Then Linda looked toward the last car pulling into the gravel lane.
An elderly man climbed out.
He was tall, thin, and moved carefully with a wooden cane.
The moment Linda saw him, she froze.
Her coffee mug slipped from her hand.
It hit the grass.
“No…”
I recognized him immediately.
“Arthur!”
He raised a hand.
“Morning, Carol.”
Arthur was 82.
He’d lived in the neighborhood long before Robert and I arrived.
In fact, decades earlier, his family had owned much of the land along our side of the street.
Arthur eventually divided part of it into separate lots.
Years later, he sold the house next door to Linda.
He was also one of the oldest members of Robert’s car club.
Arthur reached the driveway and stopped.
He looked at Linda.
Then at her SUV.
Then at the line of cars behind it.
“Linda?”
She said nothing.
Arthur pointed with his cane.
“Don’t tell me that’s your vehicle.”
“It’s complicated.”
He looked around.
“Not really.”
Linda crossed her arms.
“I parked here for a little while.”
Arthur frowned.
“Why?”
“My driveway is being used this morning.”
“So?”
Linda glanced at me.
“It’s not like Carol needs all this space.”
Arthur’s expression changed.
“I showed you the property line myself.”
Silence.
I looked at Linda.
“You knew?”
She avoided my eyes.
Arthur continued.
“When you bought the house, you asked me specifically about overflow parking. I told you this driveway and the gravel lane belonged to the property next door.”
Linda looked furious.
“I know whose driveway it is.”
There it was.
For six months, part of me had wondered whether she genuinely believed the gravel lane was shared.
She didn’t.
She had always known.
She just didn’t care.
Arthur shook his head.
“Then why are we having this conversation?”
“Because she blocked me in!”
Arthur looked at her SUV again.
“Seems to me you blocked yourself in.”
I had to hide my smile behind my coffee.
Linda didn’t appreciate that.
“I’m calling the police.”
“Okay,” I said.
