Chapter 2 - The Color Chart
Emma spread six watercolor swatches across our kitchen table: pine, fern, emerald, mint, lime, and a startling shade she labeled WHAT EVEN IS THIS.
"That last one is illegal in at least four countries," I said.
"You checked?"
"I have eyes."
Her grin lasted only until the printer on my desk beeped. An email from the property manager confirmed a proposed hearing date. Failure to correct the lawn could lead to a fine after the association's notice and hearing process.
The laughter left the table.
"We can't afford another bill," Emma said.
I hated that she knew. We weren't in danger of losing the house, but my car needed tires, her school orchestra trip deposit was due, and my company had cut overtime. A fine wasn't funny just because the amount hadn't been set.
"This stays between me and the HOA," I said. "You have enough going on."
"You say that whenever I'm already in it."
She went to her room. I read the bylaws instead of following her, because rules were easier to untangle than a daughter's disappointment.
The next morning I visited Gabe Torres, who maintained athletic fields across Mesa. I knew him from the repair company; his crews occasionally needed emergency parts from ours. He listened while I explained the dead patches and the threatening notices.
"You could replace the whole lawn," he said. "Expensive in July, though. Or you could use a turf colorant. Sports fields do it when grass goes dormant."
"Paint?"
"A pigment formulated for grass. Different from dumping house paint out there. You'll still have to keep the lawn maintained, and it doesn't make dead roots grow back."
I showed him the association's exact wording.
He read it twice. "Well. They certainly gave themselves room to argue."
"Do they make it in bright green?"
Gabe laughed, then saw my expression. "Nora, what are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking about what 'predominantly green appearance' means to a woman who keeps showing up with photographs."
He would only sell me product if I tested it on a hidden strip and followed the label. I agreed. I wasn't going to contaminate runoff or ruin my own yard to make a point.
At home I found Emma at the kitchen counter filling out an orchestra form. I placed Gabe's sample card beside it.
"You were right about shades," I said. "If we do anything, I need an artist who can plan it without making a mess."
She stared at the card. "You said I shouldn't be involved."
"I was wrong about that. You live here too. But we don't do this unless it's safe, reversible, and allowed. Deal?"
May you like
She shook my hand solemnly. "Deal."
Then she pulled the HOA tour flyer off the refrigerator and circled the date in red.
