Chapter 5: Dale Makes His Move
Three days passed.
Rob was in contact with Marcus every evening.
I kept photographing the apples — every morning, date-stamped — and adding them to a folder on my phone that was growing faster than I expected.
The tree dropped heavily in August.
By Thursday the yard had a carpet of them.
Dale said nothing.
He mowed his lawn on Wednesday.
He took his recycling bin in on Thursday.
He did not look over the fence.
On Friday morning, there was a letter in our mailbox.
It was from a law firm.
Two pages, dense language, but the meaning was clear enough: Dale was asserting ownership of all fruit produced by his tree, regardless of where it fell, and was formally requesting that we cease what the letter called *deliberate accumulation of his property* on our land.
It also referenced potential liability on our part for any damage caused by decomposing fruit — including, specifically, damage to neighboring structures.
I read that line three times.
*Neighboring structures.*
He was threatening to claim that our rotting apples could damage his property.
I photographed both pages and sent them to Rob.
His reply came fast: *Call Marcus.
Now.*
Marcus answered on the second ring.
I read him the letter.
"Interesting," he said, when I finished.
"That's one word for it."
"He's trying to reframe the situation.
Make you the aggressor.
If you're accumulating his fruit deliberately, suddenly he's the injured party." A pause.
"It won't hold.
But it tells us something important."
"What?"
"He's worried.
This letter cost him money.
He doesn't spend money unless he thinks he needs to."
---
That afternoon Dale came to our front door.
Rob answered it.
I stood in the hallway behind him, close enough to hear.
Dale was in a clean shirt.
He had an expression I hadn't seen on him before — something that was trying to be reasonable.
"I think we got off on the wrong foot," he said.
"Did we," Rob said.
"I may have been too direct with your kids.
I can see how that looked."
Rob didn't move from the doorway.
"How did it look?"
A small pause.
"Harsh.
I get that." Dale shifted his weight.
"Look, I've lived here a long time.
I like a quiet street.
I don't want trouble."
"Neither do we."
"Then let's settle this between neighbors.
You rake the yard, I'll keep the fruit from my side.
We don't need lawyers involved."
"We've already spoken to a lawyer," Rob said.
Dale's expression didn't change, but his eyes did — just slightly.
"That's your right.
I just think it's unnecessary."
"Dale." Rob's voice stayed even.
"You made my daughter cry.
You made my seven-year-old stand in the yard with dirty hands, looking at the ground.
And then you called my wife a bad mother."
"I didn't say—"
"You said we were raising thieves."
Silence.
"I think you should talk to our lawyer," Rob said.
"His name is Marcus Webb.
I'll have him reach out." He started to close the door.
Dale put his hand on the frame.
Not aggressive — just enough to stop it.
"You're making this harder than it needs to be," he said quietly.
"For your family."
Rob looked at the hand on the frame.
Then he looked at Dale.
"Is that a warning?"
Dale pulled his hand back.
"It's a neighborly observation."
The door closed.
I let out a breath I hadn't known I was holding.
Rob turned around and his face was completely calm, which somehow made my heart pound harder.
"He mentioned the family," I said.
"Yes, he did."
"Patrice said he did the same thing to them."
May you like
"I know." He pulled out his phone.
"I recorded the conversation."
