Today’s the last day of the endless summer.
Sirens squall outside, and an east wind rattles the living room window screens. I lift the photo frame from the mantel, smudging dust that crusts the glass no matter how often I wipe it.
The kitchen faucet whooshes. I glance over my shoulder.
Whoever declared August National Family Fun Month must not have been a bridal consultant. Tiny cousins visiting with the bride are superb; peak wedding season is superb; enthusiastic dinos are superb. All three in the Daydream Bridal Boutique at once?
Think Jurassic Park if the jungle was made of fluffy petticoats.
Daydream Bridal Boutique Summer Sample Sale!
I prop the sign festooned with cursive alliteration on its stand and peer out the display window. Chattering women crowd the sidewalk like penguins on an ice floe.
“Opening in five, ladies!” Our manager Eugenia strolls through the showroom, shooing consultants in black pantsuits toward the front. “How’s the turnout, Mary?”
“Eugenia, I can’t put a princess ballgown on a gorgon,” I squeak through the doorway of the sales office. “It won’t match her hair!”
Our immaculate, skirt-suited manager looks up from her spreadsheets. “Mary, you know our policy.”
“Make every bride feel like a daydream.” I hike up my armload of tulle-engorged plastic garment bags.
Most who sail the sea are afraid of enduring a storm. I’d not be anywhere else for all the gold on all the islands, because I only see him when lightning strikes the ocean.
Raindrops plummet down my neck, each dying quick deaths in the jade-dark waves. Night thickens around me and my coracle
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