Nineteen
Bea bounced onto the sofa, picked up Dolly and hugged her tight. "You're such a good dolly," she whispered, kissing her. She smoothed the doll's hair, then began to undress it, carefully unbuttoned the tiny jacket and removed it, sleeve by sleeve. She unsnapped the onesie and checked the doll's diaper and groaned. "Oh, gross. You're poopy. Now I'll have to clean you a-l-l-l up."
Bea hesitated and looked into the doll's eyes. "That's okay, Dolly. It's okay. You can't help it." She snuggled the doll's face. Kiss. Kiss. Kiss. "You're just a baby. I'll take care of you."
"No new messages. Damn him." Mommy pounded the counter. "Why doesn't he call?" She smiled a little smile.
Bea hid her face in doll clothes.
"Whatcha doing, Baby Bea?" Mommy asked. She played with some papers on t
