Why Two Electric Hair Clippers Appeared on the Dance Floor at Our Reception
As I carried the dress toward her bedroom, I passed the gold-framed mirror in the hallway. It was the same mirror she had avoided for weeks, its surface showing only the quiet reflection of the empty hall and the edge of her blue scarf. I stopped for a moment, looking at my own long hair gathered in a clip at the back of my neck.
“Well, we have everything ready,” I said, hanging the dress on the back of her closet door.
“You have been very good to me, Clara,” Maribel said from the doorway. “More than I deserve.”
“You deserve the world, Maribel,” I said, walking back to her and taking her small, cold hand. “And on Saturday, you won’t be alone. I promise you that.”
She smiled, a small, tired movement of her lips that didn’t quite reach her eyes, completely unaware of what was waiting under the sweetheart table in the Grand Oak Ballroom.
I reached into my pocket and felt the cold metal of the key to the wooden box, keeping my fingers wrapped around it as I said goodbye.