[ Of course he drags it out. Of course. It's not until Hickey's hands meet his that surprise flickers in William's expression, then something else—unguarded curiosity, the moment out of step with everything. He almost expects, when he unwraps his fist, to find Dolores transformed beyond recognition.
But no.
He looks the doll over, gaze and hands both gentle, resists the urge to brush her hair back. He gives no indication he's heard what Hickey's said until: ] It was recent. [ A strange, wistful cast to the words. William steps forward. He reaches into the train car, past his miniaturized self, and plucks away a kleenex-sized tarp. Underneath are chairs, squat and regal, their seats meticulously embroidered. He smiles to himself before glancing Hickey's way. ]
And I always—I don't know, I always held them close. The little things, details. [ And it was like nothing else. He stares at the train, the spot where she'd be standing, her arms crossed. Contemplates returning her—though there'd be nothing to stop Hickey from scooping her up again—to where she belongs. He can't quite bring himself to do it. ]
no subject
But no.
He looks the doll over, gaze and hands both gentle, resists the urge to brush her hair back. He gives no indication he's heard what Hickey's said until: ] It was recent. [ A strange, wistful cast to the words. William steps forward. He reaches into the train car, past his miniaturized self, and plucks away a kleenex-sized tarp. Underneath are chairs, squat and regal, their seats meticulously embroidered. He smiles to himself before glancing Hickey's way. ]
And I always—I don't know, I always held them close. The little things, details. [ And it was like nothing else. He stares at the train, the spot where she'd be standing, her arms crossed. Contemplates returning her—though there'd be nothing to stop Hickey from scooping her up again—to where she belongs. He can't quite bring himself to do it. ]
I can tell you what happens.