I looked down at the document, my eyes catching the bold heading at the top of the page.

It read Permanent Easement and Boundary Waiver.

“This says I agree to let the fence stay where it is,” I said slowly.

“It just formalizes the grass deal, Joan,” he said, jingling the loose change in his pocket.

“It saves us both from dealing with city hall.”

I stared at the black signature line at the bottom of the page, where my name was already typed out in neat, block letters.

I set the unsigned paper back on Rachel Monroe’s desk, right next to her yellow legal pad.