Why Two Electric Hair Clippers Appeared on the Dance Floor at Our Reception
The response card from Mason’s grandmother was the only one left on our kitchen table without a checkmark next to the beef or the chicken. It had been sitting near the ceramic sugar bowl for nine days, right next to our satin ribbon samples.
I rolled my gold engagement ring around my finger, watching the bright morning sun hit the wooden surface of the table.
“Well, she has never missed a family event in thirty years, Mason,” I said.
Mason rubbed his collarbone and stared at the pile of seventy-two accepted invitations.
“I called her twice yesterday,” he said. “It went straight to voicemail, which is not like her. She usually picks up before the second ring.”
“Maybe we should just drive over and check on her,” I said.
We drove to Elm Street without talking much about the flower centerpieces or the music. The brick cottage looked exactly the same as it had during the summer, though the old oak trees in the yard were already dropping their dry leaves onto her small front lawn.
When we let ourselves in using Mason’s key, Maribel was sitting on the sofa, but she did not stand up to greet us. She pointed toward the back of the cottage.
“Go wash your hands first, Clara,” she said. Her voice sounded short and breathless. “The autumn dust is bad today.”
I went into the small bathroom off the hallway. The gold-framed mirror on the wall had a few dry water spots near the bottom edge, reflecting the pale yellow wallpaper.
On the side of the porcelain sink, the peach bathroom towel we bought at the local department store for twelve dollars was folded into a tight square. It seemed misplaced, lying directly over the basin instead of hanging from the wooden ring on the wall where it belonged.
I lifted the edge of the towel to reach the cold water faucet.
Beneath the peach cotton lay her favorite ivory hairbrush, hidden face down in the dry bowl of the sink.
I picked it up by the smooth handle. A dense, tangled web of silver hair strands clung to the stiff bristles, far more than I had ever seen left in her brush before.
