She’d put Manuel’s Thursday shoes on again. They made her feel indestructible, crowded out her grief. Thursdays were fix-it days. He would spend the whole day, rain or shine, tinkering around their modest property. Chipping old paint, repainting fresh.
“Nothing like a fresh coat of paint,” he’d say.
His heart was in these layers. His pride. Her fingers brushed across the smooth ripples of his soul.
Thirty-seven years of marriage reduced to shoes and paint.
Copyright © 2013 Kate Raynes