“I keep hearing that chainsaw in my head,” I said.

My husband stopped and leaned on his handle. “It’s quiet now though. You did good with those maps.”

“The judge barely had to say a word after he saw my initials,” I answered. “Brian just sat there staring.”

We kept working. The sun sat warm on my back and the rake handle grew a little slick from my grip. “What if the county makes him move his driveway?” he asked.

“Then they make him move it,” I said. “Not our fight anymore.”

The line came out straight again. I stood there with the rake still in my hands and looked at where the ground met the posts. Those boundaries I drew back in 1989 had stayed exactly where I put them. Brian could bring all the new maps he wanted but the old lines held. The worry about what he might try next sat smaller in my chest now. The fence was back where it belonged and that was enough.