The Darling Dahlias and the Silver Dollar Bush

“They’ll eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches,” Myra May retorted, thinking that Violet really ought to face the facts. “At home.”


Half annoyed, she took the flyswatter off its hook and swatted a fly crawling across the glass top of Raylene’s pie cabinet. She loved her friend and partner dearly, but sometimes that determined optimism was a little hard to take. Violet had an outgoing personality, curly brown hair, deep-set brown eyes, and a Cupid’s bow smile framed by a deep dimple in each cheek. She liked to wear swirly, flower-print georgette dresses with a touch of feminine lace and she spoke in a honeyed Southern voice. But this didn’t mean she was girlish or a pushover—definitely not a pushover, in fact, because Violet had her own ideas about the way things ought to be done, and she was happy to tell you exactly how that was. And since Myra May always spoke her mind, too, she and Violet sometimes disagreed. But they had a great deal of affection for each other, so they always mended their fences as fast as they could.

But it was, as Aunt Hetty Little said, a case of opposites attracting. Where Violet was friendly and vivacious and took everybody on their own terms, Myra May was just the opposite: moody, frequently melancholy, usually critical, and (according to some) a regular sourpuss. Nobody had ever called her pretty, and she would’ve felt like a total idiot in a georgette dress.

In fact, Myra May was the only Darling woman who dared to wear trousers every single day of the week. She was tall and strong, with short brown hair, a decided mouth, a prominent nose, and a probing glance that sometimes made people sneak a look down to make sure they were buttoned and zipped. Her no-nonsense practicality and business sense had made the diner a going concern since the day she and Violet had thrown in their lot together and bought it from old Mrs. Hooper, who would never have sold out if her ankles hadn’t started swelling so bad she couldn’t stay on her feet all day, the way she used to.

At the same time, they also bought Mrs. Hooper’s half of the Darling Telephone Exchange. It only made sense, Myra May told Violet, since the switchboard was located in the diner’s back room, so they might as well have the whole kit and caboodle. Or the whole kit and half the caboodle, Violet corrected, because Mr. Whitney Whitworth owned the other half of the Exchange. Mr. Whitworth was a real pain in the patootie to work with, but they couldn’t get out of the agreement unless they bought him out, which they couldn’t, so there wasn’t any point in barking up that tree.

Myra May turned as the kitchen door opened and Raylene Riggs stepped through, clad in her print cotton cook’s smock.

“Grammy Ray!” Cupcake chortled.

Raylene scooped up the little girl and gave her a big smoochy kiss. Turning to Myra May, she said, “Things are a little slow in the kitchen so I thought I’d go ahead and get started on supper. How many chickens do you reckon I ought to cut up? Two, maybe? Three?”