“So?”
“That space is meant for vehicle access.”
“Not legally required.”
“You need a driveway.”
“No.”
“Every house has one.”
“Mine won't.”
Her voice sharpened.
“This is retaliation.”
The Black Homeowner looked at the camera monitor.
Her SUV was currently sitting in his driveway.
Incident eighty-one.
“Why would my patio affect you?”
Silence.
He waited.
The HOA President realized she could not answer honestly without admitting the obvious.
Finally:
“It affects streetscape continuity.”
The Black Homeowner smiled.
There it was.
She never disliked anything.
She had continuity concerns.
He answered:
“Committee has the plans.”
“I chair the board.”
“You don’t chair architecture.”
“I oversee the association.”
“You don’t approve applications personally.”
The call ended badly.
The HOA President attempted to pressure the committee.
That also went badly.
The committee chair was a retired architect.
He had no patience for political interference.
The proposal complied.
Materials matched neighborhood standards.
Plantings improved screening.
The project reduced concrete.
Drainage improved.
Approval passed three to zero.
The HOA President appealed to the full board.
The appeal failed.
Four to one.
Again.
The Black Homeowner received final HOA approval in July.
Then municipal approval.
He still waited.
Why?
Portugal.
His Wife had been asking for years.
She had family friends near Lisbon.
They had talked about spending three weeks traveling through Lisbon, Porto, Sintra, and the Algarve.
Work always interfered.
This year, the Black Homeowner decided it would not.
They booked August flights.
Then scheduled the patio construction to finish immediately before departure.
His Wife understood instantly.
“You're going to leave her staring at bricks while we’re in Portugal.”
The Black Homeowner looked offended.
“I’m going to take my Wife on a deserved vacation.”
She laughed.
“You're terrible.”
“Permitted.”
“That wasn’t the word.”
The parking count continued.
Incident ninety.
Ninety-four.
Ninety-eight.
Then incident one hundred.
The Black Homeowner printed the screenshot.
His Wife brought a small cupcake home.
She placed one candle in it.
“Happy hundredth trespass.”
He laughed harder than he wanted to.
They ate the cupcake.
The HOA President had no idea.
One hundred one happened Thursday.
One hundred two Friday.
The next week, construction started.
The HOA President came outside immediately.
A skid steer began breaking the old concrete into sections.
She stood across the road.
Hands on hips.
The Black Homeowner wore work clothes and safety glasses.
“What are you doing?”
she shouted.
“Project.”
“I can see that.”
The concrete cracked.
She flinched as though somebody were dismantling her property.
“What happens to garage access?”
“Rear.”
“You can't eliminate this entrance.”
“Approved.”
She walked closer.
“By who?”
The Black Homeowner handed her a copy of the HOA approval.
She read.
Her face tightened.
Then municipal permit.
She read that too.
“I'm challenging this.”
“Okay.”