Little Mouse
Laughter rolled in and out across the sand, following the pattern of waves. Henry smiled at his daughter as she chased the water with full-bodied glee. The July sun dappled through the porch's sunshade—nowhere felt more like home.
These July gatherings were the only time the family was complete: Henry, his brother Jeff, and one generation in each direction. It wasn't a large family, but these summer days bound them tightly together. The chatter of children's accomplishments and the reconstructed memories from when Jeff and Henry's childhood summers burbled out the screen door.
Henry turned his ear to catch the rhythm of the conversation, but the wind grabbed it first. Shortly after, the screen door swished closed as his mother padded onto the porch.
"What are you doing out there, Little Mouse?" she called out to Helen, still shrieking at the waves. He could see his daughter light up-outshining even the sun—when she saw her grandmother waiting for her. Helen's sandy footprints were ringed with laughter as she dashed up the stairs, and they all moved back inside.
*****
Henry startled awake, spending a moment sorting dreams from reality. He listened to the sounds of the house. No creaking floorboards. No murmurs of unconsciousness. Not even the characteristic snore of deep sleep. Apart from the waves, it was dead quiet. He breathed in the salty air and exhaled the sense of foreboding that came with interrupted dreams.
He swung out of bed and—mindful of the family—stepped lightly, almost floating, down the hall. His fingertips tapped each door he passed: his mother's, brother's, and lastly, the children's. Jeff's two boys slept with limbs intertwined on a twin mattress. And there, Helen nested on a makeshift bed of cushions and pillows.
Her limbs were thrown unceremoniously, somehow upside down on top of the blankets. Henry leaned his head against the door jamb, watching his daughter's breath rise and fall. He pleaded to himself to remember this moment. Children grew up too fast, after all.
He turned to leave but spotted a figurine tumbled from the dresser. The parting gift of Helen's mother: a small mouse that looked both adventurous and fragile. The same look Helen wore every day of her life. As Henry placed the mouse back on the dresser, Helen's eyes opened a crack "Daddy?"
"Go back to sleep, my Little Mouse."
"I love you, daddy." Her head nestled back into slumber.
Henry backed out of the room and down the hall, retreating to the porch to watch the waves again. The moonlight on the water would do him good.
"Ah, you're awake," Henry said, finding his mother reclining on one of the two rocking chairs. She could almost be mistaken as sleeping, but Henry knew better. "You never did sleep well with children in the house."
"I am just glad Little Mouse is doing alright," she nearly whispered. "What an impossible life for her." Her chair swished slowly, back and forth.
"When her mother left, I didn't think we'd make it. I never thought I'd be a single father. But she is so strong. She amazes me every day."
"At least she has us - we are all here for her."
"Hmmm." Henry sighed in a deep breath of desperate appreciation for his family. "I love you guys." He, too, closed his eyes and leaned his head back on the chair. There they sat in companionable silence until the first rays of morning flickered on the horizon.
*****
"Little mouse, Little Mouse, oh where did you go?" Henry's mother sang into the house's tiny kitchen. Giggles tumbled out of the pantry, barely stifled behind small hands.
"She's in the closet," her cousin had apparently outgrown such childish games. Jeff gave him a sharp look, but Henry smirked. It was comforting to see them all together again.
"The little mouse is not in the closet - she's right here!" Henry's mother placed the figurine on the table to the accompaniment of giggles and eye rolls.
"Hey! That's mine!" Helen leaped from the closet and snatched up the mouse. She sprinted out the back door and into the sun.
"I'll watch her," Henry's brother stood to follow.
"Thank you - I'll be out in just a moment," Henry called after him. Jeff looked over his shoulder before slightly shaking his head and stepping out onto the sand.
"In fact, let's all go!" Henry's mother spoke cheerfully but definitively, and chaos was unleashed. Children and adults began to rush about, preparing for a day in the sun.
*****
Henry found a moment to walk along the beach when the children finally exhausted themselves, and even the adults sought afternoon naps. He didn't like to think himself morose, but he still hadn't quite found his old self.
Three years had passed since Jeannie had left—changed her number, left no forwarding address. He spent the first year desperate to understand and the second desperate to survive. But here he was, back with his family and his Little Mouse. What a miraculous child.
He bent down to retrieve the rock sticking out of the sand. No - not a rock. Helen's little mouse. She must have dropped it in the waves.
Sighing, Henry walked back to the house and dropped into the rocking chair with the mouse held lightly in his hand. He must tell Helen to be more mindful with the last remnant of her mother.
"Oh, there it is," his mother said through the screen door. "Helen, it's here," she called over her shoulder. Henry smiled as she opened the door and reached for the mouse.
Her fingers brushed his hand, and she shuddered. He met her eyes, but she looked right through him. And then he remembered.
Three years since Jeannie left.
And one year since...
The tears on Helen's face. The mouse falling to the floor of the car. His hand reaching for it. The broken concentration. The desperate words of appeasement. The car speeding toward him.
NYCMidnight Flash Fiction Challenge 2022
Round 1 Prompts: Ghost Story | A Family Reunion | A Figurine
Results: 12th Place
