“No, no, no, there must be some mistake,” my mother cries. Tears stream down her pale cheeks. Her bedroom door is open, and I can see she’s talking to someone on the cell. “But he was not on that flight; he told me a few hours ago it was delayed. You must have incorrect information,” she adds.

There’s a long pause. “Oh, I see. Yes, I understand,” she goes on. The phone drops to the floor. I stand back in the dark hallway, out of view, and begin to feel a sensation of anxiety come over me.

A gust of wind kicks up outside. I hear its whistling sounds call me as it escapes through the panes of the window. A frightening sensation encompasses my body. I look through the glass dazed, watching the snowflakes mixed with rain, pelt against the glass, like hail.

As deafening as it sounds outside, inside this tiny house, it grows stagnant in silence.  An eerie feeling comes over me. Something deep in my core and it begins to stir. It touches my inner soul, wanting to cry out, but I know it won’t do any good. He’s gone.

Mother slouches on the chaise lounge sitting in her bedroom. Her golden-brown ringlet’s lay across her arms and it’s there I watch her sulk. My mother is supposed to be the rock of the family, but this woman I see, crumbles like the earth beneath our feet.

For the first time in my life, I have seen Mother cry and it terrifies me. I turn for my bedroom and begin to feel a heavy pounding in my chest; something bad has happened, and I realize our lives are about to change.

©2018 Emmy R Bennett

I used to think that my life as a child growing up was providential. Looking back, now I am not so sure. According to my parents, I was born in the bayous of Louisiana. A diversion to hide the truth, I suppose. Mother never shared much about her parent’s and the past, only that they died in a fishing boat accident off the gulf coast of Texas, leaving mother at the age of eighteen. She found herself homeless and pregnant with me. The death of her parents from the explosion, left the shrimp boat company bankrupt and her penniless.

Succumbed to digging in trash cans for food and searching water fountains to fill up used plastic bottles, she knew she had to figure a way through this terrible time. A month before her parents died; an arrangement had been made against her will, where she would be sent to a home for pregnant unwed mothers. However, my mother turned eighteen a week before the tragedy and as a legal adult, new factors fell into play. She would not be a warden of the state; therefore, she could not be forced to live in the maternity home for girls. On the other hand, it left her homeless with an unborn child. The alternate was not an option. Giving up her baby would be like giving up a part of herself, and she didn’t choose that. She would rather die than give up her child to a perfect stranger. She fought long and hard with her parents on the subject which resulted in blackmail. Now, no longer a problem.

One summer night when the wind blew fierce and rain hammered down on the city of New Orleans, my mother sought shelter from the storm. However, each building she approached, was boarded up, with cars abandoned along streets and tree branches scattered across the roads. As the wind increased panic set in, and she darted across the street without looking; consequently being struck by a passing car. We were rushed to emergency, where doctors said we wouldn’t survive. That night, I was born in the middle of a hurricane or, so the story goes.

Just another stack of lies compounded upon other lies; secrets well-hidden and out of view for years, until one cold day in November. That’s when piece by piece the life of my fate would unfold. It was this day, my real life started, and the providential life died.

©2018 Emmy. R. Bennett

The phone rings and I hear mom’s voice, say, “Hello?” There’s a pause, and her tone deepens, “Maura, what can I do for you?”

I know immediately she is talking to her. Grabbing the phone receiver next to my bed I concentrate on peeling it off the dial without making a sound. Now is my chance to hear my grandmother’s voice for the first time.

“No, he hasn’t left yet. He’s still here;upstairs taking a shower in fact.”

“Francesca darling, don’t be coy with me.” My grandmother’s voice is wicked calm.

“If you must know, Maura, the city is covered in snow and the airport at a standstill. He’s decided to wait out the storm until tomorrow. I’ll tell him you called.”

“You know full well, a blizzard can’t stop my son from keeping his promises. What did you say to him? Did you use your little “voodoo power?” There’s a pause before she continues. “Must have been convincing to get him to forget his obligations. The business can’t run itself, Francesca. We are meeting clients from Germany. Jeoffrey will be here tomorrow if you know what is good for you and your precious family. Don’t forget I have the power to take everything away from you both.”

“Maura please, it’s too dangerous,” Mom stammers. “The business can handle one day off. The clients, I am sure will understand.”

“My dear…. You are in no position to negotiate terms with me. If my son does not arrive at his appointed time, alternative plans will be set in motion. And when I mean alternative plans, I mean the leverage you think you have against me. I merely need to snap my fingers, and someone will be there in a flash to end this charade once and for all. Do I make myself clear, Francesca?”

“Yes, perfectly,” Mom answers.

As if I can see through the walls, a visual of Mother’s face flashes over my mind, tears fall down her cheeks. I may not be able to see her from upstairs, but in my soul, I know she’s very upset.

“Good, now that I have your attention, please tell Jeoffrey to call me as soon as he is available, will you my dear?” Grandmother’s voice stay cool and collected. The rasp in her tone sends chills down my spine.

“I will, good-bye Maura.”

I replace the receiver before either of them hang up and try to dissect the conversation. What is so important that couldn’t wait until the weather let up? Whatever it is, leaves my mother petrified.

© 2018 Emmy R. Bennett/Wynter Storm