Chapter 6 is up . . .
Late that night, after I'd come home, wearily washed my face, and popped open a cantaloupe juice, my phone rang. I knew even before it started ringing who it was.
“Hey, Rufus,” I said, knowing also he'd been drinking again.
“How do you do that?” he asked. “How do you always know it’s me when I know dang well the only thing my number says is ‘private’?”
“I don’t know,” I sighed, knowing also what was eventually coming.
“I sent you a present,” he said in that North Carolina nasal drawl of his, what my voice used to sound like before nine years in the city kung-fu-ed it out of me.
“C’mon, not another one. You've gotta stop, Ruf. You’ll get busted mailing that stuff.”
“Yeah. Uh-huh. I got bigger fish in the fire than a little slap on the wrist for mailing liquids.”
“Calm down, sis. I got to feelin you needed a little taste a home. You feelin homesick, Ellie?"
Click on over if you're in the mood to hear about Rufus, the ecovillage, and whether giant spleefs pair better with homebrew hooch, beer, or scuppernong wine . . .