Dancing With Her Daughter

Dancing With Her Daughter

The gentle waves lapped against the ship as it slowly pulled away from the port of Livorno. Holding the stem of her delicate wineglass, she watched the sunlight’s reflection shimmer and swirl on the surface of the wine and the sea simultaneously.

She reminded herself to be grateful for their recent harvest. The years of hard work had finally restored their vineyard back to the successful business it had been for generations. That knowledge made her first sip of the fruity wine that much sweeter.

Looking out over the water, she watched the terra cotta homes nestled in the mountains retreat peacefully into the background. The details of each residence gradually became a mere suggestion rather than the overwhelming burden of reality.

Mirabelle stood on the balcony letting the warm breeze sweep past her. A seagull playfully dipped and swirled putting on a show as if for her personal entertainment. A solo performance to an audience of one.

“Caw, caw,” she called out on automatic, channeling her past self as a young mother. The lone bird disappeared into the blue skies returning with friends, their outstretched wings gliding past her. A small smile appeared in response to their showing off, the moment of joy catching her off guard in its unfamiliarity.

Mesmerized by the ocean’s rhythm, she was lulled into a perfect state of relaxation. Lost in thought and memory, she was startled when the door to her cabin opened.

“Mama, come dance with me,” Daniela appeared simultaneously to the music turning on.

“I would adore that. We should wait until the wedding, no?”

“Why, mama? Life is short, let’s enjoy our mother-daughter dance now.”

Mirabelle took another sip of the intoxicating red wine and slipped her feet into their dancing shoes. She took her daughter’s hand and admired her beauty.

“You’re looking stunning on your big day. Are you ready to get married?”

“I am,” Daniela answered, her eyes sparkling with inner joy.

“Remember that day at the park when you were a little girl?” Mirabelle asked as she took her first dance step in time with the slow music that filled the cabin.

“The day of the picnic?” Daniela questioned, their eyes locking as she followed her mother’s lead.

“Yes. You were only six years old and so precocious. It feels like yesterday when I tried to give you life’s advice.”

Daniela did her imitation of her mother’s voice. “Remember to be brave and to listen to your heart,” she said, taking the lead in their dance.

Mirabelle laughed and in turn imitated her daughter’s childish voice from years gone by. “Listen to my heart? But it doesn’t speak, it just beats thump, thump, thump.”

The women laughed, a strong hearty laugh, so similar in tone and rhythm it could have been but one.

Mirabelle spun her daughter around to the music, enjoying their trip down memory lane. She continued their conversation from years gone by as she took back the lead. “My darling, when you will need it to speak to you it will. It will be a feeling, an intuition. You will know that is your heart telling you what to do. You will remember that I told you to follow that little voice.”

“My heart has a little voice!” Daniela laughed continuing the script from the past, her laughter like musical notes on a sunny day.

“Thank you for reminding me how good it feels to laugh.” Mirabelle smiled endearingly at her daughter.

“Have you forgotten to laugh lately, Mama?”

“Yes, I think I might have.”

“I’m glad I’m here to remind you.” She rested her head on her mother’s shoulder allowing Mirabelle to stroke her hair as she had done so often in the past.

Feeling suddenly fearful, Mirabelle held her daughter closer while they gently swayed to the music. She circled her arms around her small waist and clasped her hands together behind her, enveloping her child in the embrace. Feeling the joy radiating from Daniela into herself, their hearts began to beat as one.

After taking turns leading and following in both conversation and dance steps, they fell into a perfect rhythm and a comfortable silence. Their mutual love for one another was overwhelming, and the tiny cabin overflowed with emotion.

Mirabelle was the first to pull away and break the spell. She became serious as she looked into her daughter’s eyes.

“I’ve missed you. You don’t visit often anymore,” she confessed what she had been thinking.

“I’m here now,” Daniela whispered.

As the tempo of the music picked up, Daniela’s grin widened mischievously. Mother and daughter unabashedly sang along to the old favorite tunes, remembering every word of the lyrics.

Grabbing Mirabelle’s hands, Daniela spun her mother around the tiny cabin haphazardly until dizzy.

“Do you think about that day often, Mama?” Daniela asked as they collapsed breathlessly onto the plush chairs.

“What day, my love? Mirabelle answered, her cheeks pink, her hair curling around her neck having escaped the carefully coiffed updo.

“You know,” she whispered, “The day of the picnic.”

Mirabelle’s smile abruptly slipped away as she rose from her seat.

“I do, Daniela. All the time. It’s more than I can bear.” She stepped back out onto the balcony, turning away from her daughter. The tears shimmered in the moonlight as they slid down her cheeks.

***

Startled by the cabin door opening, Mirabelle jumped, her hands flying up to wipe the tears.

“Mama,” Gia reached out to her mother’s face, stroking it gently. “What’s wrong?”

“Gia?” Mirabelle looked confused. “What happened? Where is Daniela?”

“Daniela? Mama…” She paused uncomfortably.

“Yes. Daniela. Where did she go off to? She has to get ready for her wedding. We mustn’t keep the guests waiting.”

“Mama, no. Today is my wedding day. You know that. I’m marrying Luigi. Remember?”

Mirabelle paused, looking out at the mountains which had receded far into the distance. The horizon had become blurred by the darkened night sky, making it difficult to discern between land, sea, and air. Her gaze returned to her older daughter’s beautiful face so filled with concern. Finally noticing the beaded white wedding gown that she wore so elegantly, the circumstances became apparent. It was Gia’s wedding, her special night on the ship.

“Yes, of course, my love. But tell me, where is your sister? She was here just a moment ago.”

“Mama, that’s not possible. Remember?”

Mirabelle quietly held her breath in anticipation of the heartbreak.

“There was a shooting in the park the day of the picnic,” Gia continued, bringing the words that never changed along with the pain that never dulled. “We survived, but Daniela didn’t.”