Just Vanessa.
She stopped near the new survey marker.
That mattered.
She did not cross it.
I walked toward her.
“What do you need?”
She looked beyond me at the fabrication building.
“You really are leaving that there.”
“It’s a building.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes.”
She looked toward the young evergreens.
“They’ll take years.”
“Yes.”
“The old trees were taller than the houses.”
“Yes.”
For once, she did not argue.
The silence between us felt different without an HOA title standing inside it.
After a while she said, “I didn’t think the contractor would remove all twelve.”
I stared at her.
“The work order said twelve.”
“I know what it says.”
“What did you think twelve meant?”
She looked away.
There was no answer.
“The homeowners were pressuring me.”
“That doesn’t make the trees theirs.”
“They believed their property values were being affected.”
“That doesn’t make the trees theirs either.”
Vanessa looked toward the water.
“I thought the HOA had maintenance rights.”
“Your attorney told you not to proceed.”
Her eyes returned to mine.
“You saw those emails.”
“Yes.”
“Of course you did.”
We stood quietly.
Then she asked, “Would you ever paint the building?”