It is for colorful fabric ribbon, bought six weeks ago
“A receipt from the Jo-Ann Fabrics over in Elyria,” I said, smoothing my skirt down over my knees. “Forty-one dollars. It is for colorful fabric ribbon, bought six weeks ago.”
He finally picked up the slip of paper, holding it near the kitchen window where the bright Ohio sun illuminated the faded purple ink. “Forty-one dollars of ribbon is a lot of fabric, Evelyn. Maybe she was making something for her hair.”
“She didn’t wear ribbon in her hair, Brian. Not since she was nine years old, you see.”
He set the receipt down on his napkin, his thick thumb rubbing the corner of the paper as if he could smooth out the ink. “Sometimes you have to sand down the rough edges of a project before you understand what the piece is supposed to be.”
“She bought it on the second Tuesday of April,” I said, looking at his hands. “Three weeks before she went into the hospital. Why would she need forty-one dollars of ribbon?”
Author
Andrew Collins
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