Fine.
She installed a taller privacy fence.
Also fine.
Then she listed her house eight months later.
The day the sale sign went up, Luke came into the kitchen.
“Did you see?”
“Yes.”
“Are you happy?”
I thought about it.
“Relieved.”
“Same thing.”
“Not exactly.”
Teenagers dislike distinctions that adults need.
Before Bethany moved, I saw her one last time near the mailboxes.
I could have walked past.
She spoke first.
“Graham.”
I stopped.
She looked tired.
Not defeated.
Just tired.
“You got what you wanted.”
I shook my head.
“What do you think I wanted?”
“You wanted me off the board.”
“No.”
“You wanted the project exposed.”
“I wanted the records.”
She laughed bitterly.
“You always say that.”
“Because it’s true.”
She looked toward the clubhouse roof visible between the trees.
“You know the neighborhood likes the renovation.”
“I like it.”
That surprised her.
“The kitchen is great.”
“Then what was all of this for?”
“The board didn’t get to decide that liking the result erased the rules.”
She stared at me.
Then said:
“You have no idea how hard it is to get ninety-two homeowners to agree on anything.”
“I believe that.”
“If we had put every improvement to a vote, people would have argued for six months.”
“Probably.”
“We would have paid more.”
“Maybe.”
“So what was I supposed to do?”
That was the trap she had built for herself.
She believed efficiency made authority unnecessary.
I said:
“Ask.”
She looked annoyed.
“That simple?”
“Yes.”
“And if people said no?”
“Then they said no.”
She shook her head.
“You’re naive.”
“Maybe.”
Then I asked:
“Why the AC?”
She looked away.
For several seconds, I thought she would refuse.
Then:
“The petition was at seventeen.”
I knew.
“Renee and Marcus already had violations drafted.”
“You filed them.”
“Yes.”
“You needed three signatures removed.”
She nodded.
“I thought once the petition failed, the whole thing would lose momentum.”
“And my AC?”
“Your other complaints kept getting dismissed.”
There it was.
Basketball hoop.
Trash bin.
Shed paint.
None worked.
“So you created one that couldn’t be dismissed.”
She swallowed.
“I thought you’d repair it.”
“I did.”
“Pay the fine.”
“I didn’t.”
“And by the time you appealed, the record date would pass.”
Exactly.
The sabotage was not intended primarily to cost me thousands of dollars.
The AC was collateral.
What she really needed was an unresolved violation on the right date.
A red mark beside my name in the HOA system.