“I need something in red. No, that’s not the exact lyrics of that old song that Mama plays all the time. She said that she was looking for something in red that was cut down to here.” She remembered the Lorrie Morgan song from a few years back. The singer had talked about looking for a red dress that would knock her feller’s eyes out in the first verse. Then she wanted something in white in the second, something in blue for a new baby boy in the third, and back to something in red in the fourth. Liz hummed the song as she pulled the filmy turquoise dancing outfit off the rack and held it up to her body. She imagined what it would look like without the top of her black lacy panties showing above the encrusted belt and without her black lace bra peeking out above the fancy sequined top.

I’m looking for something in turquoise. If I met him at the door in this and did three minutes of dance, I bet we’d forget about leaving the house and I wouldn’t be worrying about our first date, she thought as she looked at her reflection in the mirror.

She hung it back up and picked up her robe. Maybe if she walked away from the closet and stopped fretting, everything would fall into place. She shoved her arms down into the black satin robe and headed toward the living room. Her phone rang and when she saw that it was her uncle, she answered on the second ring. “Hello, we’ve got those gorgeous ornaments out on the lawn and it’s going to be beautiful and why did you put me in an old cactus?”

“Because it’s your first year in the house, living in Ringgold, and making a lot of prickly decisions,” he said.

“I want a new one every year,” she said.

“I figured you’d say that,” Haskell said.

“So what have you got in mind for next year?” she asked.

“Next year you get a manger scene with baby Jesus in it and a new puppy and a whole litter of multicolored kittens around the cradle,” he said.

“Why?” she asked.

“By then you will know,” he said.

“Come on, Uncle Haskell, why would you do that?” She went back to the closet and flipped through the hangers.

“Maybe because I want you to have a new baby by then, and old Hooter could use a new puppy if you are going to stay there, and there’s always kittens in the spring,” Haskell answered.

She pulled a bright red sweater from the closet. “It would take more than a miracle for all that to happen in one year.” Her thoughts went to the O’Donnell decree that the children had to marry in the order in which they were born.

“Who said the days of miracles were over?” Haskell asked.

She closed her eyes tightly and made a wish that Haskell was right.

“I called to tell you to send me a picture when you get it all done. Now I’ve talked enough. Poppa is coming over for supper,” he said.