Why Two Electric Hair Clippers Appeared on the Dance Floor at Our Reception
The heavy wooden door creaked open, and Maribel walked into the room. She wore the cream-colored dress, and around her head was the blue silk scarf we had bought at the boutique. The silk caught the morning light, deep and solid, hiding every trace of what the chemotherapy had taken from her.
“You look beautiful, Maribel,” I said, stepping away from the vanity.
She reached out, her small, trembling fingers touching the sleeve of my white dress. “I wanted to make sure I was here to see you put it on, Clara. You look like a picture.”
“You are right on time,” I said.
The door opened again, much faster this time, and Evelyn walked in with a silver tray of small sandwiches. She stopped, her eyes going straight to Maribel’s head.
“We need to adjust that blue scarf, Mother,” Evelyn said, setting the tray down with a sharp clink on the side table. “It is sitting a little crooked on the left side, and the guests are already arriving downstairs.”
Evelyn reached her hand out toward Maribel’s temple, her fingers ready to tuck the silk.
