“It is painted.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Something lighter?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Green?”
“No.”
“Why?”
I looked at the charcoal panels.
“Because I like it.”
For half a second, something almost resembling a smile touched her face.
Then she shook her head.
“You enjoy this.”
“No.”
She looked surprised by how quickly I answered.
And I meant it.
“If I could choose between that building and the old trees, I’d still have the trees.”
Vanessa glanced toward the stump locations.
“My father planted them.”
She said nothing.
“They were here before Silver Ridge.”
Nothing.
“Before the houses.”
She lowered her eyes.
“Before anybody on that ridge decided the view across my land belonged to them.”
Vanessa looked toward Lake Hartwell.
The water was bright that afternoon.
The new evergreens barely reached above my shoulder.
I continued.
“You thought those trees were blocking something valuable.”
Then I turned toward the fabrication building.
“But they were also hiding something you didn’t want to see.”
That was when I think Vanessa finally understood the whole story.
Not the permit.
Not the settlement.
Not the board vote.
The irony.
She had wanted to know what existed beyond the pines.