28

“Wait, Roxanne. Pull over! I see a yard sale!”

From the passenger window of Roxanne’s car, Muriel spied a huge cardboard box overflowing with purses. Surely one of them had a clasp that didn’t open all by itself. Please, Lord. Let there be a purse there for me. Something with a reliable clasp.

“I can’t stop now, Muriel. My favorite soap opera starts in ten minutes. Anyway, a yard sale is no place to look for antiques. The better items are all in the consignment and antique stores. Yard sales just have junk. Like that mirror you always cart around.”

“Please, Roxanne. It’ll only take me five minutes.”

“Sorry, Muriel. We’re already past it. You certainly don’t expect me to turn around, do you?”

Trying to get Roxanne to do anything she didn’t want to do was like trying to stop an avalanche by standing in front of it. One would only get bowled over. Possibly annihilated. “How far are we from home?” Muriel had no idea.

“About a mile. Why?”

“Oh, nothing. Just curious.” It would take Muriel a half hour to walk a mile back to the sale. What was the probability that the box of purses would still be there? Oh, pshaw. Nobody would want a whole box of purses. Surely there would be a few left over when she got back there. Surely, one of them would have a good clasp. This time Muriel would make sure. She would open and close the purse several times. Maybe hold it upside down and shake it.

As soon as Roxanne’s car stopped in front of her house, Muriel got out and hurried inside. She held a curtain slightly open and waited until Roxanne drove away. Soap operas! Muriel only needed five minutes to look through that box. Now she’d have to spend an hour on a round trip with no guarantee of success. Why didn’t anything ever work out for her? Oh, Lord, let there be a purse left for me. Just one. Please. It doesn’t have to be anything fancy. Though leather would be nice, if You wouldn’t mind. Leather lasted forever and looked good, too.

After twenty-five minutes of walking, she spied neon pink signs advertising the yard sale and arrows pointing the way. As she went around the final turn, she saw a man two blocks away carrying the box of purses. The whole box!

“Mister! Sir!” She yelled as loudly as she could, but he didn’t even look around. Either he was hard of hearing or he assumed she was shouting at someone else. As she picked up her pace, she saw him open the back of a tan SUV, put the box in, and slam the back closed. He pulled away from the curb and then drove off. She hurried to the middle of the road and waved both arms at the back of the car until it finally made a right turn and disappeared.

There was no point running after it. Lord, what are You doing? One purse. Is it too much to ask? Couldn’t that man have come five minutes later? Couldn’t I have arrived five minutes earlier? Why didn’t anything ever go right for her?

Perhaps the man left a purse behind. One that was too red or too reptilian.

A woman was sitting in a lawn chair next to a little table that held a cash box and a glass of iced tea. Muriel was too embarrassed to ask if there were any more purses. She looked at the table of Hummel figurines, the clothes rack with men’s suits and ties, and a big cardboard box full of board games and jigsaw puzzles. She didn’t need any of those things. Might there be one purse buried under the puzzles? She knelt down and started to dig through. Lord, I need a purse with a better clasp. You know I do.

The lady in charge was approaching her. Ice cubes clanked against the sides of her glass. “Are you looking for something in particular?”

Muriel rose. “I was looking for a purse. One with a reliable clasp.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I had a whole box of them. But that was about ten minutes ago.”

Muriel gave what she hoped would pass for a smile. Then she started trudging back home. Now what, Lord? Why don’t You ever answer my prayers?

Oh, well. Roxanne’s trip to the television antique show was tomorrow.

Muriel would just use her old purse. She had no other choice.