"No."
She seemed surprised.
I continued.
"I think you've finally been caught doing something you can't explain away with another HOA letter."
Her face hardened.
The deputy directed her toward the gate.
She left.
And for the first time in months, my backyard became quiet.
But the silence felt different now.
The pool was contaminated.
The fertilizer bag had been documented.
My afternoon had been destroyed.
Yet I no longer felt that I was facing Patricia alone.
I had witnesses.
Evidence.
An attorney.
And neighbors who were finally beginning to speak.
I walked toward the patio table, picked up my phone, and called my sister.
She answered cheerfully.
"Hey! How's the vacation?"
I looked toward the water.
"Well, you might want to sit down."
She laughed.
"That sounds promising."
I took a breath.
"Patricia climbed my fence."
A pause.
"She did what?"
"And dumped fertilizer into the pool."
Silence.
Then my sister shouted so loudly that I moved the phone away from my ear.
"She did WHAT?"
I closed my eyes.
"Exactly."
My sister began asking questions faster than I could answer.
Was I hurt?
Had Patricia touched me?
Were the police involved?
Was the pool safe?
Had I recorded it?
I reassured her that I was physically unharmed and that the deputies had documented the incident.
Then she said something that made me laugh despite everything.
"Please tell me you weren't standing out there wearing those ridiculous flamingo trunks."
I looked down at the gray swimming trunks.
"No."
"Good."
She exhaled.
"At least you had some dignity."
I laughed.
Then the laughter faded.
She became serious.
"You okay?"
I looked toward the empty gate.
For a moment, I considered giving the usual answer.
Fine.
Everything's fine.
But I was tired of pretending.
"No," I said. "Not really."
My sister was quiet.
Then she said, "I'm coming over."
"You don't have to."
"I know."
She paused.
"But I'm coming anyway."
By Sunday morning, half the neighborhood had heard about the incident.