Chapter 1 - The Stakes in the Ground
“Take those stakes out. The association has rejected your house.”
I was standing on the only piece of land my husband and I had ever owned when Celia Voss delivered that sentence as casually as a weather report.
Behind me, Owen held a rubber mallet. Four yellow survey stakes marked the corners of our future kitchen. He had spent all morning measuring them, checking the distances twice, and teasing me about where I planned to put the coffee maker.
Celia had arrived in a dark SUV with a folder tucked beneath her arm. She hadn't stepped onto the property. She stood at the gravel shoulder of Alder Run Road in Cornwall, Connecticut, looking down at us as if she were inspecting a mistake.
“Our architect submitted the revised drawings three weeks ago,” I said. “We haven't received a decision.”
“You're receiving one now.”
Owen set down the mallet. “A written decision?”
“It will follow.” Celia glanced at the stakes. “The board considers the structure incompatible with the valley.”
Our proposed house was two stories, cedar-sided, with a modest stone chimney and a covered porch. Twenty-one hundred and fifty square feet, counting a small room where Owen could repair furniture. We had already cut it down from the first design to protect three old maples near the road.
“You told us to move it uphill,” Owen said. “We moved it uphill.”
“Not high enough to preserve the character of the approach.”
“You said it was too visible from the road,” I answered. “Moving it uphill makes it more visible.”
For the first time, Celia looked annoyed. “Mrs. Ellis, please don't turn this into an argument.”
“We bought a legal building lot,” I said.
“You bought a lot subject to association review.”
She turned toward her SUV. Owen called after her.
“We have a construction loan deadline.”
Celia stopped. “Then you should consider a different design.”
When she drove away, I picked up one stake and pressed it back into the ground. Owen didn't say anything. He was staring at his phone.
“What?” I asked.
He showed me the bank's email. Our approved loan rate and builder reservation expired in sixty days. Without architectural clearance, the lender would not release the construction money.
“We can fix this,” I said.
But Owen looked toward the road where Celia's tires had left two clean tracks in the dust.
May you like
“Mara,” he said, “what if there isn't a design she wants us to build?”
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