The Georgetown Hearing Where She Finally Had To Answer Questions

Amos wore a dark suit to court. He carried his blue folder in a grocery bag because rain was coming.

“Didn't want the corners wet,” he said.

I wore the only jacket I owned that had never caught a wood shaving. In its inside pocket was the small curl from my newest hull. I had taken it from the jar before leaving home.

Mara saw me touch the pocket.

“You have everything?”

“Yes.”

Inside the courtroom, June sat beside her lawyer. Lenora sat one chair beyond them, with a separate lawyer she had hired after receiving notice of the filing.

She looked at me as if I had brought mud into a hotel.

The judge began with the papers.

“Who owns the workshop parcel?”

“Mr. Norwood,” June's lawyer said.

“And is this the recorded easement attached to that property?”

“We do not dispute that document.”

My breath came out slowly. For two weeks Lenora had spoken as if my claim were a story I had made up. Here, the first two facts took less than a minute.

Her lawyer argued that the old route had fallen out of regular use and that the deck had a city permit. He said there was a question about where the easement lay on the ground.

Mara handed up my lesson records, dated launch photographs, and the original engineering plan.

“My client used this route all last season,” she said. “He was preparing another class when the gate was locked.”

I took the witness seat and answered questions about carrying boats, teaching beginners, and using the slip.

“Do you claim the right to stop retail business?” Lenora's lawyer asked.

“No. I need twelve feet to get to the ramp and use of the slip described in my deed.”

“Could you launch elsewhere?”

“I could drive a boat elsewhere. I couldn't carry it from my workshop to the water anywhere else.”

Mara asked about the refunds.

“Eighteen students,” I said. “One thousand six hundred twenty dollars.”

She asked whether I had accepted a daily fee.

“Never.”

Then Amos took my place.

He described checking the footings and taking the six photographs. He spoke so slowly that the court reporter stopped typing between some of his sentences.

Nobody hurried him.

“How do you know which pile appears in this picture?” Mara asked.

“Number's on the cap. I put it there.”

“And the marked launch lane?”

“Ran beside it. Twelve feet. We measured.”

“Who helped you?”

He looked at the photograph.

“Ms. Dace.”

The room stayed quiet while the judge studied the picture and email reply.

Lenora's lawyer said the photographs had been taken for maintenance, before the deck design was final.

“That may explain when they were taken,” the judge said. “It does not explain closing a recorded route.”

June's lawyer offered to remove the lock at once. The surveyor June had hired could mark the lane the following morning. A licensed contractor could remove the deck panels that crossed it within five days.

Mara asked that those promises become a temporary order.

She also handed up the second fee notice, the one Lenora had delivered after Celia cleared the account. June's lawyer said it had not been authorized.

The judge asked Lenora's lawyer whether his client claimed a separate right to charge for the slip. He spoke with her, then said she would stop issuing bills while the court considered the case.

“Please include all access bills,” Mara said. “Whatever heading they appear under.”

The judge made a note. I watched the pen move. A sentence that small could save me from another envelope under the door.

The judge agreed. The order required the gate unlocked within twenty-four hours, the full route made safe and clear within five days, and no new access charges while the case continued. The property company had to preserve its records.

The final boundaries and money claims would remain for later resolution.

I had wanted to hear that everything was over. Instead, I heard dates and duties, each one clear enough to check.

That was better than another promise.

Outside, Lenora came close while her lawyer was speaking with June's.

“You'll get your little path,” she said. “Don't expect me to welcome you.”

I moved toward Mara.

“I heard that,” Amos said behind me.

Lenora stepped away.

When I got home, the lock was gone. I photographed the open gate with my phone clock visible on a second screen, then sent the image to Mara. The deck still blocked the route. I did not book a class.

I set the wood curl back among the others.

At seven that evening, my phone lit up with an email from the city building office.

The subject was “Deck Permit Review.” Attached was a notice of hearing and a request for Amos's six original photographs.