She folded each of the dress shirts he’d left behind, smoothing out the sleeves before turning them. His slacks and ties went in the box, shoes in a separate one.
The backseat piled high, Angie set out for several stops. First, donate the goods to the thrift store, then a run to the church. She knelt awhile at the altar, cried and prayed. Next, she browsed the floral shop, selecting a dozen roses. Just what Henry had brought the first night he came courting forty-three years ago.
She drove to the cemetery, laid the roses on his grave. Henry wasn’t coming back, ever. But in the Lord’s time, she would go to him.
Hope you enjoyed this micro-fiction piece that qiuetly came to me one day.