We laughed and put the subject aside. I thought we had simply met a difficult neighbor. I didn't yet realize that Linda had looked at our unit number because she intended to remember it.
Three weeks passed. Summer settled heavily over the complex, bringing longer afternoons and evenings when the air remained warm enough to sit outside after dark. The pool became crowded, and the smell of someone else's cooking drifted across the property most weekends. Emily and I discussed buying a small grill. She liked making food at home, but our kitchen heated up quickly, and there was something satisfying about eating outside after a full week indoors.
Before purchasing anything, I read a recent association notice about outdoor cooking. It warned that charcoal grills and smokers weren't permitted around the condominium buildings. That struck me as reasonable. Flying embers near siding, wooden balconies, and landscaping mulch were not something I wanted either. We found a compact two-burner propane model that was easy to move and didn't take up half the storage closet. The store employee explained the basic safety features, and I checked the manufacturer's recommendations before loading it into the car.
I didn't buy it to provoke Linda. I bought it because Emily liked grilled burgers, I liked cooking them, and we were two ordinary people trying to enjoy a Saturday. I even selected a paved common area set well back from the building instead of placing the grill near a balcony or doorway. It was a place residents used for picnics, with tables, open space, and no overhead awning. I thought I'd taken the association notice seriously.
That afternoon, Emily carried paper plates and sliced tomatoes to the picnic table while I checked the fuel connection and started the burners. Odin lay on a mat under her supervision, occasionally looking from her to me with the grave expression of a dog who hoped patience would eventually result in food. The burgers had barely begun to sizzle when I heard a familiar voice.
"Oh, you have got to be kidding me."
Emily closed her eyes. "Civilian voice," she murmured.
"I know."
Linda approached across the pavement, walking fast enough that her ponytail moved sharply behind her. She didn't say hello or ask whether the grill belonged to us. Her gaze fixed on the appliance as though she had encountered a fire spreading toward the pool house.
"That grill is not allowed," she announced.
"Good afternoon, Linda."
"Turn it off."
"Can you show me the rule?"
"I just told you."
"I heard you. I was asking where it's written."
The change in her expression was immediate. Her lips pressed together, and the tendons in her neck became visible. I wasn't sure why a request for the governing language seemed so offensive to her. When somebody in my professional life told me a procedure had changed, I expected them to identify the order, paragraph, or safety requirement that had changed it. Otherwise nobody could know whether they were complying.
"All grilling is prohibited in the common area," she said.
"The notice mentioned charcoal grills and smokers. This is propane."
"That doesn't mean propane is allowed."