at lying.”
Before I could answer, someone called from the other side of the fence.
“Looks like you’re getting quite a harvest.”
Our neighbor Monica stood there, peering through the branches.
She was around fifty and somehow always looked perfectly dressed, even while gardening.
Monica had known Daniel long before I had.
They’d grown up around the same people and had apparently dated briefly when they were young.
Daniel told me about it years ago when Monica inherited her parents’ house next door and moved back into the neighborhood.
I
