Chapter 2 - What the Rules Actually Said
Owen's warning sent me to the HOA office before the coffee in my travel mug had cooled. The manager, Pilar Santos, was sorting invoices behind a glass counter. A tiny paper fan turned beside her computer because the air-conditioning was broken again.
“I need the tree work order,” I said.
Pilar looked at the orange notice. “You should request records by email. That creates a paper trail.”
“I emailed yesterday. And Monday. And last Thursday.”
“I saw those.” She lowered her voice. “I'm not authorized to release vendor instructions without a board response.”
“Was an arborist hired?”
“I haven't seen an invoice.”
The office door opened. Cynthia stepped in carrying a grocery-store salad. “Nora. I see we're doing this in person now.”
“I'd prefer we do it with the actual rules.”
Pilar slid the declaration across the counter. We found the landscaping section together. Homeowners were responsible for maintaining trees on their lots. The association could require correction of a documented condition affecting common property after notice and an opportunity to respond. A separate section allowed limited trimming of growth extending over the trail, when necessary to maintain safe access.
Nothing on those pages gave the association ordinary permission to walk into my yard and remove a healthy tree.
Cynthia tapped the page. “It's a nuisance. The board can act.”
“Then tell me what action the board voted for.”
“I'm not giving you confidential board discussion.”
“I asked what you decided, not who said what over coffee.”
Pilar pressed her lips together, studying the stapled rules. Cynthia took her salad and left without opening it.
Outside, Ben Carver, the association vice president, was loading a stroller into the back of a minivan. He looked tired enough to have slept in his clothes.
“Nora,” he said. “Cynthia told me you'd be upset.”
“Did you vote to remove my tree?”
Ben fastened the stroller strap twice before answering. “We discussed trail complaints. I thought we approved getting recommendations. Maybe pruning.”
“Who else thought that?”
“Don't put words in my mouth.”
“I'm trying to keep someone from taking a saw to my yard.”
He rubbed his forehead. “Request an appeal. The next open session is Thursday.”
“Friday is the deadline.”
“I know.”
At home I called the number on the notice. Pilar answered, sounding breathless.
“I can put you on Thursday's agenda,” she said. “Cynthia has agreed there'll be no tree work before the hearing.”
“Please send that in writing.”
A pause. “I will.”
I hung up and watched a robin hop beneath the branches. Ellie came out with her school bag and asked whether we'd saved the tree.
“Not yet,” I said.
May you like
She nodded, but her mouth tightened. “Don't tell me it's okay when it isn't.”
That evening the promised email arrived. The final sentence was shorter than I'd hoped: No removal is scheduled prior to Thursday's board session. It said nothing about pruning. Or Friday.
