Molly Jo Realy
Annie’s green overalls sparkled, and the straw hat made her head itch. She ignored her discomfort and focused on her seven-year-old daughter leaving the fall festival’s face painting booth.
“Mom!” Teddy burst toward her, turning her head side to side. “Auntie June painted sunflowers.”
“I see.” Annie held Teddy’s chin and smiled at the flowers on her cheeks that matched the young girl’s costume. Sunflowers were always Annie’s favorite. This time of year, they were everywhere. She waved at June. “Lovely. You should go into business.”
June waved a handful of brushes. “From your mouth …”
The little girl grinned. “Take a picture for Daddy!”
Annie obliged.
Teddy tugged her hand. “Cotton candy. You said so.”
“Oh no.” Annie stopped. “Can’t … move …”
Her daughter slumped dramatically. “Mo-o-o-mmmm.”
The young woman stomped one foot forward and wobbled. “It’s … so … hard …”
Teddy assumed an air of adult compassion. “Oh, no. Is it because you have no body to eat it with?”
Annie laughed and straightened. “You caught me, nugget.”
“You’re so corny, Mom.”
“Good one.” Annie appreciated little Teddy’s sense of humor. It often was the only glimpse of true joy she’d have after a difficult day. June had been the one to say it out loud: Annie’s scarecrow costume was symbolic of the empty shell she felt like since Mark had temporarily relocated for work. January couldn’t come soon enough. She just hoped—no, she prayed—a miracle would bring him home sooner.
Thump. A stranger jostled her.
Teddy stepped forward. “Hey!” She frowned at the black-and-white costumed man. “Aren’t you going to say sorry? That’s called being polite!”
The mime exaggerated a frown and drew a finger over the black face mask from his eye to his cheek. With a grand smile, he reached inside his black jacket and pulled out a large, plastic sunflower.
“It’s like Auntie June’s paintings.” Teddy leaned in for a fragrant sniff. Psshhht! The tiny stream of water hit her nose, and she laughed.
He reeled back with a silent guffaw and offered the flower to Annie.
“Oh, no, thank you.” She waved. “I’m not interested in getting wet.”
The mime slumped, and he traced the bold white X on his black shirt. Head tucked, he gently offered her the bloom again.
“Take it, Mom.” Teddy’s encouragement poured out. “It’s your favorite flower!”
The mime straightened. He pulled the flower back then pushed it toward her with a smile. His finger waved between Annie and the yellow-green flora and he sighed.
She received the gift and held it close. Mark had often given her what they coined “Unreasonable Gifts,” tokens to each other just because they could. On a Tuesday morning, she could find a potted flower near her coffee cup. A random envelope in summer mail had him delighting in cheap-seat tickets for his favorite minor league ball team.
Mark always encouraged them to receive beautiful offerings and not deny others the opportunities to bless them. They also contributed and volunteered as a family. The gifts and acts of service weren’t love. They were how their love manifested toward others. It had been an important lesson for Teddy to learn to give more than she took. Annie had no problem giving but struggled with receiving a just-because kind of love. Maybe that’s why Mark worked hard to convince her his was more than a gift.
How could an absent love be a gift? She sniffed the plastic petals and thought of the bloom he planted before he left. He had planted so much, more than he knew.
A few colorful leaves tangoed across the path and the mime pointed with delight.
Teddy let the leaves dance around her feet then studied the mime. “Do we know you?”
He shrugged, scrunched his face, and brought a tapping finger to his temple.
The young girl stood tall. “I’m going to call you Olly.”
Annie smiled. Oliver was Mark’s middle name, and Teddy had often called him Olly. She obviously missed him as much as her mom did.
Annie felt less alone here, as church neighbors greeted her with festive hellos; but their intentional omission of asking about Mark also left her hollow. Yes. She was definitely a scarecrow with only an outward shell.
“Your attention, please.” June’s voice came over the PA. Annie looked to the decorated stage. “Those participating in the costume parade, please line up.”
“Oh, Mom, let’s!”
Annie was used to resisting Teddy’s tugs, but this felt like what June called a moral imperative. They strode toward the stage and joined the line just behind the mime. One by one the crowd went up the side steps, across the wood flooring to June who announced them, and down the other side.
When the mime reached her, June laughed. “If you’re not supposed to talk, how can you tell us who you are?”
He curled his fingers into a heart shape and extended his hands toward Annie and Teddy.
“They’re next,” June told him.
He motioned for them to come closer.
“Mom, c’mon!” Annie put a hand on Teddy’s shoulder.
A solitary wind blew, and Annie wrapped her sweater tighter and patted her belly.
Olly raised his hands in delight and swung his arms together. He pointed to Annie’s belly.
A blush crept over her face, and she nodded.
In one swift move, he removed his mask, knelt in front of Teddy, and used his sleeves to wipe off the face paint.
“Oll—” Teddy stopped and began to shake with delight. “Daddy?”
He stood, face-to-face with the blessing of God’s love for him. “Hi, Annie.”
Another wind swept the hat from her head. Was that what made everyone around them gasp? No. It couldn’t be real. This kind of love, this kind of answer to prayer. “How are you here?”
He picked Teddy up and smiled at Annie—a loving, deep, knowing, forever smile, and touched her belly. “X marks the spot, Annie. I’m home.”
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Spark Flash Fiction 