He chuckled. "Underway. The county approved it last week. Should have done it from the start."
I wanted to be bitter, but the truth was I didn't have it in me anymore. The fight was over. And in its place, I had my land, my peace, and something better: the quiet satisfaction of having stood my ground without losing my soul.
Still, every now and then, I'd get little reminders of the chaos that used to be. A tourist or two would drive out from town just to take pictures of the trench. Someone even listed it on Google Maps as Karen's Canyon.
One afternoon, a couple pulled up in a rental car. The wife hopped out, camera in hand. "Excuse me," she said. "Is this where the HOA lady's car went under?"
I sighed, but smiled. "Yep, right there."
She gasped, snapping photos like it was the Grand Canyon. Her husband nodded solemnly. "Beautiful justice in its natural habitat."
After they left, I told Derek, "Maybe we should charge admission."
He grinned. "Or open a gift shop! T-shirts, mugs, maybe a shovel keychain."
"Don't tempt me," I said, though the idea didn't sound half-bad.
Meanwhile, Clare Phillips had gone radio silent. Rumor was she sold her house in a hurry, packed up, and moved to Florida. Someone told me she joined another HOA down there, but within three weeks, they'd voted to remove her for "excessive correspondence." I can't lie: when I heard that, I laughed harder than I had in months. Some people just can't learn humility unless it hits them at forty miles per hour and lands in a ditch.
As for Doug, her cousin and "lawyer," he resurfaced once more, this time on Facebook advertising his new service: Phillips & Associates: HOA Legal Consulting (Pending Certification). Mara sent me the post with nothing but a crying-laughing emoji.
Speaking of Mara, she became a bit of a local hero, too. After winning the case, she gave a short interview to the paper, calling it "a textbook example of how homeowners' rights often get steamrolled by misplaced authority." She even thanked the sheriff's department for upholding sanity in a world full of power-hungry suburban warriors.
When I dropped by her office to thank her one last time, she shook my hand and said, "You'd be surprised how many people like you have called since that video went viral."
"Glad to inspire a movement," I joked.
"Oh, it's a movement, all right," she said with a smirk. "The Anti-Karen Coalition."