Why Two Electric Hair Clippers Appeared on the Dance Floor at Our Reception
“She admitted it, Mason,” I said, sitting down in the chair next to his. “She has been losing her hair from the treatments.”
Mason rubbed his collarbone, his fingers pressing hard against his skin. “Is she going to be okay?”
“Well, she is still refusing to come to the dinner,” I said. “She is too ashamed.”
“We have to do something,” Mason said.
Before I could answer, his phone began to buzz against the wooden table. The screen lit up with Maribel’s name.
Mason picked up the phone with a trembling hand.
He pressed the speaker button and laid the phone on the wooden table, right next to my cup of cold English breakfast tea.
“Mason?” Maribel’s voice sounded thin, but there was a light in it that had been missing for weeks. “I wanted to call you back right away.”
“We are both here, Grandma,” Mason said, leaning closer to the receiver. “Clara is sitting right next to me.”
“Well, those scarves are absolutely lovely,” Maribel said, her breath catching slightly between her words. “The silk is so soft. The blue one is my favorite.”
