white chairs.
Laurelai stood by her silver Mercedes for a long time, staring at her phone. Then she got in and drove away without her husband.
Miles stayed. He helped the rental man fold chairs, without saying anything, his gray jacket off and his sleeves rolled up.
Blythe sat down on one of her own suitcases on my lawn and cried with her face in her hands, the orchids crushed against her chest.
And Cullen stood at the bottom of my porch steps.
He stood there for a long time.
