Our kids are grown. Sons with the Navy somewhere he can’t name. Daughters finishing grad school in Ohio. After Lucia passed, our suburban house became a mausoleum. Every room whispered her name. I sold it, took 340,000 cash, and bought this 1890s craftsman cottage on Pine Brook Lake in northern Wisconsin. Population, 340 year round, maybe 600 in summer. 2.
3 acres, 200 ft of private shoreline, loons calling at dawn, mist rolling off water so still it looked like black glass. Moving day, I stood on that dock with gas station coffee tasting like burnt regret and felt something besides grief for the first time in a year. The smell of wet cedar shingles, cold breeze stinging my face. Screen door creaking behind me, begging for WD40. I didn’t care. It was perfect.
Peace. Lasted exactly 36 hours. Day 2, 7:30 a.m. I’m hauling boxes from the U-Haul when gravel crunches under tires. White Lexus SUV rolls into my driveway. Vanity plate lake ken. A woman emerges. Late 50s yoga toned designer athleisure oversized sunglasses perched on her head like a tiara. She doesn’t knock.
Doesn’t introduce herself from a respectful distance. Just walks straight through my open garage, heels clicking concrete, and plants herself on my dock like she built it. Good morning, Darlene Pritchard, Pinebrook Estates HOA president, 11 years running. Her voice could strip varnish off furniture. We need to discuss your dock permit.
It’s under review. You’re currently violating community waterfront covenants. I’m holding a box of Lucia’s dishes. China from our wedding. I’m not part of an HOA. She shoves a 19-page packet at me. Welcome packet. Inside, fees, rules, architectural review board requirements, mandatory participation in the Lakefest planning committee.
Sweetheart, everyone on Pine Brook Lake is part of Pine Brook Estates. Your ignorance doesn’t create exemptions. First dues check by Friday. 450 monthly plus 200 for new owner processing cash or check. She turns, heels clicking back to her Lexus, doesn’t wait for questions. I stand there, packet in hand, rage climbing my spine.
