The ceiling fan in my new cottage bedroom barely stirred the breeze, and I lay in a sodden tangle of blankets. I tossed the sheet off my body and made a mental note to have the air conditioner serviced. A hot drink did not sound appealing on this sweltering day. Instead of my usual coffee, I reached for a diet cola from the refrigerator and toasted a couple slices of bread into the toaster. The clock on the wall read six a.m. Why did yard sales start at such an ungodly hour? Mom honked outside. I grabbed my purse, meager breakfast, and sprinted to her boat of a car. “If we don’t hurry, we’ll miss all the good stuff.” She glared. Apparently the engagement bloom didn’t apply to mornings, or maybe just not me. “What could you possibly need?” I clicked the seatbelt across my lap. “Why buy someone else’s junk? I got rid of boxes of stuff you never used anymore. You’d better not buy back our own discards.”
