lucas in his arms and held him for a long time, making soft soothing noises and brushing the other's hair quietly, waiting for the sobbing to stop.  He didn't bother to say it would be alright.  Lucas Morgan's wife Dawn has been snuffed out in a car accident which claimed the lives of three others.  It was as if a hand of God had reached down and scooped her out of existence.
Gradually, the blond man's crying slowed.  He pulled back and groped for a handkerchief. "Th-thanks f-for all y-you're help...I d-don't kn-kn-know what I'd have done w-without you guys."
Jeremy nodded. "My offer stands.  You need to get away from this for awhile.  You can stay in the guest room, it's no trouble, really."
Lucas shook his head vigorously. "No. No, I'm staying right here.  She would have wanted me to."
"Sure thing, pal.  Anna's going to stop by and make sure you get fed, though, Okay? We're like bad pennies, can't get rid of us for long."
"Sure.  Drive..." he was about to say drive safely. "take care, alright?"
"We'll call as soon as we get home."  Jeremy stayed for a few more minutes, but Lucas was hardly aware.  He just stared at the spreading scotch stain on the ground.  Jeremy left without another word.
"I am sorry to hear of your loss, Mr Morgan."  Lucas' head jolted up, and he saw an old man sitting on the sofa, his hands folded neatly in his lap.  Everything about the old man was neat, actually.  Not a hair on his dabbled gray head was out of place, the creases of his midnight blue suit impeccable.
"I'm sorry, I thought everyone had left."  Lucas stared with confusion at the old man.  It didn't even look as if the man was breathing, for chance of messing up his creased suit.
The old man waved a dismissive hand. "I abhor crowds, and attended after the others had left." he spoke with a smoky accent that evoked images of bad vampire films. "I grieve for your Dawn as if she were my own. We were... acquainted."
"What do you mean?"  Lucas put down the scotch and flopped down into an overstuffed armchair, leaning forward on his knees.
"Oh, she was a most valued customer in my shop.  You see, Mr. Morgan, she enjoyed the dolls I create.  That one," he gestured to an exquisitely crafted ballerina adorning the mantelpiece, "Was one of my finer creations.  The armature alone took me nearly three weeks to create."
"Are you sure, Mr..."
"Call me North. My name is Slovak, and very difficult for most Americans to pronounce."
"Umm, North, are you sure you have the right house?  Dawn told me that piece was only $20, and that doesn't seem right for something so time consuming."
"Oh, tish tosh.  The money is secondary to me. It's the beauty I am able to produce, and the joy it will bring to it's owner, that makes it all worthwhile for me. Which brings me to the business at hand." the old man picked up a leather satchel off the floor. "You see, your wife had commissioned a most...phenomenal piece for your birthday.  After I heard of this tragedy, I threw all my efforts into finishing it in time for the funeral.  I think she would be very happy." he opened the bag and removed a parcel wrapped in tissue, unrolling it reverently.  Into the old man's wrinkled hands tumbled a perfect miniature copy of Lucas' wife.
Lucas felt his heart stop as he stared at the tiny porcelain face.  Her laughing blue eyes, the rich blond hair, her cute upturned nose, every detail was as real and as perfect as she would have been. She wore a deep cerulean dress, the little feet bare.
"It's fantastic, no?" The old man's voice shattered Lucas' thoughts. "The hands alone took me nearly a month to perfect. It is my finest creation.  I could die this day and forever be happy with my work.  And I am giving this to you."
"You...you can't be serious."
"I assure you, Mr. Morgan, I am very serious.  Your wife had paid for my services in advance, so the piece is yours, well and truly. I only wish it was not under such grim circumstances that it has to come into your hands." He put the delicate feet on the coffee table, and as Lucas watched, inserted a watch key into her back. "This is the most amazing part of this work."
The doll stood for a long moment, then began to move. It's slim body spun and dipped, dancing to some unheard music, as graceful as a sunbeam.  It seemed nearly human, a miniature copy of Dawn.  The little creation tiptoed across the table, coming near Lucas. He reached out, spell-bound by it's grace and near-life.
