Mr H.O.A

by Carina Taylor

  The man moved at a surprisingly quick pace for someone with metal rods in his back.

  He made another pass across the lawn.

  "I can take over from here," I told him.

  He shook his head and made another pass. When he came by again, I spoke, "You don't have to mow the yard. I know you're busy."

  He glared at me and kept mowing.

  "Why don't you stop—" I tried once more.

  "Are you trying to steal the only joy I get in life?" he barked at me on another pass.

  Well, if mowing lawns was the only joy in his life, then who was I to steal that from him?

  A car honked behind me, and I turned around to see Nola pulling into the driveway in her minivan. I still couldn't quite get over the fact that that was what she drove. What young woman in her right mind would get behind the wheel of a minivan? But then again, Nola wasn't exactly in her right mind. She was the kind of woman who broke into houses and hung her underwear to dry in the bathroom.

  Unforgiveable things.

  Things like feed me Hawaiian food and curry. Comforting me after accidentally getting elected as president of the HOA. She was terrible.

  After she parked the car in the garage, she came outside to stand next to me. "Why are you making that poor man mow our yard?"

  My heart made a little jump at the word 'our.' "I'm not making him mow it. I've tried to get him to let me have a turn, but he refuses. I think he likes it."

  Nola lifted a brow. "Really? What is wrong with him? I hated mowing the lawn growing up."

  "Wait. You mowed the lawn growing up?"

  "Yes! Didn't everybody?"

  I shrugged and turned to face the yard again. No, not everybody mowed the yard. Some people grew up in apartment buildings and didn't have the benefit of having a yard to call their own.

  It may seem like a small dream to some people, but I'd always wanted to have a lawn. A lawn that I had to mow regularly. Today was going to be the day that I mowed a yard for the first time. But now Fredrick was stealing my joy. I could at least understand his glee at getting to mow a yard.

  "Does it look like he's having trouble keeping up?" Nola asked as she brushed against my arm.

  I could smell her citrus perfume over the scent of cut grass. Fredrick did look like he was falling behind the mower—just a little. His back was hunched a little more than usual, and his legs were moving rapidly.

  "I told him he should stop mowing and give me a turn," I complained.

  Then Fredrick reached forward, pushing the choke lever he'd been talking about. The lawn mower took off across the yard.

  "Oh, no!" Nola gasped as Fredrick tried to run and keep up with it. He only managed three leaping steps before the mower finally pulled away from him.

  Only Fredrick didn't let go. He held on. Someone shrieked. I'm not sure if it was Nola or me.

  "Let go!" I yelled as I ran after him. I latched a hand onto the mower, digging my heels into the ground, pulling back against the powerful engine. "Fredrick, let go! You're going to get dragged all the way through the neighborhood."

  Fredrick spit some grass from his mouth before he yelled, "No lawn mower has ever gotten the best of me! This one won't win."

  The lawn mower chugged then jerked out of my grasp, taking off across the yard once more, heading straight for Fredrick’s line of shrubs. He still held on, letting the mower drag him behind. I sprinted after him, trying to not step on his legs. It wasn't easy to do—he was flailing like a fish.

  Stretching forward, I caught the handle of the mower, stopping it right before it reached Fredrick's boxwood shrubs.

  "How do I turn this thing off?" I yelled.

  Something ran past me on the right. Nola.

  She leaned down over the engine and flipped a switch that killed the motor.

  "I could have had it." Fredrick wailed.

  Nola stood up and planted her hands on her hips. "Fredrick, get up. You wouldn't have had it."

  I knelt down and lent Fredrick my hand to help him stand up again.

  "Don't you know better than to turn on the throttle? Someone's obviously done some work to this mower. This isn't the original motor."

  Fredrick brushed some grass from his corduroy pants then walked around to inspect the mower. "Would you look at that? Well, you're all right, girl. Now why do you think someone would soup up this mower?"

  Nola rolled her eyes. "Someone I know likes everything big and fast."

