No one destroyed private landscaping.
The board voted for green.
I went home before the discussion about mailbox paint.
That was the moment I knew Cedar Glen was recovering.
Beverly
I barely saw Beverly after the recall.
She still lived two doors away.
Her house remained immaculate.
The lawn was clipped precisely.
Her garbage cans disappeared behind the garage before sunset.
For a while, I expected her to move.
She didn’t.
Then, almost a year after the tree cutting, I found her standing near the sidewalk while I adjusted a watering bag around one of the new oaks.
She stopped several feet away.
“Alex.”
“Beverly.”
We had not spoken privately since the emergency meeting.
She looked at the tree.
“They’re growing.”
“They are.”
Silence.
Then she said:
“I owe you an apology.”
I stood.
She looked uncomfortable.
That was new.
“I convinced myself the trees were a symptom of something larger.”
“What?”
“People ignoring rules.”
I waited.
“And every time someone challenged me, I took it personally.”
She glanced toward the common entrance, where several young trees were visible beyond the roofs.
“I thought if I allowed one exception, nobody would respect the board.”
“The trees weren't an exception.”
“I know.”
“You had the approval.”
“I know.”
“You knew about the city project.”
Her face tightened.
“Yes.”
That mattered.
No more technical arguments.
No pretending she had misunderstood the file.
“I was angry when you kept sending me the paperwork.”
“That’s usually how paperwork works.”
For half a second, I thought she might smile.
She didn’t.
“I should never have ordered the removal.”
“No.”
“And I should never have involved Tyler’s company without disclosure.”
“No.”
She nodded.
“I am sorry.”
I believed she meant it.
That did not mean the previous year disappeared.
“Thank you for saying it.”
Her eyes lifted.
“Is that all?”
“What else should there be?”
“I don't know.”
Neither did I.
There was no need for a dramatic forgiveness speech.
We were neighbors.
Sometimes that is enough.
Beverly nodded toward the oak.
“Take care of it.”
“I plan to.”
She walked home.
That was the last conversation we ever had about the trees.