Sam the Artist looked calm as he put the finishing touches on his gnome-inspired masterpiece. He’d pulled just enough gnomes out of Myrtle’s shed to make little vignettes in the yard. One gnome held up a sign that said, “Help me. I’m lost in a jungle.” One appeared to be doing battle with the grass with a child-sized rake and hoe that Myrtle kept in her shed for Jack to play with. One lay on the ground, apparently overcome by Myrtle’s yard. Sam had figured out a way for Myrtle’s warrior gnome to be brandishing a weed trimmer at her surprised-looking gnome. Funny, poignant little vignettes of chaos that should jog Red’s memory about Dusty’s broken mower.
As soon as loud Erma had waddled away, Myrtle hurried outside with a handful of money. “Sam, it’s perfect. You’re a genius. It’s exactly what I’d envisioned.”
Miles just continued staring blankly at the scene from the car.
Sam beamed at Myrtle. “Thanks! I kind of hate to stop working on it. It was a lot more fun than I thought it would be. Maybe, if I have some more ideas, I can come by later to work on it.”
Miles was now getting out of the car and walking cautiously toward them as if the gnomes might suddenly explode from Myrtle’s yard and come at him with their yard equipment. “This is ... different, Myrtle.”
“It’s yard art,” said Myrtle grandly. “What exactly would you call it, Sam? You’re the art prodigy.”
Sam absently wiped some dirt from his hands onto his black jeans. “I’m calling it post-modern: the art of yard art.”
“Brilliant,” said Myrtle. She handed the money to Sam. “Thanks so much. If you need a reference, let me know.” She tilted her head to one side. “Do artists need references?”
“Maybe a blurb for my website?” asked Sam.
Miles seemed impressed that Sam had a website.
Several minutes later, Miles was driving Myrtle to Tippy Chambers’ house. “Red is going to flip out, you know.”
“What else is new?” asked Myrtle with a shrug. “I’d think that he’d be relieved that I was exploring my artistic side. Or, rather, outsourcing that exploration to Sam. What a talented kid!”
“He might look at it as evidence that you need to be yard-free. I’m thinking he’s going to be making more inquiries at Greener Pastures retirement home regarding your possible admission.”
“It’s not like it would be the first time he’s done that. Besides, if he’s too busy to get Dusty a new lawnmower, he’s too busy to get me committed to a retirement home,” said Myrtle.
“Committed is a strong word. It’s not an asylum,” said Miles.
“Isn’t it?”
They pulled in front of Tippy’s large, columned house, next to one of the massive magnolia trees that shielded the house from the road.
They were about to knock on the door when it was suddenly pulled open. Tippy, chic as usual, was wearing a silky red blouse paired with immaculate white slacks. “Hello, you two!” she said, giving them both a hug. “I was getting worried that you’d both decided to quit book club. It’s been too long since we’ve seen you.”
Myrtle bared her teeth in a smile. “We’ve missed book club. Haven’t we, Miles?”
Miles nodded unhappily.
“Well, you’ve both made my day that you’re here.”
They walked into a large living room filled with portraits of stiffly-sitting, scowling ancestors and brightly-polished silver.
“Oh no,” said Myrtle. “Erma is here. I thought she wasn’t ever really attending book club anymore.”
“Another excellent reason to stop going ourselves,” murmured Miles.
At least Erma was deep in conversation with Georgia Simpson, who was bellowing with laughter at Erma. Georgia was probably the only person in town who could effectively handle Erma’s obnoxious behavior. Georgia had very big hair that was sprayed into submission, mascara-encrusted eyes, and sported tattoos over her arms and legs. Myrtle had recently seen Georgia smoking cigars on a sidewalk in downtown Bradley. Miles had always been rather fascinated with her, and now he proceeded to gape.
Myrtle steered him toward the refreshments table. “Food and beverages ... and Bonnie ... over here, Miles.”
Bonnie was looking as hapless as ever but greeted them with a shy smile. “I guess we’re spending a lot of time together, aren’t we? Considering we’re in book club together and all. Y’all weren’t at the last meeting, I don’t think. That’s when I joined.”
“Or the meeting before that, or the meeting before that,” intoned Miles.
“But we’re delighted to be here with you today,” said Myrtle, cutting Miles off smoothly before he revealed that it had been the book club Christmas party where they had last made an appearance. “And we of course read your pick for the meeting,” she added politely.
Bonnie gasped. “Wasn’t it wonderful? I cried and cried.”
Miles raised his eyebrows at Myrtle. Myrtle and he somehow hadn’t gotten the message that the book was particularly emotional one way or another during their skim session.
“Yes. A very heartfelt book,” said Myrtle. “But I won’t go into the book any more, since the club likes us to save our discussion for the meeting. So we’ll move on to something else. Are you enjoying the cooking class?”
