Jason turned to me.
“Can we work something out?”
It was the first time his voice had lost its edge.
I looked at the boards blocking our front door.
I looked at Emma sitting beside the temporary plywood path.
Then I looked at the orange paint on Jason’s hands.
“What exactly do you want to work out?” I asked.
He glanced at the inspector.
“I put the ramp back. You tell them we settled the property issue.”
The inspector heard him.
“This is not her enforcement decision,” he said.
Jason’s jaw tightened.
He tried another approach.
He said the contractor had made a mistake.
He said the fence must have been moved.
He said the survey pin could be wrong.
He said the ramp had confused the measurements.
Each explanation lasted only until the inspector asked for a document.
Jason had opinions.
I had records.
By late afternoon, the contractor had reattached enough of the ramp for Emma to use it safely.
