front of witnesses. So I couldn’t take it back without looking like a bitter, confused old woman. The one who’d been too unwell to come to the wedding.
“What are you going to do?” Pearl asked.
I looked at the blue door.
“I’m going to call Graham,” I said. “And then I’m not going to cancel anything.”
Graham came out to the point that afternoon. He sat on my porch in his bow tie with a glass of iced tea and the envelope in his lap.
He looked at the
