But I heard enough.
“…explicitly told not to park…”
“…private property…”
“…future arrangements…”
Linda drove away without looking at me.
Breakfast lasted until almost noon.
When the last car left, I stood in the driveway alone.
For the first time, it didn’t look empty.
It just looked like a driveway.
That felt like progress.
Three days later, Linda knocked.
I opened the door.
She didn’t say hello.
“You made me look like an idiot.”
“I didn’t park your car in my driveway.”
“You invited 30 people knowing I was parked there.”
“Yes.”
“That’s unbelievably childish.”
“Possibly.”
“You could’ve just asked me to move.”
I stared at her.
“I did.”
She opened her mouth.
“For six months, Linda.”
She closed it.
“I asked politely. Then I asked firmly. I put up a sign. You ignored all of it.”
“I never thought it was that serious.”
“I missed a doctor’s appointment because of you.”
“I apologized.”
“You told me I should’ve warned you that I needed my own driveway.”
Her face tightened.
“You didn’t need 30 cars to make your point.”
“Apparently, one sign, six months of asking, and a missed doctor’s appointment weren’t enough.”
That finally silenced her.
Then I asked the question I’d been thinking about since Arthur arrived.
“You knew this was private property when you bought your house, didn’t you?”
Linda looked away.
“Yes.”
“Then why?”
“Because you weren’t using it.”
I shook my head.
“You don’t get to decide that something belongs to you because someone else isn’t using it enough.”
“I know.”
“No, I don’t think you did.”
She looked toward the driveway.
“Fine. I do now.”
It wasn’t an apology.
But it was probably the closest I was going to get.
Linda never parked there again.
Not once.
A few months later, I hosted another car-club breakfast.
Only 14 cars came that time.
As the first few arrived, I saw Linda come outside.
I braced myself.
