Why Two Electric Hair Clippers Appeared on the Dance Floor at Our Reception
“She asked if I needed anything from the grocery store,” Maribel said, taking a small sip of her coffee.
“Well, that is a start,” I said, sitting down next to her and holding the warm mug between my hands.
We ate our toast in silence, the quiet of the morning replacing the loud music and laughter of the night before.
When the clock on the wall showed ten past ten, Mason stood up and picked up our bags from the hallway.
“We should get moving,” he said, rubbing his shoulder where the bag strap rested.
Maribel followed us out onto the front porch, the cool autumn air catching the hem of her green cardigan.
The maple trees along Elm Street were dropping their red leaves onto the sidewalk, covering the concrete in a bright carpet.
She reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a small white envelope, holding it out to Mason.
“This is for the trip,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “For a nice dinner when you get to the lake.”
Mason looked at the envelope, then at his grandmother’s face.
