“By ignoring me?”
Her mouth tightened.
“Fine. Forget I said anything.”
She picked up the hose.
“Don’t.”
Danielle froze.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t start washing the car again.”
“This is public curb space.”
“Your water is running onto my property.”
She dropped the nozzle.
“Then complain to someone.”
The garage across the street was fully open now.
Our neighbor stepped outside carrying a recycling bin.
He glanced toward us, clearly hearing enough to know something was wrong.
I hated public arguments.
Danielle knew that.
Maybe that was why she smiled again.
“Anything else?”
I looked at her car, the hose, and the foamy water collecting near the curb.
Then I looked at the hydrangeas.
“Yes.”
Her eyebrows lifted.
“I’m going to take your advice.”
“What advice?”
“I’m going to complain to someone.”
Her smile disappeared.
I went inside.
For the first time in six Saturdays, Danielle didn’t finish washing her car.
Later that morning, I photographed the runoff and the browning leaves.
I also emailed the garden committee.
I didn’t accuse Danielle of anything dramatic.
I simply asked to withdraw my property from consideration because I’d never agreed to be nominated.
Then I explained why.
The reply came that afternoon.
They apologized.
