One day he found a baby doll floating near the main stream of the river after running his lines. The doll was floating face up, its small plastic fingers reaching from the water. Its eyes were the kind that closed when the doll was laid on its back but the doll was old and appeared to have been in the river for quite some time. The lids were stuck open by river grime and any color that might have personalized the doll was gone so that it stared blankly through black glass eyes.
He rowed over and took it by the hand and lifted it gently from the water, setting it in the floor of the skiff alongside a string of bass. He floated for a few minutes with the oars shipped as he stared into the dark eyes. He smiled finally, and reached down and with a hooked finger tickled the doll’s belly. Waggled the little toe of one of the little feet. Then he took a bandana from his pocket and dipped it in the water and wiped the scum that browned its legs, its chest. He folded the bandana again and dabbed at the scum ring that haloed the thing’s face. One of the bass kicked its tail and the slimy fin slapped the baby’s neck. Rigby lashed out at the fish with his knife and then hurled it, stringer and all, into the water. The boat still, he removed his shirt and wadded it beneath the doll so it might serve as a bed.
When he got home he dallied the line at the deck and crawled out of the boat, then leaned in and lifted the baby in his arms as if he’d just returned home from the hospital. He walked proudly into the house with the baby wrapped in his shirt, said, Mary Belle, looky what I found fer yeh.
He set the baby on the table and then made Mary Belle’s arms into a cradle. Lifted it into her arms. He stepped back and for a moment he felt very moved, and nearly crying, said, Yeh’ll be a good mama. Then he said, Don’t worry yerself there Suzy Lee, I’ll find yeh one too.
Again, he thought of his mother. Nagging him like a toothache.