Why Two Electric Hair Clippers Appeared on the Dance Floor at Our Reception
“We have our final walkthrough on Tuesday morning,” I said. “We can bring them in a bag. Evelyn said she had to meet the florist at two o’clock, so she won’t be there when we arrive at ten.”
“And Maribel?” he asked. “Are we going to tell her?”
“No,” I said, closing the laptop with a firm click. “Well, if we tell her now, she will spend the next three days begging us not to do it. She will say she is not worth the trouble, and then she might not even show up to the church.”
“She has always been like that,” Mason said, his voice softening. He reached into the small cardboard storage box we had kept on the counter and pulled out the old photograph of the two of them. It was a faded four-by-six picture from twenty years ago, showing Mason with a lopsided, half-shaved left eyebrow and Maribel standing right behind him with her own left eyebrow completely gone, both of them laughing into the camera.
