Short Stories

---

Emily always feels it as she crests the hill and sees the valley spread out below her. She used to think it was the change in altitude, but over the years she has waited for the familiar lump at the base of her throat. She will start swallowing more and clearing her throat more as the miles click forward on her odometer. Grabbing her water bottle she mutters, “It’s only a week, it’s only a week."

The valley is beautiful, really. It looks like a picture on a post card; one of those where each building is spotless, every window box has flowers, and all the people are smiling.
Picture perfect USA.

“Maybe things will be different this time."

Entering town and driving down Main Street, she notices that not much has changed since last year. Probably not much has changed in the last fifty years as a matter of fact. But since she only comes home once a year for her mother’s birthday, she tries to see if anything is different, or new, or more promising about the town.

She can drive the last mile with her eyes closed; go through downtown, turn left at the hardware store and then pull directly into the parking lot of the Union Valley Church. After doing this, Emily needs to sit for a minute before she can get out. The parsonage looks exactly the same too. She finally takes a deep breath, swallows and coughs, and gets out of the car.

“Maybe things will be different this time” she whispers to herself.

Before she can reach the door, her father opens it.

“Emily, how beautiful you look; come on in." They hug, but it’s more like two chickens hugging than father and daughter. Her father hasn’t changed in a year either.

“Mary, get in here! Emily has arrived."

Not “Emily’s home”, or “Welcome Home”, or anything like that; just “Emily has arrived”.

She hears her mother in the kitchen banging pots and pans around. She wouldn’t expect anything else. Her mother shows love through food and only through food. She’s a quiet, mouse of a woman who has lived in her husband’s shadow for years. If you’re depressed and need a shoulder to cry on, “here try this new chicken casserole” is about all you will get. Having a family battle that has gone on for 10 years? “Help yourself to this wonderful apple pie”.

Her mother flies out of the kitchen, waves both arms in the air to indicate “follow me” and takes off back into the kitchen. Her father, always the gentleman, says “After you, Dear."

The kitchen counters are loaded with dozens of dishes; appetizers, casseroles, cookies, cakes. A whole lot of love is laid out on these counters, Emily thinks to herself.

“Sit down, sit down, have some cake and coffee. Tell us everything you’ve been doing. When are you moving back"? Her mother doesn’t take a breath between sentences. Okay, so maybe things won’t be different.

“I’m not moving back, mother. I have a job and friends in the city.”

Her father clears his throat and says “And are you still going to that pagan church"?

No, not that different at all!

“It’s not pagan, Dad. It’s Charismatic. We believe in the Bible, God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit. We just aren’t as, how can I say, rigid as you guys are."

He snorted out a “humph” sound. “You dance around and wave your arms in the air. It sounds like a rock and roll band is in the church. That’s just not right."

“We praise God joyfully. We are spirit-filled. We aren’t afraid to show some emotion about our love for Jesus. Why can’t you accept that some believers worship differently"?

“Worship differently? Next thing I know I’ll be getting a call saying my own daughter – the Pastor’s only child – is involved in some holy rolling, snake charming cult. Then what will your mother and I do? We’re pillars of this community."

Oh boy, same old story, different year. Why do I come here?

“Dad, how about we do this? I accept that you are a rigid fundamentalist, you accept that I’m not, and I’ll do my holy rolling, rock music, arm waving and snake charming in the big city where you can’t see it or hear about it. How about that? It’s a win/win situation."

“I miss my daughter” her mother says barely above a whisper.

“What did you say, Mary” her father boomed.

Her mother is standing there in her apron, hands stuffed in the pockets, staring down at the floor and letting the tears trickle down her cheeks.

“I said, what did you say"? Her father’s face is red and his nostrils are white.

Straightening her shoulders slightly and looking up, but not directly at him, she says again, “I miss my daughter." It’s loud enough this time for both to hear.

“I miss my daughter and I want this silly fight to be over." Apparently she used all of her energy because she leans against the counter for support.

“You want it to be over"?

“Yes I do.”

“You"?

“Yes, me.”

“And how do you suggest we explain this to OUR congregation"?

Her mother glances her way but doesn’t seem to see her.

“We could tell them, if they even ask, that our daughter was raised in a fine, Christian home and that when she grew up she went to college, got a great job, and attends a fine church in the city. That we love her and support her in any decision she makes. And that if they have any problems with our daughter, we would suggest they take it to the Lord because we’re not listening. That’s what I suggest."

Her mother is now staring straight into her father’s eyes. He is staring back, but in bewilderment, not anger. After several seconds, he clears his throat again and goes to sit down at the kitchen table. He sits there for so long that both Emily and her mother stare back and forth several times wondering what to do next.

Finally, he slaps his hands down on the old kitchen table and looks at both women.

“Okay. Win/Win, huh? You can be a Jesus freak, I can still be rigid, and your mother gets her daughter back. Deal"?

“Dad, are you serious? You mean we could tolerate each other and be a family"?

“Deal or no Deal"?

“Deal!”

Crying and hugging, all three begin to talk at once.

Maybe things really will be different this time.

---

PLEASE ENCOURAGE AUTHOR BELOW LEAVE COMMENT ON ARTICLE