Why Two Electric Hair Clippers Appeared on the Dance Floor at Our Reception
I walked Maribel up the concrete steps to her porch, holding her elbow to steady her.
“Thank you for today, Clara,” she said, leaning against the wooden railing near the door. “It was a perfect afternoon.”
“Well, I am just glad we got to spend the time together,” I said.
“Everything is going to be beautiful, Clara, just the way you planned it,” she said.
She turned her head to look for her house keys in her purse, her fingers fumbling with the brass zipper.
As her head turned, the bright blue scarf shifted slightly on her neck.
A small clump of silver hair, about the size of a coin, slid out from beneath the silk and fell onto the white collar of her coat.
Maribel froze, her hand stopping inside her purse.
She did not look up at me.
Instead, she quickly brushed her hand over her shoulder, sending the silver strands onto the dark porch floor.
“Goodnight, Clara,” she said, her voice barely a breath.
She unlocked the door and stepped inside, closing it firmly behind her.
