Blue Cotton Work Shirts Stitched Together for a Spring Dance
“He always said a job was not finished until the tools were clean and put away,” Clara whispered, stepping beside me.
I nodded, looking down at the quiet grave one last time.
The silver of the watch reflected the starlight, a tiny point of brightness on the dark hillside.
We turned back toward the car parked at the bottom of the gravel lane.
The starlight was bright enough to show the outline of the old cedar trees lining the cemetery fence.
The dress rustled softly with every step, the heavy cotton whispering against the dry weeds.
I looked back once at the small gray headstone on the hill, where the silver watch sat quiet in the dark.
“You kept the watch chain,” Clara noted as we reached the gravel path.
“No,” I said, reaching into my pocket. “I left the watch, but I kept the key to his locker.”
We walked in silence the rest of the way, our footsteps even on the gravel.
Clara opened the passenger door for me, and I slid inside, careful not to snag the blue hem on the metal latch.
