Chapter 6 - The Number That Grew
Owen studied the screenshot, then reached for a ruler.
“The number is wrong. The perspective is misleading. But whoever sent this may actually believe it.”
“Peter started the email chain,” I said.
“We don't know who made this.”
He was right, and that irritated me almost as much as the lie.
We asked Nia to prepare a one-page comparison with the actual floor area, roof height, and a ground-level photograph taken from the same bend. She charged us for two hours. At the site visit with Ruth, the ground was wet from a cold spring rain. She carried a walking stick. Owen showed her the front porch on the proposed location, then the lower site Celia had suggested.
Ruth sank her stick into the mud. “This one's a basin.”
“Yes,” Owen said. “Water collects here after a storm.”
“Then don't build there just because someone likes the way it looks from the road.”
We walked a third position along the edge of the clearing. From Ruth's kitchen window, the house would stand behind the maples. It needed only a shorter driveway and a different angle for the porch. Nia later confirmed that it was feasible, although the septic engineer would need to check the remaining separation distances.
For the first time in weeks, we had a change that seemed to solve an actual neighbor's concern rather than chase an invisible standard.
We submitted a request for a meeting with the entire board and attached the comparison sheet. Evan acknowledged receipt. Celia sent a shorter response.
I urge the Ellises to refrain from soliciting individual neighbors to pressure board members.
I read it aloud to Owen. “Having coffee is pressure now?”
He was quiet.
“Say something.”
“We should stop giving her material she can turn into a fight.”
That evening, I opened our folder of receipts to add Nia's bill. We had spent fourteen thousand dollars on reviews, studies, and redesigns since buying the lot—not including the engineering that any home would need.
At the bottom of the folder lay the card my mother had given us when we moved: HOME IS WHERE YOU FINALLY UNPACK.
I set it beside the bank's deadline letter. There were ten days left to keep the builder's start date.
May you like
I was the one who told Owen we had to let it go.
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