Page 9 of Lost in Love

Bonner cocks his head at Sevi, crawling up the steps and into the house as the garage door closes. “Dude, is your kid wearing a leash?”

Sighing, I put my truck in reverse. “He thinks he’s a dog.”

Bonner laughs. “Cute.”

“It’s not cute when he wakes up at three in the morning because he wants you to take him outside so he can piss on the lawn.”

You know that look people give you when they want to laugh because they think you’re joking around with them, but instead it comes out as a nervous chuckle because they’re really not sure? That’s the noise Bonner makes.

I take Oliver to basketball and drop Bonner off at the school, then back to the youth center to watch the remainder of Oliver’s practice. When we leave, he says nothing about basketball or even his day. It’s Bonner he wants to know about.

“Where’d he go?” he asks, frantically looking around the parking lot for him.

“I don’t know.”

Oliver frowns. “I wanted to ride in his car again.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Again?”

“Yeah, he took me for a ride the other day.”

Of course he did.

Drawing in a dejected breath, Oliver pushes the sweaty hair from his face. “It’s cooler than this truck.”

I don’t say anything to him. Sometimes kids can be so mean. I work hard to be able to have a new truck every couple of years. Perks of being a mechanic is I find the good deals, but still, it’s no Ferrari.

Back at the house, I notice a woman standing on my lawn inspecting the height of my grass. I’m not even joking. She has a goddamn tape measure out.

I slam the door to my truck and then walk over to her. Oliver takes off to Bonner’s house without another word. “What are you doing in my yard?” I ask the black-haired lady with thick black-framed glasses.

She doesn’t look up but points to the tape measure in her hand. “Per the HOA, the length of your grass should be no longer than three inches in height.”

I stare at her, and her perfectly cut bowl-shaped hair. She can’t be serious, can she? Our lawn has to be a certain length? We’re in the middle of a drought. I’m lucky we have a lawn to begin with, and now I have to measure it to make sure it’s at the proper length. Fuck that shit.

The woman stands, adjusts her glasses by the frame, and then meets my bewildered stare. Have you ever seenTheIncredibles? She looks exactly like a real-life version of Edna Mode. I wonder briefly if she’d take Sevi and teach us how to deal with him. I’m certain that kid will catch on fire with his anger one day.

Edna Mode challenges me with, “Are you going to cut it?”

I let out a snort. “Not right now.”

“I’m Kenya Martin.” Damn, I was really hoping her name was Edna. Fits her better. “The president of the HOA.” Reaching into her purse she slings over her shoulder, she whips out an envelope. “Consider this your warning. If not cut within twenty-four hours, we will be forced to fine you.”

Fine me? What a joke. I refuse to take the paper. “I’ll cut it this weekend when I have time.”

Can you take a wild guess as to what Kenya does next? I bet you can’t. Or maybe you’re familiar with how HOA’s work, because I’m not, but she shoves the envelope at me and slaps it to my chest. “Mr. Beckett, we here in Santa Vista Ridge believe appearance is what makes our community desirable.”

“Desirable? You’re stepping in dog shit from my neighbor’s dog and you’re worried about being desirable?” Stepping back, I let the envelope fall to the ground, next to the dog shit.

Kenya looks at her feet and the dog shit underneath them. “I will be having a talk with the owners at 6256 about their animals, but for the meantime, please trim your grass.”

Is she for fucking real? Does this really happen in neighborhoods? In Texas, I used to have to go to our neighbor’s house to return their cows, not complain about their lawn. This shit is ridiculous.

Bonner walks over about then and smiles at Kenya. “What’d up, HOA lady?”

I give a slight nod to Kenya as she’s wiping the dog shit off her high heels with a stick. “She wants me to trim my grass.”

Bonner tilts his head and eyes Kenya curiously. “Do you keep yours trimmed?” he asks, smirking and drifting his eyes lower.

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