Derek, standing beside me, whispered, "You think she'll sleep out here with it?"
I chuckled. "Wouldn't surprise me."
We turned and walked back toward the house, the laughter still bubbling out of us like kids who'd just gotten away with something huge. But beneath the humor, there was a flicker of something deeper: satisfaction. Not the mean kind, the righteous kind. The kind that comes from finally standing your ground and watching justice sink one tire at a time.
As we reached the porch, Derek raised his beer. "To erosion control," he said with a grin.
I clinked bottles with him. "And to natural selection."
The trench gleamed faintly under the moonlight, my silent declaration to the world: This land is mine.
The next morning, the smell of coffee filled the kitchen long before the sun made it over the ridge. I'd barely taken my first sip when I heard the faint grind of metal and shouting from down the road.
Derek was already on the porch, arms crossed, watching the spectacle unfold like it was Saturday morning TV. "She's back," he said, grinning.
Sure enough, down by the trench, the same tow truck from the night before had returned, this time with reinforcements: two more trucks, a crane rig, and about five men scratching their heads around Clare's half-buried SUV. The poor thing looked like a stranded whale half-covered in mud, its front bumper twisted and sagging.
And there was Clare Phillips standing off to the side in yoga pants and combat boots, barking orders into her phone. Her pink blazer was gone, replaced with a Whispering Pines HOA windbreaker, like she was preparing for war.
"Three trucks," Derek muttered, shaking his head. "I told you she'd double down instead of giving up."
"That's her religion," I said. "She doesn't believe in defeat, just louder denial."
We walked closer, pretending to check the fenceline. Clare spotted us instantly.
"Don't you even think about recording this!" she yelled, waving a perfectly manicured finger. "This is an ongoing recovery operation, and you're legally obligated to stay twenty feet away!"
I lifted my coffee cup. "Morning, Clare. You left your car here overnight. I figured you were camping."
Her jaw clenched so tight I heard it click. "You will regret this, Brandon Rogers. This is criminal negligence. You dug that deathtrap on purpose!"