They also asked if someone from the committee could stop by the following morning.
I almost said no.
Then I looked through the front window at the hydrangeas.
“All right, Mom,” I whispered. “Apparently, we’re making this a neighborhood performance.”
The next morning, a woman from the committee inspected the bed.
She asked about my watering schedule, the browning leaves, and the runoff.
Then she asked who had nominated me.
“My neighbor.”
She looked toward Danielle’s house.
“The one washing her vehicle there?”
“Every Saturday.”
The woman frowned.
“That’s interesting.”
“Why?”
She closed her notebook.
“Because Danielle isn’t just participating in the garden program.”
I waited.
“She’s chairing it.”
I stared at her.
“Danielle?”
“Yes.”
Suddenly, six Saturdays of smiles, excuses, and ignored requests felt different.
It wasn’t criminal or mysterious.
It was simply unbelievably hypocritical.
The woman glanced at the damaged leaves.
“She nominated your yard herself.”
“She told me.”
“What she apparently didn’t tell you is that the committee uses nominated properties in its neighborhood beautification presentation.”
I felt my stomach tighten.
“What presentation?”
“For the homeowners’ meeting next Saturday.”
She looked at me carefully.
“Danielle is presenting it.”
“Was she allowed to nominate my yard without asking me?”