"No!" North snatched Lucas' hand back. "You must never touch her while she's moving! The gears are terribly delicate, and any sudden movement could damage them beyond repair. Only handle her when she's done."  He smiled as the doll slowed. "There now.  Here is a case for you to keep her in, and the key of course."  The old man handed Lucas a cherry wood box lined with red velvet. Inside was an impression just deep enough for the doll, and a small bottle of oil. "Just a drop of this every time she's finished, and she should last you for a great many years. Now I must take my leave. Here is my card if she gives you any trouble, and once again, my most sincere sympathies on your loss."
Lucas barely heard him, still engrossed in his new treasure.  The details were exquisite, down to the smallest detail.  Her eyelashes were as fine as spider silk, her cheeks had a healthy blush, the eyes stared out into space with the same soft blue intensity Dawn had.  Lucas picked up the toy and cradled it, trying to hold back the tears. It was his wife, so close yet forever far away.  He wound her up again, putting the doll on the table to watch her dance.

Lucas watched the clock on the wall, his fingers tapping a nervous tattoo at his desk. He twiddled with his pencil, beating it on a stack of papers, not paying attention to what was there.  His co-workers looked from time to time through his cubicle door, whispering about his appearance.  He was unshaved, his hair a mess, his clothes wrinkled and stained.
"Lucas?" he jerked up to see Jeremy standing at the door of cubicle, holding two cups of coffee. "You okay, man?"
"I'm fine, why?" he grinned, phony as a three dollar bill.
Jeremy cleared a space on the desk and put down a mug, sipping his own and watching Lucas with a critical eye. "Are you sure you are okay to work? It's only been a couple weeks since Dawn…"
"I'm fine, really." Lucas cut off Jeremy with a tone of finality, and then sighed. "Sorry, man, I'm just tired, is all.  I'm not used to doing my own housework, that's Dawn's department and she's…" he cut himself off before he revealed his secret.
"Yeah, maybe you should get a maid, keep your clothes looking good.   I have a number for one…"
"NO! I mean, no, I'm fine, I just don't want anyone in the house right now, just me and…just me."
Jeremy slurped his coffee and nodded. "Alright, s'cool.  Listen, Boss wanted me to tell you to take the rest of the day off, get some rest, take a bath." Lucas noted how Jeremy wrinkled his nose, and blinked. He didn't remember the last time he'd bathed. She must think him a fright! He would have to groom tonight.
"Really? He told me to go? Then I guess I better jet!" he grabbed his briefcase and was out the cubicle door before Jeremy could even say goodbye.
Lucas grabbed a sandwich at McDonalds and wolfed it down on the road, not wanting to waste anytime. He raced through the door and past the living room where She waited, not wanting to be seen until he was at his best.  He showered and shaved, scraping nearly a week's growth from his face, and then went through his drawers, looking for something clean. The only thing he had that was clean and pressed was his wedding tuxedo, tucked back in the corner of the closet. He thought it appropriate, and checked himself in the mirror after putting it on. He didn't see how sunk his eyes were, how gaunt his face had become, he only saw that he was clean and pressed and in perfect condition for her.
Lucas walked back out into the living room. He turned on the stereo and perused the CDs as if he were choosing a fine wine. Finally he picked "Swan lake", cueing up the music and then pausing it with the remote.  He dropped it in his pocket, and then went to his love.
"Hello, dear heart," he whispered, taking down the cherrywood box from the mantle. She slept in there, his sleeping beauty, only awaiting his touch to awaken her.  He took her from her bed and stroked the soft hair, smiling into her unseeing eyes. Soon she would dance for him again. He settled back down on the couch and wound her up with practiced ease, having done it at least three hundred times in the past two weeks.  He placed her on the empty coffee table, balancing her carefully, and then hit the remote, starting the sweet music.  Lucas leaned forward on his hands as she started to move. She danced for him, again, twirling and dipping on the tabletop. How beautiful she was!  All his memories of Dawn came flooding back, the sweet times held by her side, touching her belly, kissing her hair.  The doll lifted one leg and arches, tiptoeing across the coffee table, much like Dawn would in practicing her ballet. He just had to touch her, just once, just to feel her living beneath his fingertips.  He leaned forward, fingers trembling, so very close to the woman he adored. There she was, in miniature, beckoning him. Closer his fingers came, until finally they were a hair's breadth from her  Though she shied away from him, his touch whispered along her back.  He fell apart, as did she at his forbidden  touch.  She was cold metal and porcelain.