By Erin Arata
“Hope nobody packed white!” the owner of the cabin says, his shirt darkening by degrees in the rain. He doesn’t mean to make Mara cry—we didn’t tell him; he might’ve charged extra. In our truck, a greedy bouquet gorges itself beneath the cracked window. The beach, submerged. The dock, too waterlogged to hold weight.
Mara’s mascara is waterproof as she marches inside. We wait for the owner to leave, then we work. A doorway altar. An aisle of couch cushions. Making real what we played as children.
In sickness and health. Sunshine and rain.
We tell the story for years.
I like this story. It brightens up the day.
This is enthralling. I read it 3 x to study the clever craftwork. Kudos!
Beautiful and heartwarming.
Me too!
While I cringe over the semicolon (sorry), this is a lovely story. You handle tense in an interesting way. The ending line is still present tense. Wonderful surprises in the details!
I’m going to print this and keep it in our wedding book. Such an honor. Love you!