That meant she would have to add landscaping on her side.
Her attorney called the proposal reasonable.
Patricia didn’t look happy.
I wasn’t trying to make her happy.
I was trying to finish the problem correctly.
She accepted.
The paperwork took almost three months.
During that time, we barely spoke.
The neighborhood, unfortunately, spoke plenty.
Someone had recorded part of the police interaction from the sidewalk, and the story moved through the community faster than I expected.
A few neighbors came over to apologize even though they hadn’t been involved.
Others wanted details.
I stopped giving them any.
I didn’t need Patricia turned into entertainment any more than I had needed to become a spectacle in my own backyard.
The conversation I cared about happened with Noah.
One evening we were shooting baskets when he asked why I hadn’t made Patricia tear down her pool.
“Wouldn’t that have taught her a lesson?”
I caught his missed shot.
“Maybe.”
I passed the ball back.
“But the land wasn’t a punishment.”
He thought about that.
“She was still wrong.”
“Absolutely.”
“So you forgave her?”
I laughed a little.
“I didn’t say that either.”
That confused him, which was probably healthy.
I told him we didn’t have to choose between pretending something never happened and spending the rest of our lives trying to hurt someone back.
Sometimes the right response was simply making sure the problem couldn’t happen again.
The new survey was recorded that fall.
Patricia paid for the land.
The fence was moved.
Tall evergreens went in along the property line.
The first time I saw her afterward was at a neighborhood association meeting.
She was standing near the coffee table when I entered.
For a second, we both hesitated.
Then she walked over.
“Darius.”
“Patricia.”
She asked how Noah was doing.
I told her basketball season had started.
Before walking away, she said, “I’ve thought about that day a lot.”
I waited.
“Especially what your son asked you.”
I remembered it immediately.
Why does she keep saying this isn’t our house?
Patricia looked uncomfortable.
“I’m sorry he had to hear me say those things.”
I nodded.
“Me too.”
We didn’t hug.
We didn’t become friends.
That wasn’t necessary.
A few months later, I hosted a cookout for my sister’s birthday.
The backyard was loud again. Kids ran between the basketball hoop and the pool while somebody burned hamburgers on the grill.
At one point, a ball bounced over the new fence.
Noah looked at me.
“I’ll get it.”
He walked around to Patricia’s front door instead of climbing over.
A minute later, he came back carrying the ball.
“She gave it back.”
“That’s usually how asking permission works.”
He rolled his eyes.
Then he ran toward the pool.
I stayed on the patio for a while, looking at the new fence.
The strip of land beneath Patricia’s pool no longer belonged to me.
That didn’t bother me.
I knew exactly where my property ended now.
More importantly, so did everyone else.