Why Two Electric Hair Clippers Appeared on the Dance Floor at Our Reception
Beside her, Maribel was weeping.
She did not cover her face, nor did she bow her head. She sat upright in her chair, her shoulders rising and falling with her breaths, her cheeks wet with tears that caught the light from the stage.
Her small hands were gripped together in her lap, her knuckles white.
“Maribel,” Mason called out softly across the empty space of the dance floor.
She did not answer him with words. Instead, she pushed her chair back from the table. The wooden legs scraped against the floor, a loud, heavy sound in the quiet room.
Evelyn reached out a hand, her fingers catching the sleeve of Maribel’s cream-colored dress as if to stop her, but Maribel gently but firmly pulled her arm away.
She stood up, her small frame looking fragile but upright under the lights. She adjusted the front of her jacket with her trembling fingers, then took a step forward.
She began to walk toward us, her low black shoes clicking on the floor.
Every eye in the ballroom followed her as she crossed the wide empty space between the tables and the dance floor.
