Her head disappeared in the grass, and he heard her cries of delight move deeper into the prairie.
He struggled through the nightmare, and as he passed the spot where he had last seen her, something tripped him. Dried straw poked and scraped at his face as he landed on a cushion of grass. He felt the pain keenly as a sharp stone dug at his ribs. He turned his head to see what had tripped him. Viola’s doll lay in the grass, watching him with its black button eyes.
“Daddy.”
He awoke to the sound of her voice, high and musical in the stale night. The undeveloped speech of a baby that only a parent can understand. She stood by the steel door, her pink, lacy nightgown dragging on the floor. Her favorite pink blanket hung from one hand, her baby doll from the other. She watched him in