  I knew she was talking about the man who owned the house, so I mumbled under my breath, "Sometimes slow is better."

  Nola elbowed me in the ribs, and I grinned when I saw the blush in her cheeks. "Like I was saying, Fredrick, you shouldn't be mowing our yard. That's Bane's job! Besides, I want to see if he can keep up with this mower for a while. What do you think? Should we go sit on the porch and drink some lemonade while we critique his mowing skills?"

  Fredrick nodded, extended his arm to her, and she led him up to the porch, leaving me alone with the demon mower.

  I glanced across the street to see Carol sitting on her porch, sunhat in hand, waving excitedly at me with her phone.

  "Got it on video, Bane! Don't worry, I'll share it with you!"

  "Thanks." For nothing.

  I turned around and flipped the switch on the mower before grabbing the handle to the string and pulling it. Just like Fredrick had done.

  The mower started right up. I slowly pulled the lever up and began mowing my first yard.

  When I finally parked the mower in the garage, I was the mowing master. There was no doubt in my mind that I could handle any lawn I was forced to face. I was sore in places that the gym couldn’t get to, but it felt good. The strong smell of cut grass permanently etched into my being.

  Nola sat on the porch swing next to Fredrick, who looked the happiest I had ever seen him. Nola was laughing and smiling at something he said, but by the time I made it to the top step of the front porch, he was standing and hobbling his way past me.

  "Far past time that I went home and watched my shows. I’ll leave you young people be." His voice was as grumpy as usual, but there was a sparkle in his eye. He didn’t seem to be any worse for the wear after the lawn mower dragged him around the yard.

  I sat down next to Nola on the porch swing. It swung lightly back and forth as it adjusted to the new weight.

  "Would you like some lemonade?" Nola asked as she leaned forward to pour me a glass. She picked up the pitcher from the small table next to the porch swing. As she leaned forward, the swing shifted backward. I braced my legs and waited to see if this would end in lemonade disaster.

  It didn’t.

  She smoothly poured a glass, returned the pitcher, then tucked her legs beneath her as she passed me the glass.

  "I’ve decided I like Fredrick," Nola declared.

  I couldn’t answer her because I was busy draining the ice-cold lemonade. It was giving me an ice-cream headache, but it was worth it.

  "Thank you for mowing the yard," she added.

  "No problem. There’s a first time for everything."

  "Wait, what does that mean?"

  I shrugged. "You know, I’ve never mowed a yard before today."

  "What?" Nola leaned forward with an incredulous look on her face. The swing moved faster beneath her quick movements.

  "I spent most of my life growing up in an apartment. There was never a yard to mow." My jaw hurt when I clenched my teeth together.

  "That’s just sad," she said, shaking her head. She slapped a hand against her mouth. "Oops, I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt your feelings."

  I laughed dryly. "Don’t worry about it, because you’re right. It was sad. It’s a little embarrassing to admit how much I’ve loved having flower beds to pull weeds out of. And getting to mow a lawn today felt like an adventure ride at Disneyland."

  "Well, with that mower and Fredrick involved, it’s no wonder." She grinned. "Did your parents like city life better?"

  "No. An apartme
nt was all they could afford. They didn’t know how to handle money."

  Nola stared at me, blinking slowly. "I think I understand now."

  I studied her eyes. Those mesmerizing eyes that pulled me in, and I knew she did understand. She saw me. She understood my strange relationship with money. I think she was far more observant than she gave herself credit for.

  "Would it help to talk about it?" She asked softly as she laid her hand on top of mine.

  I grunted noncommittally, but in the same breath began speaking. "My parents were spenders. They both liked to spend money. They had decent jobs, but whatever money they earned, they spent. And then some. I don’t want you to think I don’t love them—I do. And my parents love me. I know that. But money has a way of bringing out the ugly in people. And my parents got ugly with each other over money. Yelling and screaming because the other one had maxed out the credit cards."

  Nola’s hand slipped up to rest on my shoulder where she squeezed, sending a warm tingle around to my heart. "I’m so sorry you had to grow up with that."

