She stopped, turned sharply, and marched toward me. I took out my phone, started an ordinary audio and video recording of the open-air conversation, and placed it where I could leave my hands free for safe cooking. I did not conceal what I was doing. The phone was in plain sight beside my water bottle.
"Are you serious?" Linda called before she reached us.
"Good morning, Linda."
"You were told not to grill here."
"I remember."
"Turn that thing off."
I checked the flame, moved the handle of the pan farther from the edge, and looked up at her. "No."
She stared at me. It was a very small word, but the way I said it seemed to upset her more than a lengthy argument could have done. There was no sarcasm in my voice, no curse she could quote, and no invitation to a fight. I was standing on a strip of grass the association did not own, doing something the city had authorized and the fire office had reviewed, and I did not intend to pretend otherwise for the sake of making the morning easier.
Linda planted herself between the grill and the sidewalk, one hand on her hip, the other holding her coffee. "You're violating association rules," she said. "We made that perfectly clear last weekend."
"I'm not on association property."
She laughed. "This entire landscaped area is ours. We maintain it."
"The association owns the parcel behind that line," I said, pointing at the reference markers. "I'm standing on the municipal side."
Linda looked at the stakes. She shifted her cup to her other hand and stepped toward one of them, then stopped when she noticed the sketch resting inside my open binder. "What are those things?" she demanded.
"Survey reference markers. They're temporary and removable."
"You can't put markers on association property without permission."
"They're on the city parcel, and I have permission for this temporary setup."
"I've served on this board for nine years," she said again. "I know where our boundaries are."
I had heard the sentence so often by then that I knew what generally came next. She would repeat it in a louder voice, I would ask her to check the record, and she would change the subject to respect. The difficulty was that this time she had already convinced herself I was deliberately defying a restriction she had created. Facts were not part of the argument she believed she was having.
"Then this should be easy to clear up," I said. "I've got the recorded plat right here."
"I don't need a resident explaining the association's property to me."
"You don't have to take my word for it. The city confirmed its ownership."
Her gaze moved to my phone. "Are you recording me?"
"Yes. It's an open conversation and I want an accurate record of what's said."
"That is incredibly disrespectful."
"You can speak to me or not. I'm not stopping you from leaving."