Luxury Model Wife by Adele Downs Page B

rarer the doll becomes as time passes, the more valuable she’ll be. Lydia made a smart buy. But I’m sure she knew that. She was a seasoned collector.”
    “Did you know Lydia?”
    Beverly dipped her chin. “We met a few times. I did some restoration work on a few of her acquisitions. She was a nice woman.”
    She slanted a look at Victoria. “Not as much fun as you, though. Lydia Van Orr would never have hung out with me.”
    “Her loss.” Victoria drank more of her soft drink and set the can in the console.
    “Lydia would have been part of the upper crust who owned fine dolls in the 1800s. A woman’s place within any given society has been reflected in her dolls.”
    Beverly’s bracelets jangled as she tapped the steering wheel with her palm for emphasis. “Look at a doll from any period, in any country, and she’ll tell you about the life and community of the girl who lived with her and loved her.”
    “I had no idea.” Victoria continued to be impressed by Beverly’s competence and knowledge.
    “Ninety percent of all women have at least one doll or stuffed toy in their home. The figure either belonged to them, their mother, a daughter or other relative. Women collect dolls to remind them of happy early years or to reclaim a childhood they never had. Mine remind me of my days in elementary school, when I first became aware of my psychometric gift.”
    “No wonder you became attached to the hobby.”
    “It took some time for me to sort out the difference between my attraction to dolls and my unique ability. I’m glad I have both. Collectors like me appreciate dolls as works of art and as objects of beauty and comfort that bring us pleasure. It’s a special relationship that men can never share or take away.”
    Victoria snorted with derision. “My dad did.” She felt her cheeks flush with the admission, and she turned her face to the window. Long-repressed feelings of shame and rage brought hot, unexpected tears.
    “Talk to me.” Beverly reached across the seat and laid her palm on the cushion, close but not touching. Reassuring but not invasive. “I’m here. I’ll listen.”
    Victoria turned back from the window and wiped away her tears, though she avoided eye contact with her friend. “I’ve worked hard to put my childhood away. Therapy helped me cope with the past and move on. For the most part, I’ve done that.”
    James’s death had set her back, though. The desire to love and be loved had made her vulnerable. Her marriage had become a protective shell she’d hidden inside. When James died, the shell broke, leaving her wounded and exposed.
    Victoria clenched her fist. Where had the tough kid she’d been gone?
    “Did the dolls trigger a memory?” Beverly put the car on cruise control and settled herself against the driver’s seat.
    They’d triggered a myriad of memories and emotions she struggled to understand. “I didn’t have many toys when I was little. Not because we were poor, exactly, but because my parents didn’t think they were important. Most of the time, they forgot I was around.”
    Beverly made sympathetic noises. “Why?”
    That simple, honest question would have been intrusive if anyone but Beverly had asked. Victoria felt safe when Beverly was around. Her innate goodness and generous heart made Victoria feel like an emotional miser in comparison. Friendship required risk. Maybe the time had come to reveal more of herself to the first real friend she’d ever had.
    Victoria sucked in a breath and let it out. “My parents were obsessed with one another. At first, I suppose their feelings were sexual. Later, they fueled their relationship with booze, lies, and constant bickering. The noise was unbearable. I used to hide in my closet to get away from them, but inevitably one of them would come looking for me. They had amnesia about me being around any other time, but when they fought I was expected to mediate. That was a lot to ask of a five-year-old.”
    Victoria