Mercury’s bare feet slapped the slippery concrete as she ran from the house, lifting her hands to wipe the water from her eyes. “Daddy?” she cried, spying the tall figure as he struggled to tug an umbrella from the back of the red truck where it had gotten stuck.

“Daddy!” the five-year-old yelled, running towards him full-tilt, heedless of the plummeting raindrops. He turned at her shout, bracing himself for the impact of his daughter slip-sliding into his arms.

“Pumpkin!” he laughed, lifting her into a giant hug. “You know better than to run in the rain with bare feet,” he chastised, but the smile on his face was all the encouragement Mercury needed.

“Can I hold your umbrella?” she asked.

He nodded, reaching back around his daughter to wriggle it free from the backseat. Opening the umbrella, he held it out to Mercury, helping her balance it before he shut and locked the truck doors.

Raindrops pattered against the clear plastic, and Mercury stared upward in wonder, studying the grey clouds without the hindrance of droplets falling into her eyes. The pole slipped in her hands, drenching the back half of her dad, but he used his free hand to adjust the umbrella in her hands.

“It’s pretty, isn’t it?” he whispered in her ear, and she bobbed her head. Together they stood there, drenched and dripping, yet Mercury kept a good hold on the umbrella so that Daddy wouldn’t get wet again.

“I should have named you Stormy instead, seeing how obsessed you are with lightning and rain,” he teased, poking her.

She laughed, shivering as a chill coursed through her, and noticing, he strolled towards the door. “We better hurry, or Mommy’s gonna yell at us for running around in the rain,” he winked.

“We don’t need to worry about that because we’ve got an umbrella!” Mercury said.

“Not for long, we don’t,” he said, setting her down on the porch steps and taking the pole from her arms to shake off the rain and close the device.

She giggled, watching as he sprayed water everywhere before running back under the awning to avoid getting even wetter.

Before he could coax her inside, Mercury ran back out for a last taste of the rain, throwing her face to the sky and clenching her eyes shut, allowing the streams of cool water to trace their way down her face.

~ ~ ~

Mercury Avinger came awake slowly, blinking back the tears that streaked from her eyes to her cheekbones. She had gone to bed last night thinking of her father, so of course dreams of him had denominated her thoughts. Again the memory replayed in her consciousness, and she savored the remembrance of his arms closing around her five-year-old self.

Four years had passed since she lost him, but the waves of pain that coursed through her felt as fresh as they had the day he died.

“Happy Birthday, Dad,” she whispered, knowing even before she had glanced out the darkened window that the time zones had already switched over to the new day.

She lay awake, aimlessly straining her eyes to make out the ceiling fan imprinted somewhere above her. Thunder echoed outside, followed by the pitter-patter of raindrops on the roof.

Memories of her father reappeared in her mind, and she swallowed tightly, gingerly sliding her body from the bed. Grabbing a flashlight from her desk drawer, Mercury clicked it on and slipped from her room, making her way towards the front porch.

The screen door crackled as it closed behind her, but then she was free, rain plummeting inches from her face. Pulling her robe closer around herself, Mercury stepped out from the awning, still shocked by the icy blast that slapped her skin.

Tilting her face upward, she closed her eyes, allowing the water to wash away the sea-salt of her tears.

“I named you Mercury for a reason,” her father’s voice echoed in her ears.“You’re a leader, fiery, and smart,” he said, tapping her nose. “You’re just like the stars in that way.”

She pulled away from the telescope, eyes wide with wonder. “That’s a planet?” she gasped.

“Even better,” he said. “That’s your planet.”

“I miss you, Daddy,” she whispered, momentarily five-years-old again.

Mercury stood in the rain until the shivers took over her body, and then a little longer. The rain gradually began to dwindle, and she peeled her eyes open, blinking past the water that blurred her vision.

In the distance, a star twinkled as if in answer to her pleas. Even without the telescope, the light glimmered, dancing like her father’s smile, and her own lips twisted upwards to smile back.

“You need to get an umbrella,” her father said.

“Don’t worry, I’m about to get one,” she replied. “Maybe I could even hold yours.”