Todd waved at his wife, Angie, as she backed the car out of the small gravel patch that was their driveway before turning back inside to their mobile home. It wasn't too bad of a place - a hell of a lot better than some of the wrecks in the trailer park where they resided. She was leaving for her waitressing job in the city which left him alone with her young niece.
They had no children of their own and were surprised when they were notified that Angie's sister had named them the guardians of her seven year-old daughter, Dolly. Todd's sister-in-law had one drug-related arrest too many and was now doing five to seven years on a plea bargain from the intent-to-distribute charges she faced. The father, whoever he was, had been out of the picture before the girl was ever born.
Somehow, the girl had turned out alright so far. Despite Angie's sister's problems, she had done her best to raise her child properly in an attempt to get at least one important thing right in her life.
As always, Todd and Angie made do. A plan that Angie had years before for a small room in back - to make into a sewing room - never materialized; the room instead becoming instead a haven for infrequently used items. So it was cleared out and they managed to find a used box spring and mattress for the girl. Their work hours were compatible as Todd could walk to the nearby gas station for his day shift and Angie drove to the city four evenings a week.
This was the first night of this arrangement and after a few minutes, Todd called the girl into his and Angie's bedroom. Her brown eyes were wide in a pale face framed by long, glossy red hair. Todd had sensed from the start that she was nervous about him. Could she read his thoughts as he stole long looks at her compact little figure, eying her smooth legs and picturing what lay nestled between them?
This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Changes last made on: Thursday, February 11, 2016