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With a pained squint, Vern looked at her. "I have one of my migraines and Callie Jane feels puny, so we closed up early."

Posey crossed the tiny kitchen and placed a hand on her daughter's forehead. "It's probably just excitement from getting engaged yesterday, but you do feel a little warm. Why don't you lie down until dinner?"

Callie Jane shrugged off her wool jacket, a sixteenth-birthday present from her mother she had worn every cold day for the last two years, and, without a word, headed for her bedroom.

The scent of Aqua Net filled the room. Vern gestured to Posey's beehive, asking, "Since when do you go to the Curly Q on a Thursday?"

"Queenie moved my appointment up a day—something about training a new employee." Posey scowled. "The whole point of a standing appointment is that it doesn't change. She knows I like fresh hair for the weekend." Gesturing to her calendar hanging on the wall, she added, "You would've known my plans if you'd bothered to learn my color-coding system." She stabbed the date, January 6, for emphasis. "Periwinkle for me and cobalt for Callie Jane. Family activities are in fuchsia."

Vern glanced at the calendar, massaging his temples through his dark hair. "What color am I?"

"You have no color because you never do anything."

"That's not true." Vern removed his jacket and hung it on a hook by the door. "I work every day, bowl on Tuesday nights, and go to church. And don't forget taking flowers out to the cemetery on Sunday afternoons."

Vern visited his parents' graves every week, bringing homegrown daisies from the first blooms until the killing frost.

"Do you need me to write down Vern: Cedar Hill three o'clock?"

"Maybe so. Then at least I'd know you cared where I was at."

"Bringing bouquets to live people instead of dead ones makes more sense. And store-bought, not from your scraggly mess of a garden."

Vern's voice was low. "There's lots of ways to show love." 

"All cheaper than a real bouquet, I bet."

His broad shoulders stiffened. "Black."

Posey's hands dug into her bony hips. "What's that supposed to mean?" 

"My ink pen color for the calendar. I want black."

She heaved an exasperated sigh. "The color has to start with the first letter of your name, like vermilion." 

"What the hell color is that?"

"Blood red." Her face brightened. "The exact hue of my latest purchase for the Emporium." She waved her arm toward the pair of lamps standing tall on the den's faded rag rug.

He flipped over the tag and whistled. "Way too high for what we sell. The Nashville crowd might pay those prices, but my customers won't."

"You said if I found something I like I could get it for the Emporium. Remember? Or has our arrangement changed?"

They had forged the deal before Callie Jane had cut her first tooth. Posey could buy inventory for the Emporium at her beloved estate sales, but Vern was in charge of the store.

"There's been no change," he answered, rubbing his neck. "I need to lay down. My head's killing me." He paused on his way to the bedroom. "But I'm cutting your budget."

"If we don't have new inventory, people will stop coming in," she snapped to Vern's back. He shut the door as she whispered, "You're not cutting my budget."

Without her Emporium allowance, what excuse could she give for driving into Nashville so often to shop at estate sales? She delighted in prowling through the luxurious Belle Meade homes of the recently departed, particularly when the decedent had been a size four. Standing five foot two, with dark hair, emerald eyes, and orchid-white skin, Posey was proud of her good looks. She wasn't as tall as Jackie Kennedy, but she made sure she was as elegantly dressed as her idol. Posey's mother had always bought Posey's Goodwill clothes two sizes too big, telling her mortified daughter she would grow into them, but once Posey started buying her own outfits, she made sure every piece fit her perfectly.