A small bead of construction adhesive where appropriate.
I photographed everything.
Not because I was planning a case.
Because I was an accountant.
If something went wrong, I documented it.
September brought cooler evenings and fewer visits.
I had another conversation with Sandra.
This time at her front porch.
No children.
No audience.
“I want to be absolutely clear.”
I said.
“The original arrangement is over.”
“No pool access unless I specifically invite you.”
“No gate.”
“No fence gap.”
“No guests.”
“Nothing.”
Sandra’s expression hardened.
“You're banning the children?”
“I’m ending access.”
“They didn't do anything.”
“This is not punishment.”
“They love that pool.”
“I understand.”
“Then why take it away?”
“Because you repeatedly used it outside what I agreed to.”
Sandra crossed her arms.
“I thought we had a neighborly understanding.”
“We did.”
“You expanded it without asking.”
She looked toward my yard.
“Fine.”
“If that's how you want things.”
“It is.”
She nodded.
Then said:
“I had thought you were more open to sharing.”
That phrase stayed with me.
Sharing.
As though the object in question had been partly communal all along.
I went home and wrote a note documenting the conversation.
DATE.
TIME.
LOCATION.
SUMMARY.
Nothing happened in October.
Nothing in November.
Pool closed for winter.
I changed the gate hardware again.
Spring came.
The following April I opened the pool.
Fresh water.
Chemical balancing.
Deck cleaning.
Heater test.
That first weekend, Sandra knocked.
She smiled as though September had not happened.
“Kids are already asking when swimming starts.”
I stared.
“What?”
“The pool.”
“Mason’s been counting days.”
“There is no pool arrangement this year.”
Her smile disappeared.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I’m not offering access.”
“Rachel.”
“We talked about this.”
“That was last year.”
“Yes.”
“And the conclusion was no more unsupervised access.”
“No.”
“The conclusion was no access unless I invite you.”
“You seriously mean the children can never swim?”
“I mean this summer, I’m keeping the pool private.”
Sandra looked offended.
“That seems unfair.”
“To whom?”
“The kids.”
“They got used to it.”
I stared.
“That does not create a right.”
“I didn't say a right.”
“You are describing it like one.”
Sandra left visibly angry.
Three weeks later, the fence boards were loose again.
Same area.
I repaired them.
Two days later, loose.
Again.
This time I marked each fastener position in pencil and photographed the section.
I added a small camera facing the side yard.
Then upgraded.
Four cameras.
One covering the gate.
One covering the pool.
One covering the eastern fence.
One covering the rear yard.
Cloud storage.
Time stamps.
Night recording.
Motion zones.
I did not tell Sandra.
I did not need to.
My cameras covered my property.
The first unauthorized entry appeared four days later.
June 11.
2:14 p.m.
Sandra pushed one loosened board inward.
Mason went through first.
Ella second.
Sandra third.
They stayed fifty-three minutes.
June 14.
Three people.
June 18.
Sandra’s sister.