You cannot just trade eight feet of land for a couple of rolls of grass.”

“It is not just grass, Emma.

It is peace.”

“It is not peace if he lied to get it,” she said.

She turned back to the window, watching a small yellow county truck slow down as it drove past Tyler’s driveway.

The driver, a man in a neon vest, seemed to be looking at the new fence line before he accelerated and moved down the street.

“Did you call the county, Mom?” Emma asked, her eyes following the yellow truck.