“And this is empty,” Rachel said as she held up the wine bottle.
Thanks, George!
Dawn stood straighter, and I marveled at how little her hair moved in the Georgia breeze. “According to Statute 12.3.5 of the Homeowners Agreement that you all signed, you are not supposed to be drinking alcoholic beverages from open containers in the cul-de-sac.”
“That specifically refers to outdoor barbecues and other functions that bring guests from outside the subdivision into this one, not personal use,” Abi said. “Anything else?”
If she thought she’d get away with it, Dawn probably would’ve stomped her foot. “After the debacle in the next cul-de-sac over in Washington Court, I’d also like to remind you that you must choose from the approved colors when painting your houseand shutters. Also, I see some grass that is too high inyouryard, Rachel, and weeds that need to be removed before Saturday. That is all.”
She turned on her heel and walked away as quickly as she’d come.
“Bless her heart, that woman needs a hobby.”
“Now, Vivian,” Abi warned.
I hadn’t actually meant to say the words out loud. At least I’d kept them under my breath. Now, however, I was warming to the topic. “I’m just saying. She should maybe channel some of that energy into running for public office rather than being president of the HOA.”
“I’m just glad Abi knows the statutes,” Rachel said. “David and I were so happy about being able to afford this house that we didn’t read all that stuff like we should have.”
“Always read the fine print. Always.”
After Abi’s admonition, we enjoyed our wine and crackers in silence.
“Is that the new neighbor?” asked Rachel.
Abi and I both looked toward the fourth house in our subdivision, the one that had been empty for months up until last weekend. Sure enough, a man with some kind of flowy fabric draped over his arm was headed our way.
“That it is,” Abi said. “Parker Ford, widower, father of one, works from home as a web designer.”
“Um, Abi?” I asked. “Do you have a file like that on each one of us?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she said with aMona Lisasmile.
Yeah, she had a file on each of us.
Rachel muttered something in Malayalam, her parents’ native language. She’d been born here in the United States, but she sometimes slipped into Malayalam—usually when she didn’t want us to know what she was saying.
I looked back to our rapidly approaching neighbor and guessed that Rachel had said something roughly equivalent to “tall drink of water.”
“Oh. Heispretty,” I said. She nodded as if to say,Nice translation!
Abi could only add, “Whew, Lord.”
We each sat up a little straighter.
“Hi, I’m, um, Parker.”
“Hi, Parker,” we all said together in the singsong of besotted schoolgirls.
“Welcome to Heritage Park! Would you like some wine?” Rachel asked, her eyes widening as she no doubt remembered that we’d killed the bottle with George’s help.
“Er, no, thank you,” he said, giving us a sideways why-are-my-neighbors-drinking-wine-while-sitting-out-in-the-cul-de-sac look.
Rachel sagged into her chair in relief and took a sip from her tumbler.
We introduced ourselves. Parker paused to kick at a rock before saying, “I hate to be that person who moves in and immediately asks for a favor, but I’m having a bit of a situation here.”
“What kind of favor?” Abi asked, her brown eyes sharp.
