It was a table runner. One of Kyoko’s, which I fell in love with after she sent me photos. Red silk with a pink Japanese flower pattern delicately overlaid. Stunning, shining silk, with that gorgeous iridescent sheen. “You’re going to use a table runner for your dress?” Kyoko sputtered out of my cell phone over a haze of the summer-hot parking lot, still sweltering at three in the afternoon. I smelled rain in the distance. A dusty wind whisked from down Greenville Avenue, bringing scents of Hardee’s hamburgers and burned-out grease from the mechanic who’d just penciled me in next week for a nearly due inspection. After—ahem—I nosed around about Jim Bob. With zero results. The guy who jotted down my name with grease-stained fingers had never heard of him. “Yep. The table runner’ll work perfectly.” I tipped my sunglasses down off my hair and dug for the car keys, holding Christie’s leash with one hand while she sniffed and strained at the chain. “Our vet visit this morning was free.
What do You think about 'Til Grits Do Us Part (2012)?
