Seven Checks Left Untouched in a Cedar Desk Drawer

He did not wait for me to answer before he took Rosie’s arm and guided her toward the porch.

I stayed on the path, watching the back door swing shut behind them, the gray velvet box still resting on the wooden garden bench.

I walked over and picked it up, the fabric soft against my palm.

The small slip of paper inside the lid was blank on the back, but when I turned it over, three hand-drawn numbers were written in blue ink.

Ninety-eight thousand, four hundred.

I slipped the box into my apron pocket as the kitchen door opened again.

By one o’clock, the dining table was covered in white linen swatches and bridal magazines Margaret had pulled from the attic.

My mother smoothed the front of her skirt with both hands before she spoke, her voice light and thin.

“A small ceremony in the parlor,” Margaret said, placing a finger on a photograph of white roses. “Just the family and perhaps Uncle David.”

“It is too fast,” I said, looking from my mother to my father, who sat at the head of the table.