  "No, no. It's not like they were abusive or anything. I don’t want you to think that. But I think I’m a little overzealous about the way I handle money, based on my growing-up years."

  Nola nodded and began kneading my tense shoulder with her lean fingers.

  "One time, they had a windfall. A great uncle died, or something like that. I was only eleven at the time. My parents inherited some money and promptly went out and bought a big house. I don’t know how big, but as a kid, it had seemed incredible. There wasn’t much of a yard, because the backyard had a rock garden and an in-ground pool. Other houses in the neighborhood had yards. I made friends with the other kids in the neighborhood.

  "In the summer, we made the circuit, swimming at our house, eating popsicles across the street at a friend’s house, then moving on to tackle football in my friend Dale’s backyard. Then we moved. I didn’t understand it, not for another year at least. When I was fourteen, I found out that my parents had worked with a crooked real estate agent. Someone who helped pre-approve them for a loan far above anything they could actually afford. He told them they needed a 5/1 ARM. They ended up being foreclosed on, and we spent the next four years living in a small apartment until I moved out and started in on real estate."

  She nodded. "That’s why you don’t like that other real estate agent. That’s why you’re adamant about helping people find just the right place."

  I studied the back of my hands, not sure what to say. I’d wanted to open up to her because she made me feel seen. Like she understood. And now she was being accepting, and I was the one who didn’t know how to respond.

  "It’s important to me. When people already struggle with making good financial decisions, I don’t want to be the one to push them over the edge. I want to be the one advising them on how to make it better."

  "I think that’s an amazing thing, and I know you are so good at it. Heck, you’ve already gotten me to be more careful with my spending habits, and you did it without making me feel dumb. I’d say you’re doing amazing at your job, even if it’s not the usual way realtors operate."

  "Thank you." I reached over and squeezed her hand. "Thanks for letting me vent. It feels nice to explain my actions to someone. I know we should all be confident enough to not care what other people think, but sometimes it gets old feeling like no one understands."

  "I understand. I think recognition is a good thing. I think as humans, we crave it. Not always because of vanity, but sometimes recognition is the encouragement we need to continue on the path we are traveling. The recognition helps when you start to question how emotionally exhausted you are, or how much of a bigger check you would make if you convinced someone to buy a house out of their price range. Recognition is a form of encouragement."

  I leaned closer to her and placed a kiss on her temple. Her hair smelled like vanilla and coconut. "You’re kind, do you know that?"

  She squeezed my hand. "I hope I am, but you’re easy to be kind to."

  Just then my phone chimed loudly.

  Unknown number: Why not let the dogs have a swim day too? This is Tori, btw. And can I have Nola’s number?

  I flipped my phone around to show Nola the text. "How do all these people have my number? And why would she think letting dogs have a swim day is a good idea? I’m going to resign. That’s what I’m going to do."

  Nola tipped her head back and laughed. "Not yet, Mr. HOA. I think you finally won a voter for next year. Fredrick told me what a nice young man I was married to. The polls are looking good for you to maintain this job for the rest of your life."

  I groaned, and her musical laugh filled the evening air.

  We were probably breaking a noise code.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Homeowners Association Rule #23:

  No ice cream trucks.

  Coming home from work, I opened the front door and immediately tripped over a giant pair of shoes. Bane was home.

  "Excuse me!" I called. "Could you possibly pick up your snow-shoes and put them away?"

  Bane walked around the corner, coming from the master suite. He picked up his running shoes and looked at me with an expressionless face. "Happy now?"

  "Yes, thank you. It’d be nice to not trip the moment I walk in the door. And good grief, what size shoes are those? Fifty?"

  "Thirteen."

  "That’s almost two of mine."

  "I know. I was wondering if I had a mouse for a roommate when I saw yours sitting by the door. Someone your height should have enormous feet, but yours are tiny."

  "I like to think that I have dainty Cinderella feet." I smiled and passed him the paper bag.

