Sure enough, three days after that first balcony exchange, I was checking the mailbox at the end of my gravel driveway when I heard heels crunching behind me. I already knew who it was before I turned around.
Valerie had swapped the cup for a designer tote, but the expression was the same.
“We need to talk about your vehicle,” she said.
“We really don’t,” I replied, pulling a stack of envelopes out of the mailbox. “It’s parked on my property.”
“It’s hideous,” Valerie replied.
My face turned red.
My neighbor stepped closer, close enough that I could smell her perfume, then looked me up and down.
“Let me be clear with you, sweetheart. Maybe people like you don’t belong in a neighborhood like this. Normal, wealthy people live here. Not single moms in rusted-out Chevrolets.”
I was livid!
“My daughter and I live here now,” I said. “You’ll have to get used to the view.”
“We’ll see about that.”
She walked off, her heels clicking, and I stood there staring at a water bill until my hands stopped shaking.
I didn’t know Olivia had heard until dinner.
