A low thrum rolled up the lane: an idling SUV. A man in sunglasses and a navy ball cap sat behind the wheel and pretended he wasn't watching us. Skyler didn't turn; she didn't have to. She knew her audience had arrived.
"Last chance, Benjamin," she said, smile reinstalled, tone properly recorded for posterity. "Will you agree in good faith to unlock these gates on weekends?"
"No."
"Even for scheduled baptisms?"
"Not unless the baptizer is also licensed in dock repair."
"Weddings?"
"I don't host blackouts."
Debbie scribbled furiously. Carol frowned as one Chihuahua sneezed. Skyler straightened, pivoted into a pose that read "Chairwoman Addresses Resistance."
"Very well. We'll proceed through appropriate channels."
I lifted the gate's bell cord and gave it a gentle tap. The bright note punctured the humid afternoon. "Those channels," I said, "should include reading the county map that shows my parcel is not, in any universe, yours."
Her smile calcified. "We'll see about that."
She turned and marched away, entourage and toy dogs mincing through gravel like whispering typewriters. The SUV ghosted after them, and the lane sighed back into shade.
I locked the gate and took a slow lap of the property. The cameras watched. The lights waited. Somewhere in the brush, a raccoon regarded me with professional curiosity, then carried on with whatever audit he was conducting. I considered naming him, then stopped. Naming things makes them feel like they belong, and I had enough belonging for one day.
At dusk, an envelope appeared in my mailbox: unstamped, Notice of Community Concern. It used serif fonts and centered text and had the unmistakable perfume of someone who thinks formatting is power. The gist: my recent changes had impacted neighborly access and undermined the spirit of shared stewardship. It recommended I attend a "productive conversation" at the clubhouse on Saturday.
I wrote "No, thanks" across the notice, snapped a photo, and texted it to the unknown number I already knew was Skyler's: Your notice arrived. Here's mine. Attached was a polite letter I'd drafted three hours earlier and printed on plain paper:
To whom it may concern: This property is privately owned and not subject to Lakeview Serenity HOA governance. Continued attempts to create or enforce unauthorized access will be documented and forwarded to the sheriff's office. Any person entering without permission will be considered a trespasser. — Benjamin Reed.