Free Let It Go by Brooklyn James Page A

says, shaking her head and waving her hand at them, returning to the house.
    “Do you ladies,” Savannah begins, stressing the term, “think we can enjoy some tea without throwing it on each other?”
    “Ask the ol’ weed-slinger.” Jac giggles, pointing to Vangie, impressed with her edgy spirit.
    Vangie laughs, her cheeks slightly blushing from her less than ladylike behavior. “I believe I can refrain,” she says. Savannah stands, offering her hands to them, helping them up.
    Buffy returns from the house, the Savannah Sun Times Sunday edition in her hand, a jug of water in the other. “Saw your column this morning, Savannah. It’s very good,” she approves, laying the newspaper on the picnic table.
    “‘Taking Out The Trash by Savannah Bondurant,’” Luka reads the title slowly, her first grade literary skills gaining ground.
    “Very good,” Savannah compliments, patting Luka on the back.
    “You’re the garbage reporter, Aunt Vannah?” Zoey inquires innocently.
    Savannah chuckles. “Something like that, Miss Zoey.” She talks out of the corner of her mouth, “Especially if you ask some of my reviewers.”
    Jac, within earshot, always has her sister’s back. “Everyone’s a critic, huh?” she pipes. “Tell them to take a stab at it, if they think they can do any better.” Jac quickly picks up the newspaper, swiping it out from under Vangie’s hand. “Elders first,” she taunts playfully.
    “What’s it about?” Vangie asks. “The number one cause of couples arguing over who’s going to take out the trash,” she presumes, knowing Savannah writes a marriage column.
    Luka giggles. “Mama gets on Daddy all the time about the trash at our house. She says, ‘Payton, that trash isn’t going to take itself out.’”
    “And Daddy says, ‘Well, I guess you better take it out, then.’” Zoey giggles and snorts. “Then he gooses her bottom and takes that trash right out the door.”
    Buffy marvels at her comedic granddaughter, working around her animated arms, diligently tending her mud-stained dress.
    “You bet he does,” Vangie adds. “Your daddy’s no fool. He knows dinner doesn’t make itself either.” She eyes Jac, who reads through the column.
    “It’s a metaphor,” Jac says, “for letting go of the baggage we accumulate from past relationships.” She looks up from the paper. “I like it, Savannah. That’s pretty clever.”
    “I’d like to take all the credit, but I had some help with the hook,” Savannah says.
    “Brody,” Jac concludes. “Has he been married before, too?”
    “Yeah.” Savannah quickly follows up at the discretion of her mother’s and Vangie’s glances. “It was a clean separation. No kiddos. They just drifted apart. Kind of like Jack and I.” She shrugs. “It’s nice, actually, to have someone to relate to.”
    “I don’t know, Savannah,” Buffy begins, “you know what they say. If a man can’t make one marriage work, how do you expect him to make it work with you?”
    “I’m not marrying the man, Mama. I’m just getting to know him.” Savannah sits down across from Jac and Vangie at the picnic table.
    “And just how well have you,” aware of the youthful ears lingering, Jac rephrases her otherwise blunt inquiry, “come to know him?”
    “Not that well, Jac.” Savannah smiles at her, diverting her eyes.
    “Ah, but you want to…so say your eyes.” Jac grins.
    “I think you two should get as much tree house time as you can before we have to leave.” Vangie shoos Luka and Zoey from the table, her own non-virgin ears now piqued with interest.
    “Yeah, yeah, yeah. We know.” Luka says. “Little ears need not apply.” She and Zoey race away to the ladder, scooting up into the wooden playhouse.
    “You like this guy that much?” Vangie returns to the conversation.
    “I think lust would be the operative word,” Jac corrects, to which Savannah agrees notably considering her empty bed of two years.
    “You girls and your