Yankee Doodle Dixie by Lisa Patton

Sometime there ain’t nothin’ any finer than this right here.” She holds up the bottle and takes a long swig. “Ahhhh. I thank the Lawd every day He lets me have another.”
    “The only problem with these is eight ounces isn’t always enough. I’ll get you one more.”
    “No, baby. I can’t have but one. My sugar’s been actin’ up any way.”
    “I thought it was better.”
    “One day it is. Next day it ain’t. Dr. Jones says I need to lay off my sweets.” Kissie loves pies, cakes, candy, and especially Hershey’s Kisses. She says she loves the way they melt on her tongue.
    I close my eyes and sigh; the last thing I want to hear is that anything is awry with her.
    “Kissie is okay—”
    A loud knock on the door interrupts her sentence.
    “Who in the world?”
    “Maybe the movers forgot somethin’,” she says.
    I shrug my shoulders. “Finish your Coke, I’ll be right back.”
    When I open the front door there’s a man with dark brown hair beaming at me. He’s wearing a black and turquoise windbreaker with “Tupperware,” of all things, written across his right breast. One hand is shoved in the pocket of his khaki pants and the other is holding some sort of orange-colored cleaning product. He’s not bad looking or anything but his hairdo makes me think he’s in the military. It’s a little longer on the top and from what I can tell it seems to be buzzed in the back. “Hi,” I say hesitantly.
    “Hi! I’m, Wiley. I live in the house next door.” He takes his left hand out of his pocket and switches hands with the cleaning product before reaching out his right hand to shake mine.
    “I’m Leelee Satterfield. Nice to meet you.” I respond as pleasantly as possible when you’re covered in dust and have been cleaning and moving all day long.
    “And this is Luke.” He points to the dog at his side. Luke’s not on a leash but he doesn’t move from his perch.
    “Hi Luke,” I say, and bend down to pat his head. The pooch looks up at me with appreciation. “What kind is he? A Lab?”
    “Half Lab. Half something else, maybe.” The man leans in closer, lowers his voice and speaks out of the side of his mouth. “I got him at the pound. Had a feeling he might be put to sleep.”
    “He’s so sweet.” I scratch the dog under his chin and down his back. “We never would want you put to sleep, Luke, never.”
    “Watch what you say. He’s pwetty smart.”
    “Oh. Gosh. I’m sorry.”
    “It’s okay. I named him after Luke Skywalker.” Upon hearing his name, Luke peers over at his master. “I see you’re moving in.” He pokes his head in my door and glances around at the living room on the left and the dining room on the right side of the foyer. “Would you like some help?”
    “Oh no. You’re nice to ask but you don’t have to do that.”
    “I insist. Let me just go put ole Lukey boy up and I’ll be back. Second thought, can he stay in your backyard? That way I can look out on him.”
    “Actually … Wiley,” I say, trying to politely come up with an excuse as to why all I want is some peace and quiet.
    “It’s not Wiley, it’s W iley.”
    I tilt my head.
    “With an aar .”
    “Oh my gosh! Excuse me. Riley. ” How embarrassing. I feel just awful. He’s obviously got a speech impediment. Now I have to invite him in. “You can let Luke out through the patio door in the den, if you want.”
    “Oh no he cain’t!” Kissie hollers from the kitchen. “I just finished vacuumin’ those carpets. I don’t want no big dawg trackin’ mud through this house.”
    “Oh he won’t bwing in mud.” Riley puts his hand aside his mouth, and calls from the front door, leaning in toward the foyer, “It’s not wet outside.”
    My coy smile lets Riley know that I’m humoring Kissie and I ask him to please take Luke around back. Within a minute flat, Riley’s knocking on the back patio door. Kissie’s closest so she lets him in.
    “Kissie, I’d like for you to meet my next-door