Now I was beginning to understand why she needed the argument to stay about a swimming pool.
A public feud between two homeowners could drown out questions about the people behind her curtains.
If the entire street regarded me as obsessive, any concern I raised about her household would sound like retaliation.
The garbage was not random.
It was a way to write the first version of the story before anyone asked the right question.
On Saturday morning, I found Gordon Leach photographing the pool through a gap in my side fence.
I approached him from my driveway rather than the backyard.
“Can I help you?” I asked.
He lowered his phone.
“I’m documenting a community health concern.”
“Are you here on behalf of the county?”
“I’m a concerned neighbor.”
I pointed to the front sidewalk.
“You can take pictures from public areas, but please don’t enter my side yard.”
He backed away and raised both palms.
“You don’t have to get hostile.”
I asked whether Vivian had requested the photographs.
He looked toward her house before answering.
“She said the city needed proof.”
I corrected him about the county inspection and offered to show him the written finding that my pool was private and being maintained.
Gordon declined.
“I don’t want to get involved in whatever you two have going on.”
I watched him walk toward Vivian’s driveway, where she waited beside her mailbox.
She accepted his phone and studied the screen.
I photographed their meeting from my own porch.
Then I sat down to write another statement.
The reports were becoming a second job.
That evening, I received a call from my insurance agent asking whether I had allowed third parties to use the pool.
An anonymous complaint alleged I was operating an unlicensed day camp.
I spent thirty minutes clarifying that Lucy’s occasional birthday gatherings were private family activities.
The agent asked for the county inspector’s findings and my maintenance records.
I provided both.
She said the company would review the complaint and contact me if anything else was required.
I hung up feeling furious at how efficiently a lie could create paperwork.
Lucy had heard my end of the conversation.
“Are they taking our house?” she asked.
I crouched beside her.
“No.”
“Are they taking the pool?”
“No one is taking the pool.”
She pressed her lips together.
“You sound like you don’t believe it.”
I wished I could hide the uncertainty better.
