Chapter 4: The Branch Over the Line
Rob submitted the formal encroachment inquiry on Tuesday morning.
He did it from his work computer during his lunch break and forwarded me the confirmation email with no message attached.
Just the email.
I read it twice.
The county's process was straightforward: a property survey would confirm whether the tree branch crossed the legal boundary.
If it did, the encroaching owner had a set number of days to address it.
If they didn't, the affected party had the right to have it removed at the encroaching owner's expense.
Nine years.
The branch had been over our line for nine years.
I was pulling weeds in the front bed on Wednesday afternoon when Dale came out to get his mail.
He didn't look at me.
He never did, usually.
But this time he stopped at the end of his driveway and turned.
"You people file something with the county?"
I sat back on my heels and looked up at him.
"Good afternoon, Dale."
"Don't do that.
Did you file something or not?"
"Rob handles that kind of thing.
You'd have to ask him."
His jaw moved.
"I've been in this house since 1987.
I know every person on this block.
I know the assessor's office personally.
Whatever you think you're doing, it won't go anywhere."
I pulled another weed and set it in the bucket.
"Okay," I said.
"You're going to cause a lot of trouble over some apples."
I looked up at him again.
I kept my voice even.
"Dale, you stood at that fence and made my six-year-old carry apples across the yard four times and then called her a thief.
I'm not causing trouble.
I'm handling a property matter."
His face went tight.
"That tree was there before your house was built.
Before your parents were born, probably.
You don't get to come in here after nine years and start filing papers."
"The branch is over our property line," I said.
"That's not an opinion.
That's a survey question."
He pointed at me.
"You want a war?
I can make things very difficult for this family.
Very difficult.
I know the right people."
I stood up.
I brushed the dirt off my gloves.
"I'm going inside now," I said.
"Have a good afternoon."
I walked up the porch steps without looking back.
But my hands were shaking by the time I got through the door.
I leaned against the inside of it and stood there for a moment.
Then I took out my phone and opened the voice memo app.
I looked at the timer.
It had been running since I knelt down in the flower bed.
I pressed stop.
I pressed save.
I labeled it *Wednesday front yard — Dale.*
Then I texted Rob: *He came to me.
I have it recorded.
He made a threat.*
Rob's reply was four seconds later.
*Don't delete it.
I'll call you at five.*
I put my phone in my pocket and went to start dinner.
Through the kitchen window I could see the yard, and the fence, and the top of Dale's tree hanging over our side, heavy with fruit we'd never once been allowed to keep.
Maya came in from the living room and stood in the doorway.
"Mom?
Is everything okay?"
"Everything's fine, sweetheart."
She looked at me for a moment the way kids do when they're deciding whether to believe you.
Then she went back to the living room.
I turned back to the window.
*He knows the right people.* That's what he'd said.
May you like
I wondered if he knew that Patty Ohlsen had been writing things down for three years.
I was fairly certain he didn't.
