Millie is a fan of a no-fuss-no-muss approach to photography. We quickly secured a chair, setting it just in front of Waldo, and set up the tripod for the camera. Lynde Senior chatted away about the weather and the art of photography as she carted in snacks on tiny plates, perching them on various books.

Beverly was a fan of art, period. She liked mixed medium work. But adored portraits. She loved textile work. And sculpture so long as it wasn’t too big on itself. She wanted to be delighted, she said, and sometimes even challenged.

Once there was a snack balancing on every surface, Lynde Senior took her seat and Millie got behind the camera.

“This is perfect,” Millie said. “Just relax and talk to Anne; I don’t want you too stiff.”

“Not yet, at least.” Lynde Senior winked.

!!!

“Well, then. Where on earth did you get that lovely sweater, Anne?” Beverly Lynde clapped her hands together.

“It’s vintage.” I held up the belled sleeves. “I got it at a place in Petaluma, where we used to live.”

Millie’s camera clicked.

“It’s gorgeous. Bright colors don’t appeal to my pallor but I adore them.” Lynde Senior turned her head slightly. “Now, Anne, how are you finding Greenville? You’ve only just arrived, correct? A few weeks? How does it measure up?”

“Oh, um.” I snatched a cookie off the plate. “It’s great. I love it here.”

I was mid-munch when Beverly Lynde, I shit you not, snorted. Millie chuckled, snapping another picture.

“What’s so funny?” I wiped the crumbs off my sweater.

“My dear girl. Greenville, do not get me wrong, is a lovely, beautiful place. Picturesque even.” She adjusted her layers. “But it is a well-known fact that its residents have very old, well-worn sticks up their butts!”

I shock-coughed so hard a little piece of cookie actually shot out of my nose.

“Well, then.” Millie chuckled as she rummaged in her bag for a different lens.

“Greenville is not good with the new on any level, so I am hard pressed to imagine them being receptive to a multidimensional daisy like yourself,” Lynde Senior finished, adjusting her robes.

Mental note: I am a multidimensional daisy.

“I mean,” I said, cautious, “I would say they seem a little. . .like. . .traditional. Here.”

Lynde Senior, aka My Favorite Lynde, reached forward and snatched a cookie off a nearby plate, popping it into her mouth whole. “My family has been here for generations, my girl, so I say this from experience. Greenville is a city that has always rewarded and housed the small-minded.”

My Favorite Lynde adjusted in her seat, tossing her braid over her shoulder. “I was the first woman in my family, and the town, to practice law and to choose a career over marriage. And what did they do? In light of my successes?”

I shook my head, legitimately curious to hear what she was going to say next.