IT WAS STILL DARK OUTSIDE when Myrtle woke up the next morning. Thinking a cool breeze or chirping crickets would help her sleep, she’d left her window open all night. Unfortunately, Myrtle had awakened sticky from the moist, heavy summer air. She showered and dressed in a cool cotton top and skirt.
This was the day she’d promised Prissy she’d read at Little Lambs Preschool. She cleared her throat of its early-morning gruffness and tried out a syrupy storytelling voice that she imagined Prissy might approve of. No good. She fell back on her technique from forty-five years ago: silly sound effects and vigorous gesticulating.
Myrtle was about to head out for an early-morning walk when she saw Jo ringing Elaine’s doorbell. Wasn’t it too early for her to be there? And...wasn’t it the wrong
