On a Saturday morning in September, I came downstairs at 7:30 a.m., looked out the kitchen window, and saw Sandra and three unrecognized children swimming in my pool.
I went outside.
Sandra looked up with the expression of someone caught but prepared. "Good morning," she said. "The children were just so looking forward to the last swim of the season. I hope you don't mind."
"I do mind," I said. "You need to leave immediately."
"I thought we could come to an arrangement," she countered.
"There is no arrangement to discuss. Leave my property now."
She gathered the children and filed through the fence gap, which she had somehow managed to pry open yet again, destroying the steel connectors in the process. As she stepped through, she looked back and said, "You know, a pool is a terrible thing to waste just because you're lonely and bitter."
I didn't answer. I went inside, called my pool contractor, and made a decision.
By mid-October, the weather had turned cold. Usually, I would have the pool winterized—covered and treated. This year, I instructed the maintenance company to do something different. I had them drain it entirely.
I was planning to have the tile border replaced in the spring anyway, but draining it completely in late autumn served a dual purpose. It protected me from liability, and it removed the temptation completely. A twenty-two by forty-four-foot concrete pit is entirely unappealing.
For the next few months, winter took over. The cameras recorded nothing but snow falling into the empty concrete basin. The fence remained broken on Sandra's side, though she never crossed the threshold.