She hesitated.
Then said the company was responsible for delivering specified summer activities, and the contract included cancellation and scheduling provisions that could create financial consequences if the facilities weren't available.
For several seconds, I considered the implications.
The president wasn't simply annoyed that I refused to let neighbors swim.
Her daughter had accepted responsibility for a program that might not be deliverable.
The HOA had already collected money.
And the president had repeatedly assured families that everything was under control.
My refusal meant those assurances would be tested against reality.
I thanked the treasurer.
Then contacted my attorney.
She listened carefully.
Her first response was practical.
"Preserve what you have. Don't speculate about what you don't know."
I nodded.
She continued.
"Your property rights are one issue. The association's financial and contractual decisions are another."
I understood.
But the connection mattered.
The HOA president was using pressure on me to solve a problem created by promises she had made to other people.
And I was beginning to suspect that the barbecue complaint wouldn't be her final attempt.
The following week was the most uncomfortable I'd experienced since moving into Cedar Landing.
I continued going to work, attending inspections, reviewing drainage plans, and returning home each evening to a place that was supposed to help me relax. But now I found myself checking the security cameras before opening the backyard gate, looking for unfamiliar vehicles outside, and wondering whether another violation notice would be waiting in my mailbox.
My sister noticed the change.
She came over on Thursday evening with the children and a container of homemade macaroni and cheese.
I was sitting at the kitchen island when they arrived.
My nephew headed straight toward the sliding glass door.
Then he stopped.
"Uncle, why is there a lock on the backyard gate now?"
I looked toward him.
"Because people need permission before coming into our yard."
He frowned.
"Did somebody steal something?"
My sister gave me a warning glance.
I smiled reassuringly.
"No. We're just making sure everybody understands where they're supposed to enter."
My niece looked toward the pool.
"Can we still swim?"
I laughed softly.
"Of course."
She grinned.
Then my sister told both children to wash their hands before dinner.
When they were gone, she sat beside me.
"What's really happening?"
I explained the notices, the unauthorized swimming program, and the trespass warning.
She listened without interrupting.
Then her expression hardened.
"That woman is trying to make you responsible for promises she made."
I nodded.
"Looks that way."