Molly woke in a damp dress, soaked in early morning dew drops and late-night tears. The sun threatened to break the horizon as the nighttime sky retreated. The patterns in the stars gradually faded and Molly stood up. She turned her head seeking the constellation Albert the Cowboy, but it had already traveled below the horizon. Look for me at the foot of the cowboy, the spur of the left boot. She packed up her telescope and carried it down the hill to her house, stowing it in the cupboard at the entrance. In the kitchen she found her mother making pancakes.
“Oh, sweetie.” Her mother ran a hand down the damp dress, as though looking for bruises or hidden injuries. “You’re soaked. You were out all night?”
“Yes, Mamma.” Molly brushed her hands down the dress trying to dislodge the blades of grass that stuck to the white pattern, but they remained stubborn. She plucked at them one by one, but they were too sticky.
“I’m sorry, but you’re getting older now. I think it’s time.”
Molly didn’t like her mother’s tone of voice, breaking, like she was about to cry again. “Time for what, Mamma?”
“To tell you what happened to your father. You were a baby, you wouldn’t remember.” She placed a hand and stroked Molly’s hair, pulling her closer and holding her tight. The wet dress soaked through to her mother’s apron which was still warm from the stove and smelled of pancakes. “His spaceship exploded during take-off. He didn’t make it.”
“I know, Mamma. You told me yesterday. And the day before that.” Molly reached over and held her mother’s shaking hands and pressed them close to her face. “I know.”
They sat and ate quietly. Her mother’s face remained blank, cold. When she had taken her last bite, she looked up at Molly.
“Will you look for him tonight?” The breaking voice rose to a higher tone, almost hopeful.
“As long as you need me to, Mamma.”
What was truth without belief? Molly knew this better than most and she knew that her father was out there waving back at her, somewhere in The Pleiades cluster, because she believed it, and because her mother needed to believe it. That was where he was headed, so that’s where he was. Molly replayed in her mind the video he had recorded and smiled at his stupid joke. Albert the Cowboy wasn’t a real constellation, just one he made up for a little girl. Look for me at the foot of the cowboy.
Molly set up her telescope on the hill by the house and waited for the sun to set.
James Flanagan is an author of speculative fiction with short fiction publications in Macrame Literary Journal, SciFiShorts, Literally Stories, EverydayFiction, among others. His debut sci-fi novel GENEFIRE won several awards and is garnering excellent reviews. By day he is a professor and academic scientist with a Ph.D. in cancer genetics, working at Imperial College London. You can find more of his work on www.jimiflanwrites.com.
Like what we do? Be a Patreon supporter.
