Chapter 17 - The Vote
On the last Thursday in September, the board considered my application first.
Rachel summarized the revised planting plan, the committee's drainage questions, and Gabe's responses. The proposal included a clear path, drip irrigation, low-water plants, and a maintenance schedule. It required no special access to common property.
Walter moved to approve it with two ordinary conditions: the drip system must stay on my lot, and the proposed shrubs couldn't obstruct the sidewalk when mature. I agreed. The motion passed four to one. Denise voted against.
Next came the decorative-display complaint. Lorraine noted that the current written policy did not define temporary turf color as a decoration and did not specify allowable patterns. Denise argued that my admitted intention to provoke the HOA proved bad faith.
"Bad judgment isn't automatically a written-rule violation," Todd said. "And we're supposed to decide the complaint in front of us."
The board voted to close it without a fine. I didn't cheer. I thought about the hours lost, the money spent, Carla's anger, and Emma's face when strangers photographed our house. Winning a decision didn't refund any of that.
Then came the proposed standards.
The directors agreed to circulate a revised draft for member comments and schedule a final adoption vote under the association's procedures. The working group's version would be the starting point. Denise's rigid percentage requirement was not included, though she could submit it with supporting information during the comment period.
"We have to be consistent," Denise said after the motion passed.
"That's what this is for," Lorraine replied.
After the meeting Denise approached me by the exit. For once her tone was quiet.
"I wanted people to take pride in this place. You made the board look foolish."
"I made my own family miserable for part of the summer," I said. "I'm not proud of that. But you kept telling me to make a lawn green without saying what green meant."
Denise looked toward the door, where Emma waited with Otis.
"You could've asked nicely," she said.
"I did. Three times."
She had no answer. She walked past me into the parking lot.
On the drive home Emma asked whether we could finally retire the paint swatches. I said yes. She asked whether I'd be tempted to turn our next disagreement into a neighborhood performance.
May you like
"Probably," I admitted. "You have permission to stop me."
"Good," she said. "Because next time I'm charging a design fee."
