The vote was taken by written ballot and counted in front of two homeowners who were not on the board. Twenty-seven voted in favor of recall and no confidence in Brenda's leadership, four opposed. The number was announced twice so there could be no mistake. For a moment Brenda did not move at all.
"This is a mistake," she said finally. "You'll find out what running a place like this really costs."
Nobody answered with the celebration she seemed to expect. The room was too tired, too full of damaged homes and years of explanations that had led nowhere. Doug asked the secretary to record the result and schedule the board action needed to appoint an interim president under the governing documents. Brenda gathered her handbag, sunglasses, and clipboard and walked toward the door without looking at the homeowners who had stood up.
Through the front window, I watched her enter the Tahoe. She stayed in the driver's seat, hands on the steering wheel, without starting the engine. I did not feel the satisfaction I had imagined I might feel. My basement was still damaged, Tom's crawl space still smelled of mildew, and Emma still looked nervous when clouds gathered. One vote could change the people in a meeting, but it could not move water out of anyone's home.
Doug asked me to stay after the meeting. He looked exhausted, and I could see he was already beginning to understand what the job ahead would involve. The new board would need to review the association's finances, find lawful ways to suspend disputed enforcement actions, work with county investigators, and commission an independent engineering analysis. It would also have to tell homeowners the truth about what fixing the system might cost.
"Would you help us understand the options?" he asked.
"Yes, but I won't be the only person reviewing my own work," I answered. "You'll need an independent engineer and counsel, and you'll need to publish the findings. This neighborhood has had enough decisions made between relatives and friends without anyone else seeing the drawings."
Doug nodded. "I was hoping you'd say that."
As I drove home, I called Tom's wife to say the meeting had ended and I was on my way. She handed the phone to Emma, who wanted to know what had happened. I told her the homeowners had voted for a different kind of board and that the county was still working on the drainage problem.
"Did you tell the truth?" she asked.
"Every word I could prove."
"Did your voice shake?"
I laughed, surprised by the question. "A little at the start."
"That's okay," she said. "Mommy said you could do it anyway."
I parked beneath the oak tree and sat for a moment in the dark before going inside. On the passenger seat lay the manila folder that had become part of my life, its corners softened by months of use. It had begun with a flooded playroom and a photograph of red clay. Now it contained the first real possibility that Brierstone Ridge might stop blaming the people being hurt and begin fixing what was actually wrong.