Her hair is blowing in the breeze, pulled together in a long braid hanging halfway down her back. Dorothy sits next to her. She’s taken the wise precaution of putting on an old-fashioned sunbonnet, the kind you see in butter ads from the 1940s, which is tied securely under her chin. Both women are decked out in light summer party dresses, fancy ones. The difference in the dresses is that Laura bought hers earlier this summer at Wendy Foster’s and has worn it exactly once, while Dorothy bought the one she has on forty years ago, and has worn it countless times. And long after the dress Laura’s wearing has been lost in the back of her closet, or been consigned to a secondhand dress shop, Dorothy will still be wearing this dress she has on today. Nestled on the backseat behind them is a large, gaily wrapped package. It contains a wedding present—the attached card, which has been securely Scotch-taped onto the top, has a picture of a grinning Cupid blowing his trumpet on the front, with the cursive inscription “On Your Wedding Day”
