Chapter 6: The Agreement
I told her what I wanted.
Not in a list.
Not with conditions attached.
I just told her plainly, the way Gerald used to say things when he meant them.
"I want an apology.
A real one, not a frightened one.
I want my yard cleaned — by you, not a service.
I want to know that what happened to my roses and my pear tree will never happen again.
And I want you to call Daniel Cho at Harwick yourself, today, and tell him you understand the seriousness of what you did."
Madison stared at me.
"You want me to call my own landlord and confess?"
"I want you to take responsibility before someone else takes it for you.
There's a difference in how that lands."
She was quiet for a long moment.
"And if I do all of that — you won't push for eviction?"
"I will tell Mr.
Cho that you came to me directly, that you took responsibility, and that I am satisfied the situation has been addressed.
What he decides after that is between you and Harwick.
I can't control that.
But a tenant who comes forward voluntarily is treated differently than one who waits for the process to come to them.
That I do know."
She looked at her hands.
"Why are you helping me?"
"I'm not sure I am helping you yet," I said.
"I'm giving you the chance to help yourself.
Those are different things."
She nodded slowly.
Then she said, "Can I ask you something?"
"Go ahead."
"The camera on my porch.
The one in the box.
Was that — was that just to scare me?"
"It was my husband's spare," I said.
"He bought two when he installed the first one.
Said it was always good to have a backup.
I thought you might benefit from understanding what it feels like to be watched on your own property."
Something shifted in her face.
Not quite a smile.
Something more complicated.
"It worked," she said.
"I know."
She called Daniel Cho from my kitchen table.
I gave her the privacy of moving to the sitting room, but I heard enough.
She didn't minimize.
She didn't blame the stress or the move or anything else.
She said she had behaved badly toward her neighbor, that it had been deliberate, and that she was sorry.
When she came back to the kitchen her face was pale but steadier.
"He's putting a warning on my file," she said.
"Not an eviction notice.
A warning.
He said — he said it made a difference that I called."
"It usually does."
She stood up and looked at me across the kitchen.
"I'll come Saturday to clean the yard.
If that's all right."
"Saturday is fine," I said.
"I'll be here."
She picked up her jacket from the back of the chair.
At the door she stopped and turned around.
"Mrs.
Marsh.
I really am sorry.
About the geraniums.
About all of it."
I looked at her.
"I know you are," I said.
May you like
"Come Saturday.
Bring gloves."