A shadow fell across Bonnie’s eyes. “I suppose so. I mean, Louvenia is a doing a good job teaching and she’s very enthusiastic about the food.”
“She certainly is.” Myrtle could stand for a little less of the bubbly-Louvenia and a little more of a serious instructor.
“But the ... well ... the death. It was .... ” Bonnie shivered.
Myrtle and Miles leaned in to listen, but jumped back when a shrill voice said, “Well, looky-here! Myrtle and Miles, two peas in a pod!”
Bonnie looked like a deer in the headlights, mumbled an excuse, and left Myrtle and Miles with Myrtle’s nemesis and neighbor, Erma. Erma was grinning at them, her large front teeth sticking out prominently.
“Glad to see you here, Myrtle. I was going to ask you what on earth was happening in your yard?” demanded Erma.
Myrtle maneuvered herself back a little from Erma’s horrid breath and said coldly, “It’s yard art, Erma. Post-modern. Art about art.”
Georgia strutted over to join them. “Hi there! Hey, I wanted to know about your yard, too. What is it again?”
“It’s a post-modern art exhibit. It’s meant to be tongue-in-cheek. A brilliant young man created it,” said Myrtle.
“Hmm.” Georgia considered this. “Interesting. Of course, I wouldn’t want to have anything happen to my angel collection, although I do like the idea of doing something different with them. You know, give them a job to do and make them feel better about themselves.”
Miles gave Myrtle a look. Georgia had very unusual artistic sensibilities.
Erma leaned in to make a point and everyone else leaned back out. “What I don’t get is the tall grass and weeds. What’s that all about? What has that got to do with the art?”
Myrtle said, “It’s the whole backdrop. The gnomes are fighting for their lives against the jungle of the yard. It’s an analogy for life, isn’t it?”
Georgia looked startled. “Well, whutdoya know? You’re right. It’s an analogy thing.”
“No talking about book club until the discussion starts, ladies!” reminded Tippy with a gracious smile.
Erma spat out a laugh. “We’re not talking about books. We’re talking about Myrtle’s yard.”
Tippy was clearly trying to remain her usual polite hostess self although the curiosity was apparently eating her up inside. “Myrtle’s yard ... yes, I think I saw a very interesting ... display. Out of the corner of my eye. Is that ... well, what exactly is it?”
“It’s art,” said Myrtle shortly. “The kind of art you have to think about.”
“I do like art, but I don’t always get it,” said Erma. “And the last time I went to see a traveling art exhibit in Charlotte, I got so sick there! It was food poisoning—I went to one of those fancy sushi restaurants, you see.”
Tippy, very subtly, moved away to join another group of members.
“I didn’t feel sick at first, you know. But then, as I was at the museum, I started feeling really, really awful,” said Erma.
Miles looked sadly at Myrtle. They avoided Erma as much as they possibly could, but sometimes they couldn’t get rid of her. And now they were stuck with her instead of spending time with Bonnie, which was the whole reason they were at book club to begin with.
As they stared at Erma, resigned to their doom, suddenly Georgia bellowed in interruption, “Have you met our visitor today? A cousin of Tippy’s who’s visiting from Germany.”
Miles and Myrtle beamed in great relief at a slender woman in glasses with a kind smile. “I’m Nicole Teschke. Tippy invited me to book club and I’m so excited to be here—I love books and reading.”
“A serious reader?” asked Myrtle in pity. She lowered her voice, “Then I’ll apologize in advance since this isn’t a very serious book club.”
Erma, always wanting to focus the conversation back on herself and her legion of medical issues, quickly said, “You know, Nicole, I’ve been to Germany before. It was a long time ago, when I was a student. The only thing was that I became terribly sick while I was there—”
On that note, Myrtle grabbed Miles by the arm and hurried him away.
Miles looked back at Nicole, politely listening to Erma go on and on. “I feel sorry about dumping that nice young lady with Erma. She saved us from a terrible fate.”
“Me too, but not bad enough to suffer another moment with Erma,” said Myrtle with a shudder. “Isn’t this blasted meeting supposed to be starting up?”
“Ladies? It’s time to start our meeting,” called Tippy.
“Saved by the bell,” muttered Miles.
“Bonnie? Would you like to come up and talk a little about the book? Maybe what drew you to it? And then we’ll have a round-robin discussion about it,” said Tippy briskly.
Bonnie turned bright red and reluctantly stood and walked to the front of the living room. She said in a low voice, “I chose The Heart Knows All because I wanted to read something really positive and optimistic, and I thought that’s what the book would be.”
Erma snorted loudly from the back of the room and said to Nicole, “As if!”
