His silver hair had grown slightly longer.
He looked healthier.
Happier.
The little girl smiled shyly.
“Are you the man with the pretty pool?”
I laughed.
“That's me.”
She looked toward her grandfather.
Then back at me.
“Grandpa says you helped everybody get our pool back.”
I shook my head gently.
“A lot of people helped.”
She considered that.
Then smiled.
“Well, thank you.”
I felt my throat tighten.
“You're welcome, sweetheart.”
The older man looked toward me.
His eyes were wet.
For a moment, he seemed unable to speak.
Then he extended his hand.
I shook it.
He held on.
“Thank you for giving me the chance to make things right.”
I looked directly into his eyes.
“You made that choice yourself.”
He nodded.
Then looked toward his granddaughter.
“She reminds me of my wife.”
The little girl grinned.
“Grandma was a really good swimmer.”
He smiled sadly.
“She was.”
For several seconds, we stood together.
Then the older man looked toward the community pool.
“This is all I wanted.”
I understood.
He hadn't been trying to steal anything.
He hadn't wanted to invade my family's privacy.
He'd wanted to give his grandchildren happy memories.
And somebody had exploited that simple wish.
I looked toward the little girl.
Then toward my own daughter laughing in the water.
For the first time, I felt something like peace about the entire situation.
Not because the president had been punished.
But because the people she'd deceived were finally enjoying something honest.
Several weeks later, my wife suggested inviting the older man and his family to our house for a small barbecue.
I looked at her.
“Really?”
She smiled.
“Yes.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“After everything?”
She nodded.
“Especially after everything.”
I considered that.
Then smiled.
We invited them.
Not because the HOA demanded it.
Not because anybody had purchased admission.
Not because a fake contract said our home belonged to a neighborhood program.
We invited them because we wanted to.
The Saturday they arrived, the older man stood at the white wrought-iron gate holding a plate of homemade cookies.
His granddaughter stood beside him.
I opened the gate myself.
He hesitated.
Then looked toward the electronic keypad.
For a moment, his expression became serious.
“I never thought I'd stand here again.”
I smiled.
“Come on in.”
He stepped through.
Then paused.
His eyes moved toward the guesthouse porch.
The broken window had been replaced months earlier.
The glass was spotless.
The white trim had been repainted.