The Homeowners Counted Their Ballots While Brent Watched The Door

Brent had the owner list in a password-protected folder. Nina had the same names and mailing addresses in the dues records.

Gail checked the bylaws with the association's lawyer. The homeowners' demand met the required number of signatures. They could call the removal meeting after proper notice even if the president refused to help.

The notices went to all forty-eight homes.

They named the purpose, explained the ballot rules, and gave the full notice period required by our bylaws. An outside election clerk would check ownership and count the ballots. Copies of the audit, with account numbers covered, were available to every owner.

It took seventeen days to reach that meeting.

During those days, I repaired eleven tricycles and lost one customer.

"I don't want to be in the middle," the man told me.

"I understand. Your parts are here if you want them."

I did understand. That did not make the empty appointment feel good.

Other people came back. One woman who had signed Owen's petition brought a written note withdrawing her claim that I had blocked common land. She asked me to keep it with the first petition.

"Both," she said. "So the record's honest."

I put both in the cabinet I had finally bought used for $65.

Brent's lawyer proposed a settlement the week before the vote. Brent would drop his suit if I granted a permanent easement for ten dollars. Each side would cover its own bills, and neither would discuss the dispute.

Lila read the offer aloud over the phone.

"No," I said.

"Which parts?"

"The permanent easement. The bills. The silence."

"That covers most of it."

We sent a written counteroffer. The association's lawyer sent a separate demand for the missing $22,800 and the audit cost. Nobody promised to hide a report or stop neighbors from speaking.

Art also brought three bids for rebuilding the common walk. He left them with Nina so each owner could compare the work, the price, and the promised finish date.

"The lowest one leaves out drainage," he told me.

"Then it isn't the same repair."

He wrote that question on the bid sheet instead of choosing the number that looked nicest.

I did not know whether Brent would pay. I knew what I would sign.

The removal meeting filled the same church room where he had displayed my cones.

This time, there was no lone chair facing a panel. Chairs stood in rows with an aisle wide enough for Mrs. Bell's tricycle. I had asked the clerk about that before the room opened.

Brent waited by the door, greeting owners by name.

"Remember what I've done for this place," he told one couple.

The woman looked toward the audit table.

"We came to read what you did."

Before the vote, each side had time to speak.

Brent said the wall improved drainage and raised property values. He said the $4,800 reflected many hours of unpaid work.

Nina showed the approved budget. Gail showed the original minutes beside the later version. Hana explained that she had found no approved payment for Brent's time and no vote allowing the fund to enlarge his lawn.

The contractor's work order appeared on a screen.

EXISTING FOOTPATH NOT TO REMAIN.

Brent stood.

"You're treating a volunteer like a criminal."

The clerk asked him to sit until questions.

When my turn came, I had one page.

"I paid six hundred dollars for a safe walk," I said. "I let you cross my land while you waited. I will keep the temporary agreement I signed. I want the proper walk restored and my workshop left in peace."

I put the page down.

Owen asked Brent why he had fined me after seeing the permission letters.

"We can't manage a community if every person insists on his own interpretation," Brent said.

Owen glanced at the survey on the table.

"Then why did we pay professionals?"

The clerk collected thirty-eight valid ballots. Thirty-two favored removing Brent from the board. Six opposed removal. The result exceeded the majority of all forty-eight homes our bylaws required.

The clerk signed the tally in front of us.

Brent asked for another count. She counted again with one observer from each side.

The numbers did not change.

His seat was declared vacant. The remaining directors elected Art president. Dale resigned his own seat at the end of the meeting, saying he should have checked the records instead of trusting summaries. A properly noticed election would fill both vacancies.

Brent left without taking the silver plate that said PRESIDENT from the front table.

I did not touch it either.

Two mornings later, Lila called while I was cutting a grip to fit a shortened handlebar.

"His lawyer has the contractor's estimate for removing the wall," she said. "Now he wants to discuss our numbers."