“No. The person submitting a nomination is supposed to have the homeowner’s permission.”
I stared toward Danielle’s house.
“Then she never had mine.”
The woman nodded.
“I’ll make sure that’s documented.”
That was when I understood.
My mother’s flowers weren’t simply flowers to Danielle.
They were going to be part of her presentation.
And she had never bothered to ask me.
“Then remove my house,” I said.
“We will.”
The committee member looked at the hydrangeas again.
“And I’ll document why.”
That mattered more than I expected.
For six weeks, Danielle had made me feel ridiculous for caring.
Now someone else had looked at the same situation and confirmed that my request had been reasonable all along.
The following Saturday, I woke before 8:00 a.m. again.
This time, there was no sound of running water.
At 8:41 a.m., I was sitting at my kitchen table with coffee.
The street remained quiet.
I smiled.
That afternoon was the homeowners’ meeting.
I hadn’t planned to attend.
Then an email from the garden committee arrived confirming that my property had been removed from Danielle’s presentation.
At the bottom was one additional sentence.
They invited me to come.
So I did.
The meeting was held in the community room near the entrance to our neighborhood.
