“I know.”
She looked at the repaired gate.
“I wanted to say something before I leave.”
I put down my drill.
She took a breath.
“I’m sorry.”
I waited.
“For what?”
Her face tightened.
“For everything.”
“That’s not an answer.”
She looked toward her house.
“For the complaints.”
“And?”
“The gate.”
“And?”
“The package.”
“And?”
She looked at me.
I could see irritation trying to return.
Old habits.
Then it disappeared.
“For trying to make people believe you were someone you weren’t.”
That was closer.
“Why?”
She swallowed.
“You embarrassed me.”
“I questioned a contract.”
“You made people distrust me.”
“The contract made people distrust you.”
“You don’t understand what it was like.”
“What?”
“To have everybody questioning every decision after years of doing everything for this neighborhood.”
I shook my head.
“You still think the neighborhood belonged to you.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
She looked down.
For a moment, I almost felt sorry for her.
Then I remembered the notes about Emma’s schedule.
“Do you know what the worst part was?”
“The package?”
“No.”
She looked surprised.
“You watched my daughter.”
Diane said nothing.
“You wrote down when she came home.”
“I was watching the property.”
“She lives on the property.”
“I never intended to hurt Emma.”
“You intended to have her father taken away in handcuffs while she watched.”
Diane opened her mouth.
Closed it.
There was nothing to say.
“I can forgive someone for being angry with me,” I said.
“I can eventually forgive someone for lying about me.”
I pointed toward the house.
“But you used my kid’s routine to figure out when my home was empty.”
She looked away.
“That is going to take longer.”
Diane nodded.
“I understand.”
“No.”
My voice stayed calm.
“I don’t think you do.”
The moving truck’s engine started across the street.
Diane turned to leave.
Then stopped.
“Walter’s camera.”
“What about it?”
“I checked his house.”
That surprised me.
“What?”
“Before I did it.”
She gave a tired, humorless laugh.
“I knew about the driveway camera. I knew about the doorbell camera. I even knew the camera above his garage could see your gate.”
“So you waited until you thought the angle was blocked.”
“Yes.”
“You really planned everything.”
“I thought I did.”
I looked toward Walter’s backyard.
“The raccoon camera.”
Diane closed her eyes.
“The raccoon camera.”
For one ridiculous second, both of us almost smiled.
Then she walked away.
I never saw her again.