"Then what am I supposed to do?"
"Talk to her calmly. If you truly believe there is an immediate disturbance, call the non-emergency police line."
Nancy stared at him, appalled. "You want me to call the police over a leaf blower?"
"No. I’m saying that is the proper channel if you believe a law is being broken."
Nancy heard only part of his answer: The proper channel. She returned home that night fully believing the board had confirmed she was right, even if they lacked the courage to enforce it themselves.
Over the next week, Nancy watched Unit 58 like a hawk.
Sunday afternoon, the blower started at exactly 4:42 PM. Nancy closed her windows. The mechanical whine penetrated the glass. She turned on the television, raising the volume, but she could still hear it vibrating in her teeth.
She walked out onto her deck and shouted across the grass. "Elena!"
The blower continued.
"Elena, turn that off!"
Elena glanced up, making eye contact, but did not stop sweeping the leaves.
Nancy’s anger boiled over. Being ignored had always affected her far more than open disagreement. As a child, she had been the youngest of four daughters; her father settled arguments by walking away, and her mother only listened when Nancy yelled. As a teacher, Nancy had managed classrooms for thirty years by insisting that every disruption receive a swift response. After retirement, she joined committees because silence felt too much like surrender.
Harold often told her she mistook being heard for being obeyed. The accusation infuriated her, mostly because a small part of her feared he was right.
On that Sunday, Elena eventually finished and went inside. The following day, the blower started again. By Tuesday, it ran for twelve minutes.
Then came the following Sunday afternoon, exactly one week after the board meeting. Nancy heard the motor roar to life at 5:03 PM.
She had spent the entire morning caring for Harold, who had taken a frightening fall while dressing. He stubbornly refused to let her call their daughter, and he refused to use his walker. By late afternoon, Nancy’s nerves felt scraped entirely raw.