It was considerably less than the eighteen-thousand-six-hundred-dollar demand the former president had prepared.
I included those records in the restitution and civil claims process.
Then I paid the professional who had actually performed the work.
I remember standing beside the pool after the service was completed.
The water was clear again.
The deck had been cleaned.
The gray trash bin was gone, and the broken decorations had been replaced.
Everything looked normal.
But I didn't feel the relief I expected.
I stood there staring into the blue water, thinking about how easily someone had transformed a place of happiness into a source of anxiety for my family.
Then my daughter approached.
She stopped beside me.
"Daddy?"
I looked down.
"Yeah?"
"Is the pool safe now?"
I nodded.
"The professionals finished checking everything."
She looked toward the water.
Then she asked, "Can that lady come back?"
The question hurt.
I knelt beside her.
"She's not allowed to enter our property without permission. We've taken steps to make sure the yard is secure, and we'll handle any problem that comes up."
My daughter looked toward the fence.
Then back at me.
"Promise?"
I took a breath.
"I promise I'll do everything I can to keep you safe."
She nodded.
For several seconds, we looked at the pool together.
Then she smiled faintly.
"Can we have another party?"
I laughed softly.
"Absolutely."
Her face brightened.
"With swimming?"
I smiled.
"With swimming."
She threw her arms around my neck.
And for the first time since the dumping incident, I felt as though something important had been returned to us.
Not the water.
Not the stone deck.
The ability to enjoy our own backyard without immediately thinking about the woman who had tried to ruin it.
We held the second pool party on a warm Saturday afternoon.
It wasn't our daughter's actual birthday anymore, but she insisted that didn't matter. She called it her Un-Birthday Swimming Celebration, and my wife helped her make invitations decorated with blue waves and tiny drawings of sunglasses.
Several friends attended.
The retired widow came over with homemade cookies.
The new HOA president stopped by after the guests arrived, wearing jeans and a simple blue blouse instead of her professional navy blazer.
She brought a small gift for our daughter.
It was a framed photograph of the pool taken several days before the garbage incident.
The water sparkled beneath the afternoon sun, and the patio looked beautiful.
On the back, she'd written a short message.