Stories of the Eight Winds

The following is one of the first stories I thought I would submit to a magazine. I did, but it was rejected. This version is rewritten. I hope you enjoy it.

The Very Least

               By Mary Gildea Mack                                                                               

Emily’s mother stood at the door, waiting.

Jumping off the school bus and running to her, Emily’s eyes light up with excitement as she asks, “Is dad here?”

“No, Honey, not yet,” her mother said as they entered the foyer. “His plane is delayed. But he’s catching another flight. He’ll be a little late.”

“How late? I don’t want to miss the first dance. That’s the real important slow one with all the fathers,” Emily said with a hint of worry.

“He promised, didn’t he, sweetheart? He’ll do everything he can to be here on time. Now, let’s get something to eat, and then we can curl your hair.” A knot of worry tightened in her chest as she thought about her daughter's disappointment. Her own childhood was filled with many letdowns that scarred her. She was determined to protect her daughter from these wounds.

“Okay. But I’m so excited I don’t think I can eat,” Emily said, her voice trembling with anticipation. “Sara and Tiffy told me about their dresses today. Sara said hers is green and silky. Tiffy’s is gold and white. But I don’t think their dresses are as pretty as mine. I just love my blue velvet. I feel so grown up in it,” Emily gushed.

The ringing of a cell interrupts them, and Emily perks up. “It’s Dad. I know it. Where is he?”

Picking up the phone, Emily's mother asked, “Mark, did you get another flight?”

Stepping away from Emily, she whispers, “Really, Mark, you can’t do this. Not now.”

“How can you disappoint your child? She’s been waiting for this all year.”

“Mark, nothing is more important than your child. That’s just an excuse,” she says, increasingly angry with her husband.

“Mark, if you’re going to see that woman again, I swear…” she hissed.

“How can you do this over the phone? You have no guts,” she said through gritted teeth, her fists clenched in frustration,

“No, I won’t be calm. You need to get here now. For your child, at the very least! You bastard! She deserves better than this. We both do!” Her voice was a mix of anger and disappointment.

“Mark, I won’t put up with this. It would be best if you decided now,” Emily’s Mother said, her words laced with unspoken ultimatums.

“That’s great, Mark,” she says sarcastically, her voice dripping with bitterness. “Your timing stinks!”

 “He’s not coming, is he, Mommy?” Emily asks, her voice quivering as she puts down her glass of milk.

“No, honey, he’s not,” she says, taking the shattered dreams of her daughter into her arms, trying to mend the pieces of a broken promise. “We can ask Uncle Bob. I’m sure he would love to take you.”

“No. It’s okay. I didn’t want to go anyway. I think I’ll just go up to my room now.”

Her heart breaking for her little girl, she slumped onto the cold, hard kitchen island, staring at the untouched cup of coffee, its warmth long gone.  In one phone call, her once-solid marriage crumbled like a fragile sandcastle, leaving behind a barren landscape of shattered dreams. That bastard! Doesn’t he understand what this means to Emily? How can he hurt her so badly? Bastard! Leaving for that woman! How do I tell Emily? There’s no coming back from this. Not now. A flood of bittersweet memories from her own childhood flooded her mind, tugging at her heart.  She could not forget the overwhelming sadness and crushing confusion that consumed her as she watched from her bedroom as her mother, suitcase in hand, walked down the street. Now, her daughter was facing the same pain.

She glanced at the clock. Five Thirty! At least we can do this! There’s still time! Running up the stairs, shouting to Emily, her voice filled with urgency, “Let’s get you ready. You are going to that dance!” her determination was a flicker of hope shining through the darkness.  “We’re going together. We’ll turn it into a mother-daughter dance. We're warriors, my love, we’re phoenixes. We can rise from the ashes. Let's turn this disappointment into strength and create our own dance of resilience. Now let’s go!”