  "What’s this?"

  "Smell it."

  He took a deep sniff of the bag. "Teriyaki?"

  "Hawaiian."

  His thinking face softened into a contented smile. "You’re the most beautiful, wonderful, thoughtful woman in the entire world."

  I kicked off my shoes. "Oh, stop it. Just kidding, tell me more."

  He surprised me by leaning over and giving me a quick peck on the cheek. It was the second time he'd done something like that. He chuckled and carried the bag into the kitchen, then began dishing up two plates for us. "Do I have to share the mac salad?"

  "Only two bites. I don’t want to completely deprive you. You’re a growing boy."

  "I’ll definitely be a growing boy if you keep bringing home take out," he joked as he poured the glasses of lemonade then carried them to the table. I gathered up the containers of food and set them on the table. There was no way I was going to be saving the leftovers. I planned on eating until I was sick, and if Bane loved Hawaiian food as much as he talked about it, then he would help me.

  By the time I sat down, he’d consumed half of the grilled chicken and was working on the scoops of Mac salad.

  "Thanks for waiting."

  He nodded. "I like you. I would only be this rude to someone I liked."

  My heart did an involuntary flip-flop, even though I knew he was teasing. "I’m incredibly flattered that you can be so rude to me."

  I reached forward with my fork and speared a bite of his mac salad. He scowled. "I don’t know if I like you anymore."

  I grinned. "So, how was work? Help anyone buy the perfect house?"

  "Actually, a young family came in today. They have a couple kids, so we’re trying to find them a nice affordable house with a large yard."

  I nodded. He was fulfilling dreams. Meanwhile, I had found out that Maya would be going home with her mom in two weeks. It was something to celebrate, but right now, it hurt. I exploded, "It’s not fair."

  The mood shifted immediately.

  Bane slammed back in his chair, looking at me in surprise. "What’s not fair?"

  "I see kids in the DHS office each day who should have a chance at that. A chance at a happy dream of a house. A chance to have a happy home to make memories in. Instead, someone else gets it."

  Bane s
wallowed before he answered me. "Maybe that’s what you should be focusing on—you are helping them. I’m helping all the other kids get that. I understand the loss that your kids have. I had it very different growing up than other kids had or have too."

  "Yes, but you had a home. You said yourself that your parents weren’t abusive. Making bad financial decisions isn’t the same as physical or emotional abuse!" I snapped, remembering Grace’s face when she heard that her father would be getting out of prison soon. The stark look of terror would be forever embedded in my mind.

  Bane shoveled another bite of mac salad into his mouth. Eyeing me warily the rest of dinner, we ate in silence.

  I cleaned up quickly after dinner. Then tossed my hair up in a messy bun as I prepped for the book club meeting that Tori had invited me to—the reason she’d asked Bane for my phone number. I would never have considered going to something like a book club meeting, but Tori had been incredibly convincing. And I liked her.

  There were some people that I had an immediate connection with; Tori was one of them. It had been so long since I’d had a connection with someone, which was precisely why it was hard for me to resist the pull of Bane's and my connection. The tension between us was tangible, and I was starting to snap at him. I was taking out my work stress on him. He was my safe zone. Him opening up to me the day before hadn’t helped. I was getting more and more attached. He was mine—but he wasn’t.

  I needed to get out of the house and away from him; away from his overwhelming presence.

  I stopped at the front door, hand on the knob. Bane was still in the kitchen, prepping the coffeepot for the next morning.

  "I’m sorry," I called softly.

  The water shut off.

  "I don’t know why I’m being so awful right now. I’m not that person. I don’t want to snap at you like that."

  Soft footsteps sounded behind me. I turned around slowly. Bane filled the entryway, kitchen towel in his hands as he dried them off. "Forget it. I know this is stressful on both of us. I hope you have fun tonight."

  I took a step forward and wrapped my arms around his waist. "Thanks, roomie."

  Then I hurried and let go before I took an embarrassing sniff of Mr. Yummy.