"I know." He ran a hand over his face. "I tried to warn her. I told her not to go near your boat. She said she was taking initiative."
Jim snorted. "She took initiative right into a felony."
Todd didn't even argue. He just stared at the ground. "She's always been like this, her whole life. My therapist says she's addicted to confrontation."
"You have a therapist?" Jim asked.
"I have to," Todd replied without missing a beat. "I'm married to Karen."
That was fair.
Todd let out a weary breath. "I'll pay for the damages, all of them. Whatever it costs."
I shook my head. "That's not up to me anymore. The Coast Guard is handling it."
His shoulders tensed. "Right, of course."
Jim stepped between us, placing a hand on Todd's shoulder. "Hey, man, this isn't on you," he said, surprisingly sincere. "It's on Karen."
Todd gave him a hollow smile. "Tell that to my credit card." He shuffled away, leaving me feeling more conflicted than before.
I didn't hate Todd. Honestly, I pitied him. Living with Karen had to be like living on a roller coaster: exhausting, disorienting, and entirely too loud.
Before I could dwell on it further, my phone buzzed. Another message from the Coast Guard.
Jim leaned in. "What now?"
I opened it. My stomach sank. "Oh, no," I whispered.
Jim's face lit up. "Ooh, I love when you say that."
I handed him the phone. He read the message aloud: "In reviewing the suspect's statements and video evidence, additional liabilities have been identified regarding the damaged buoy. Please be advised that charges may escalate and you may be required to give further testimony."
Jim gasped dramatically. "She's leveling up! Karen has unlocked federal consequences."
Todd groaned and buried his face in his hands, and I knew then—knew in my bones—we still weren't anywhere close to the end of this story.
Karen's meltdown at the marina had been dramatic enough, but the aftermath—that's where the real chaos began. And not the loud, explosive chaos she was known for. No, this was quieter, more desperate: the kind of chaos that brews when someone realizes the world is no longer bending to their will.
The Coast Guard's message had shaken me more than I expected. Additional liabilities? Testimony required? Escalating charges?
Jim, of course, was thrilled. "This is amazing," he whispered. "She's speed-running federal offenses like she's trying to unlock a Steam achievement."
"It's not amazing," I muttered. "It's exhausting."
Todd sank deeper into the bench as if hoping it would swallow him. "She's not going to handle this well," he said. "She's already furious about the community service. If she finds out she might have to go to federal court—" He didn't finish the sentence, but we all knew where it was going.
Jim nodded gravely. "We might need to reinforce the HOA clubhouse windows."
I ignored him and headed back to my truck. My brain needed silence, clarity, distance. But fate and Karen never allow such luxuries.
That evening, as I prepped dinner, I heard the unmistakable sound of someone stomping up my driveway—not walking, stomping, like a toddler mid-tantrum. Then my doorbell rang, five times, rapid-fire.
Jim texted immediately: Jim, bro, did Karen just run to your door? Jim, I'm watching from my window. Jim, she looks like a flamingo that stepped on a rake.
I sighed, squared my shoulders, and opened the door.
Karen stood there, still in her community service vest, mascara smudged from sweat and humiliation. Her sunglasses were pushed up crookedly on her head, and she clutched her phone like a weapon. Her voice trembled—not with fear, but with rage barely contained.
"You ruined my life."
I didn't even get a greeting. I crossed my arms. "Karen, I didn't ruin anything. You stole—"
"Borrowed!" she snapped.
"You stole my boat," I continued calmly. "You ignored the Coast Guard. You put people in danger, and you damaged federal equipment. That's all on you."
"No!" she shouted, stepping closer. "This—" she waved her phone in my face, "this is on you."
I glanced at the screen. It was the viral video of her screaming about borrowing my boat. "I want it taken down," she demanded. "All of it, every copy."
"That's not possible," I said. "Once it's online—"
"I don't care!" she cut me off. "Fix it."
I stared at her. "How would you like me to fix the entire internet, Karen?"
Her face contorted. "You started this! You called the Coast Guard instead of just talking to me?"
"You took my boat without permission."
"Because you would have said no."
"That's the point of asking."
She stomped her foot, and for a moment I wondered if she genuinely believed stomping could rewrite reality. "You don't understand what you've done," she cried. "People are avoiding me. They whisper when I walk by. They filmed me picking up trash at the marina. Me—trash!"
Jim appeared in my driveway with a bowl of popcorn. I glared at him. "Really?"
He shrugged. "You didn't tell me to leave."
Karen spun toward him, jabbing a finger in the air. "This is your fault, too."
Jim held up his bowl. "Not my problem, sunshine."
She growled. Then she turned back to me, fists clenched. "You're going to tell the Coast Guard to drop the charges."
"No."
"You're going to file a statement saying you forgive me."