Bonnie continued talking, or rather, mumbling, about the book while Miles leaned over and whispered to Myrtle, “Wasn’t the book very chipper and optimistic? I thought that’s what we’d gathered from it.”
“Of course it is! Erma doesn’t know anything about books. She probably didn’t read the thing,” hissed Myrtle back.
“I don’t think we can really talk,” said Miles stiffly.
“That was lovely,” said Tippy. “Thank you, Bonnie.”
Bonnie hurried back to her seat in great relief.
Tippy smiled graciously at them, the perfect hostess as usual. “Welcome to everyone, including our guest, my cousin Nicole, and our newest member, Bonnie, who presented us with this month’s selection. One reason I’m so delighted to be here this month is because our own Myrtle Clover is here.”
“Finally graced us with her presence,” cackled Erma from the back.
Tippy ignored the interruption. “As most of you know, Myrtle is a retired English teacher. Actually, many of us had the pleasure of having Myrtle as a teacher.”
Myrtle sighed, looking around at the middle-aged and elderly faces that were beaming at her. It was true, but did it have to be pointed out? The ladies gave her a round of applause. She gritted her teeth and managed to grimace a grin.
“I always look forward to Myrtle’s insightful analysis of each selection. Let’s hear from Myrtle first and then proceed around the room clockwise,” said Tippy.
Miles made a muffled sound that very likely was suppressed hysteria. Myrtle dug her elbow into his side.
Myrtle decided that the best way to proceed was to do so in complete confidence. If she could present her analysis in a self-assured manner, she was sure to sound as if she’d done more than skim the pages of The Heart Knows All.
“Although I didn’t originally suspect that the book would be heavy in literary devices or theme, I was pleasantly surprised to find an abundance of them in the novel. Especially the author’s use of dramatic irony.” Myrtle glanced around, hopeful that the now well-fed ladies would be nodding off to sleep and not listening to her, but to her chagrin, they appeared to be keenly interested.
Myrtle sighed and continued, “As readers, we knew Clarissa was betraying Chrissie with Randolph. Which made Chrissie’s interactions with Clarissa late in the story especially poignant.”
Bonnie’s face was bewildered. “I don’t understand, Miss Myrtle.”
“Don’t understand dramatic irony? Well, it’s been a very long time since you were in my class, Bonnie. I could refresh everyone’s memory, if you’d like.” Myrtle was eager to talk about something she really did know about and remove herself from the morass of the book as soon as possible.
Tippy said with her careful enunciation, “I believe, Myrtle, that Bonnie doesn’t understand how Clarissa would have interacted with Chrissie late in the story.”
Myrtle frowned. “The usual way. Talked to her. Or the modern equivalent: texted or emailed or something.”
“But Clarissa drowned in chapter four,” said Tippy gently, now searching Myrtle’s face for signs of a possible medical event.
Miles made a strangled noise and hid his face in his hands, shoulders shaking silently.
The ladies looked alarmed and Myrtle patted Miles’s knee. “Clarissa’s untimely demise always makes Miles tearful. He’s so sensitive, you know. Perhaps we’d be wise to avoid mentioning her for the time being.”
Tippy’s eyes were now a bit suspicious. She wouldn’t dare ask Myrtle outright if she’d read the book, though.
“It was a lovely book,” said Myrtle, smiling encouragingly at Bonnie. “I only wish the author had taken care not to name two characters with such similar names. Clarissa and Chrissie. What on earth was that writer thinking?”
There was some more scattered applause from the back of the room from other confused readers. Myrtle smiled in satisfaction. She’d at least made a very salient point.
“Your thoughts, Miles?” asked Tippy, looking at Miles in concern. Miles’s hands covered his mouth now, a marked improvement from covering his entire face.
Miles lowered his hands and said, “It was an interesting book. It made me think about how the ... um ... choices that we make in life change as we get older.” He looked around hopefully at the other book club members. But everyone seemed confused.
Tippy said, “But the main characters in the story were all millennials, Miles. They were all in their twenties.”
Miles said, stumbling over his words in his rush, “That’s exactly what I mean. Why would Chrissie choose Randolph over the fun-loving Pierre?”
Myrtle could see that the book club members desperately wanted to agree with Miles. Most of them harbored secret fantasies of standing at the altar with Miles Bradford beside them. But they just couldn’t quite figure out where he was coming from.
Tippy said sharply, “But Chrissie didn’t choose Randolph. Randolph was grief-stricken over the tragic death of Clarissa and ended up drinking himself to death.”
This statement prompted another muffled outburst from Miles, which he quickly covered up, hurriedly excusing himself as he strode in the direction of Tippy’s downstairs powder room.
Myrtle clicked her tongue. “He’s just devastated over that Clarissa.”
The ladies looked wistfully after him.