I never got an answer. What I got, on Wednesday, was the second notice.
The second notice concerned the ramp. Before closing, I had hired a contractor to build a short wooden ramp from the back patio down to the lawn, three feet long, with handrails, so my father could get out into the yard with his walker without navigating the one step at the patio's edge. I had read enough of the covenants by then to know that Article Four required architectural review for "any permanent exterior structure," so I'd filled out the Architectural Review Committee application, attached the contractor's drawing, and dropped it in the HOA's lockbox at the clubhouse on the twentieth of August, with a note explaining that it was for a disability accommodation. I'd kept a copy. I keep copies of everything. It's an occupational disease.
The notice said: Unapproved exterior structure (Art. IV, Sec. 1). No application on file. Structure must be removed within 14 days or fines will accrue at $50/day. Under Remarks: Owner has been informed of covenant requirements. Second notice.
I walked over to the clubhouse that afternoon, partly to see if the lockbox was still there and partly to get the measure of the place. Bittern Ridge has a hundred and thirty-one homes on six streets, all named for water birds, laid out in a loose fishhook around a retention pond with a fountain in the middle that sprays in a perfect arc between seven a.m. and nine p.m. The clubhouse sits by the pond. It's a small brick building with a meeting room, a kitchenette, a bulletin board, and a pool behind a black iron fence. The bulletin board was a work of art. Laminated notices, color-coded by subject: green for landscaping, yellow for parking, red for "Safety & Security." The red section was the biggest. There was a flyer headed BITTERN RIDGE IS A PARTNER COMMUNITY with the Fernhill Police Department shield on it, and underneath, in smaller type: In cooperation with the Fernhill PD Community Partnership Program, residents are encouraged to report all suspicious activity to the HOA President, who will forward reports directly to our Police Liaison, Sgt. C. Dobrowski. Together we keep Bittern Ridge safe and property values strong!
I read that twice. Then I took a picture of it.
"It's very official-looking, isn't it?"
I turned around. A tall, gray-bearded man in a short-sleeved dress shirt and pressed slacks was standing in the clubhouse doorway, holding a clipboard and a bottle of pool chlorine test strips. He had a Nigerian accent, softened by what I'd guess was forty years in the Carolinas, and an air of patient, slightly weary amusement that I liked immediately.
"Fitzgerald Okwu," he said, shifting the clipboard to shake my hand. "I'm the treasurer. Also the pool chemist, the light-bulb changer, and the man who apologizes. You are the new lady at 212, with the green truck."
"The truck's in exile," I said. "Bea Quarterman."
"I heard." He smiled. "Marcella mentioned it at some length."