Next morning.
I carried the garbage down the walkway, opened the top, and dropped it inside, before waving over to the neighbor who constantly stuck her nose in anybody"s business. Retta was in her late-sixties, widowed, and her kids lived out of the state. Since I moved to the area seven months ago, I’d gotten to know her, and she hung with my mom when she visited. Retta knew everyone’s business; even Chelsey’s parents came up in conversation sometimes when I was out here doing yard work or working out. I stepped back in the house, shut the screen door, and went to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, kissing the side of Chelsey’s neck. She tried to move away, and I shook my head at her little attitude from last night.
“You"re not talking to me today.”
“Possibly.”
“Peanut.”
“Xavier.
