I spent the afternoon checking. I walked to the outer strip with the maps on my phone and located the fixed reference features shown on the plat. I measured cautiously, then repeated the measurements because county mapping displays could not replace a professional boundary survey if the line was disputed. The intended placement lay comfortably on the municipal side according to the recorded references. I did not dig holes, install posts, or interfere with any drainage feature. For my own notes I used temporary, removable reference markers, positioned where they wouldn't obstruct pedestrians or maintenance.
The number I wrote down was three feet and eight inches. That was the distance from the recorded HOA boundary to the spot where I intended to stand. It wasn't a random number selected because it sounded precise. It came from repeated measurements and the reference information I'd been able to verify. The grill would sit on the same side of the line, separated from the nearest structure by more than the required clearance, on a stable surface away from the channel itself.
I took photographs of the site from several directions. I recorded what I measured and how I measured it, noting that an official survey would be the right next step if the parcel line became contested. I also made a note to remove the temporary markers after the activity so they wouldn't become litter or an obstacle. There was something ridiculous about devoting so much attention to a Sunday meal. Yet a wrong answer about the ownership of Emily's property could cost us money, and I had already learned that Linda liked to present certainty as proof.
That evening, I printed everything. The recorded plat and parcel information went behind a blue divider labeled PROPERTY. Fire regulations and the email guidance went behind FIRE. The relevant HOA sections and the written exchange about the previous grill incident went behind ASSOCIATION. I added a copy of the relevant correspondence we had received, with dates, because memory was often less reliable than people imagined once an argument began.
Emily entered the dining room carrying a basket of folded laundry. She stopped when she saw the printer still operating. On the table lay the kind of document stack usually associated with refinancing a house or applying for a government contract.
"What is all that?"
"A folder."
"Mark, it has tabs."
"Yes."
She picked it up and read the labels. "Property, Fire, Association, Communications." Then she turned another divider. "Why does this one say police?"
"Organization."
She lowered the binder. "You want Linda to call the police."
"I want to know what to show anyone who asks."
"You absolutely want them to call the police."
"I don't need them to call anybody."
"You put together a binder with a police section because you're preparing for a quiet afternoon?"
"A quiet afternoon would be my first choice."
She looked at the papers, then at me. "That's the most military answer you've given me since the day we met."