During the winter, I had other matters to occupy me. My accounting firm was handling a complicated acquisition, and the work involved late nights, negotiations with people who regarded missing receipts as a philosophical disagreement, and long meetings in rooms where the air-conditioning was set by someone who apparently disliked human comfort. Marion's family visited over the holidays. My father's health had become less predictable, and I drove to see him on several Sundays. Life continued in ordinary ways, and the pool receded from my attention because it was cold, covered, and unused.
One afternoon in February, I found a note tucked into my mailbox. Sandra had written that she was organizing a summer schedule for the children and wanted to know when the pool would reopen. She suggested Tuesdays and Thursdays as regular swim days, with Saturdays available for family gatherings. The note was remarkably specific for an arrangement nobody had agreed to. She had even included a little table with dates and initials beside the times.
I walked across the narrow strip of lawn between our driveways and rang her bell. Sandra opened the door with a welcoming smile that faded when she saw the note in my hand. I told her there would be no standing schedule. She said she was only trying to be organized. I replied that organization was useful only after permission had been granted. She asked why I was becoming so formal, and I said because last summer had been difficult and I did not want to repeat it.
"The children will be disappointed," she said.
"Then you need to explain that I never agreed to this," I answered.
She closed the door after a short goodbye. I returned home irritated but relieved to have spoken plainly. I did not yet understand that Sandra was beginning to tell herself a story in which I was taking something away from her. The first summer's access had become, in her mind, a promise. The promise had become a routine. The routine had become a right. I was about to discover how stubbornly a person can defend a right that exists only because they have repeated the idea of it to themselves.
The following April, when Rosa confirmed that the pool could be opened after the weather stabilized, Sandra appeared at my door carrying her phone and the expression of a person arriving for a meeting she believed was overdue. She asked what our arrangements would be this year. I told her there were none. She said she did not understand. I explained that the access arrangement had ended because she had repeatedly exceeded it and because I was no longer comfortable inviting her family to swim.
She took a step back. "You're actually banning my children from a pool they've used for a whole summer?"
"I'm choosing not to invite them to my property," I said.
"That's very different from how you used to be."
"It is a response to what happened."