We stood together in the garage.
Then I placed one hand on his shoulder.
"Come on. Let's get these tools organized before your grandmother finds something else for us to do."
Theo laughed.
We worked until dinner.
And for a little while, I felt my father standing beside us.
Not literally.
But in the habits he had passed down.
The careful handling of tools.
The questions.
The insistence on understanding before acting.
Those were the things I feared losing.
Not the market value of a truck.
The connection between generations.
During dinner, Jasmine brought up the HOA dispute.
"Any news from your friend in pink?"
I groaned.
"She's not my friend."
My mother looked toward me.
"Jasmine."
My sister grinned.
"What?"
"Don't start."
Theo looked curious.
"Who's the lady in pink?"
I sighed.
"The HOA president."
His eyes widened.
"The one who doesn't like Grandpa's truck?"
I nodded.
"Apparently."
Theo frowned.
"Why?"
I smiled sadly.
"Good question."
He looked toward the driveway.
"Are they going to make you get rid of it?"
I felt my jaw tighten.
"No."
My mother watched me carefully.
I continued.
"We're sorting out a disagreement about the rules."
Theo considered that.
Then said, "But if it's your driveway, shouldn't you be able to park there?"
Jasmine smiled.
"See? Even the kid understands."
I laughed.
My mother raised one finger.
"Ownership still comes with some rules."
Theo looked toward her.
"Like what?"
She explained how communities could have valid restrictions agreed to through their governing documents.
Then she added that those restrictions needed to be applied properly.
Theo nodded slowly.
"So the problem isn't that the HOA has rules."
My mother smiled.
"Exactly."
He looked toward me.