Rachel screwed her face up and shook her head.
I should’ve waited until they were feeling the wine a little more.
“The Mom Scouts channel isyourproject,” Abi said. “I support you, but I am not dressed for being captured digitally forever.”
“I think you both look perfectly lovely,” I said, gesturing to her yellow top. Rachel wore a cream sweater and khaki pants but managedto look more like a model than the kindergarten teacher she was. As the lone white woman in the group, I felt a little washed-out next to the two of them. I frowned down at the powder-blue blouse I wore.
“Good evening, ladies!”
Coming up the hill, just in time for his wine and Cheez-Its, was George. He liked to walk his dog in our general direction on Wednesdays, and we didn’t mind his visits because, as the Heritage Park Homeowners’ Association secretary, he kept us in the know.
He looked down at his gorgeous Australian shepherd. “Rucker, sit.”
Rucker, who was named for the lead singer of Hootie & the Blowfish, sat. He clearly wanted some Cheez-Its, but he sat.
“What brings you to the end of Oregon Trail this fine evening?” I asked. “I see you’ve managed to avoid dysentery. Have you lost your oxen, though?”
George laughed. “I’d say that joke never gets old, but I’d be lying.”
“Seriously, if you’ve heard one dysentery joke, you’ve heard them all,” muttered Rachel.
She was just sore because we’d played the Oregon Trail card game last week, and she’d lost.
I ignored her and turned to George. “Thanks for laughing at my joke anyway.”
“I can’t offend the ladies who share their wine with me,” he said. “But I have to warn you that something worse than dysentery is headed this way.”
He held out a red plastic cup. Rachel poured wine, then passed him the bottle so he could see what he was drinking.
“Dawn?” asked Abi with an arched eyebrow.
He nodded affirmatively and handed back the bottle. “She is on a tear tonight. Jennifer in the next cul-de-sac over painted two shutters different colors because she was trying to figure out which shade she liked better.”
“Mm, mm, mm,” Abi said, shaking her head. “She knew better than that.”
Rachel glanced at her yard and sighed. “David and I haven’t had time to weed our front landscaping. Do you think she’ll notice?”
George tilted his head to one side as if to say,What do you think?
We all knew the answer to Rachel’s question. Of course Dawn would notice. She’d made it her life’s mission to enforce each and every strict little regulation in our subdivision covenant. Most of them, like not giving Jennifer a moment to decide which shade of paint she’d prefer for her shutters, were patently ridiculous.
“Well, thanks for the heads-up, George,” I said.
“Just doing my civic duty,” he said with a salute. “Thanks for sharing the good stuff.”
“Anything for you, George,” Rachel said.
George and Rucker hadn’t been gone long when a briskly walking female form appeared at the top of the hill.
“That woman really interferes with my ability to enjoy my wine,” Rachel whispered.
“Are you kidding? She interferes with our ability to enjoylife,” I said as I passed out the lids that went with our tumblers.
“Ladies,” Dawn Crawford said, only slightly out of breath due to a strict regimen of running and kickboxing. Tall, blond, and lithe, she probably had her picture next to “glamazon” in the dictionary. “I believe we’ve discussed the rule saying that you shouldn’t have open containers in public.”
“Ah, but it’s not open,” I said as I closed the plastic tab on the lid of my tumbler.
She huffed. “That’s not what I meant, and you know—”
