Marlene's mother was an old lady. She had old lady hair. Thin, puffed up with air, gray at the roots and dyed burgundy at the ends. Louise did not realize how close she was to baldness. She told Marlene her hair color was called fire in the morning.

So if you wake up, Marlene asked, and see a house burning down first thing--that's the color of your hair? That's the hair color Ramona gave you?

Marlene's mother said, I'm surprised you're not more embarrassed yammering on in your ignorance. The right hair color is a sophisticated and important thing. What do you know. God gave you hair the color of the Ohio river and you don't even fight back.

Marlene saw her mother's tender scalp. She said, I guess they mean your hair is the color of the sunrise.

Marlene's mother said, yes, that's exactly what they mean. I could make an appointment for you at Ramona's.

Marlene said maybe some other time. She touched her mother's scalp. It was soft as old flower petals. She kept her fingers there a long time.