Why Two Electric Hair Clippers Appeared on the Dance Floor at Our Reception
She wore the bright blue silk headscarf, tied tightly at the back of her neck to cover her head.
The autumn air was cool, but she had a heavy wool blanket draped over her lap.
“Look at you two,” she said, her voice short and breathless as she looked up. “Should you not be busy with the wedding coordinator?”
“We wanted to spend some time with you,” Mason said, sitting beside her on the bench.
I sat on her other side, noticing the way she adjusted the collar of her cardigan with trembling fingers.
My mind kept going back to her bathroom, to the peach towel she had bought at the department store for twelve dollars, and how she had hidden her ivory hairbrush beneath its folds.
“Well, we were wondering if you need a ride to any of your doctor appointments next week,” I said.
Maribel kept her eyes on the yellowing grass near her feet, her hands clasped tightly.
“No rides needed,” she said. “The neighbors are very helpful with running errands.”
“Maribel, have you seen a doctor at the clinic on Oak Street?” Mason asked, leaning forward.
