Why Two Electric Hair Clippers Appeared on the Dance Floor at Our Reception
I stepped across the pile of my own hair and reached out to her.
I wrapped my arms around Evelyn’s shoulders, pulling her into a tight, solid hug. She stiffened for a fraction of a second, then let out a long, ragged breath and clung to me, her fingers digging into the lace of my dress.
“It is okay,” I murmured against her ear. “We are all here now.”
When she pulled back, she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, then reached out and took Maribel’s hand, her fingers locking with her mother’s.
The guests in the room began to clap, a few at first near the kitchen doors, then more joining in until the sound filled the entire Grand Oak Ballroom.
Maribel’s bald head was shining under the chandelier lights as she smiles without any trace of shame.
By nine o’clock the next morning, the Grand Oak Ballroom was nothing but a memory of discarded satin ribbons and empty cake plates, and Mason and I were standing inside the quiet hallway of the brick cottage on Elm Street.