Before leaving, Richard approached me.
“I won’t park here again,” he said.
“I know.”
He hesitated.
“How?”
I pointed toward my lawn.
“Because next time, I’ll ask you to move. And I expect you to listen.”
He nodded.
“Fair enough.”
The repairs took several weeks.
My porch was restored, although the financial questions took longer to settle.
I paid expenses connected to my barrier, and Richard paid for the lawn damage.
We followed the repair arrangement we’d agreed upon rather than demanding that one person absorb every loss.
The experience cost both of us money and more pride than either cared to admit.
One afternoon, Fletcher came over to help me spread fresh soil across the damaged lawn.
He looked toward Richard’s driveway, where a replacement car sat neatly parked.
“Well,” he said, “at least you’ve finally got your grass back.”
I laughed.
“Most expensive grass I’ve ever grown.”
Fletcher rested his shovel against the fence.
