I agreed to pass along the information so he could obtain appropriate representation and have his documents evaluated.
My wife appeared beside me.
She looked toward the older man.
Then asked the question I'd been avoiding.
“Did the association know the pool belonged to our family?”
He lowered his eyes.
“Yes.”
Her expression hardened.
“All of them?”
“I can't speak for everyone.”
He swallowed.
“But the president knew.”
My wife stared.
The older man continued.
“She told us you had agreed to provide access in exchange for reduced association dues and a maintenance contribution.”
I laughed in disbelief.
“Reduced dues?”
He nodded.
I shook my head.
“We never agreed to anything like that.”
My wife crossed her arms.
Then looked toward the man.
“Did anybody ever speak to us directly?”
He hesitated.
“No.”
She stared.
“Not once?”
He shook his head.
“The president said all owner communications had to go through her office because of privacy requirements.”
I felt anger building again.
She hadn't merely lied about a pool.
She'd created an entire procedure designed to prevent the people paying for access from speaking to the people who owned it.
My wife took a slow breath.
Then said quietly, “You should have checked.”
The man lowered his head.
“I know.”
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then he looked toward us.
His eyes were wet.
“I'm sorry.”
I studied him.
He had helped promote the program.
He had signed committee paperwork.
And he had remained silent for several seconds while the president tried to blame me for the broken window.
Those were real failures.
But he was also standing at my gate admitting them.
And that mattered.
I nodded slowly.
“Then help establish what actually happened.”
He looked up.
For the first time, something like relief appeared in his expression.
“I will.”
He left a few minutes later.
I watched him walk slowly along the sidewalk, his blue-and-white towel still hanging around his neck.
My wife stood beside me.
She looked toward the broken guesthouse window.
Then toward the empty street.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
Finally, she whispered, “She sold our backyard.”
I shook my head.
“She tried to.”
My wife turned toward me.
“She was taking money from people for access to our home.”
I nodded.
“Yes.”
Her eyes filled.
Then she looked toward the house where our daughter was waiting.
“And she knew we had a child living here.”
I couldn't answer.
Because that was the part I hadn't fully allowed myself to consider.
For months, we'd treated the HOA president as an irritating woman who enjoyed issuing violations.