Within a month, a FOR SALE sign appeared in Denise’s yard.
Curtis called me the moment he saw it.
“You win.”
“No.”
“She’s leaving.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“Feels similar from over here.”
Her house went on the market at a price that assumed nobody in East Texas had heard the story.
That assumption lasted approximately twelve hours.
The first prospective buyer apparently asked the realtor about “the pool incident.”
The second knew more.
The third had seen someone’s social-media post.
Small communities operate on information networks faster than fiber-optic cable.
Denise changed listing agents.
Then changed the description.
Then reduced the price.
Twice.
At one showing, Curtis and I were repairing a section of his fence when a couple parked in front of Denise’s house.
The husband looked across the road.
“Excuse me?”
Curtis elbowed me before I could pretend not to hear.
“Yes?”
“Do you live around here?”
“I do.”
He pointed toward Denise’s backyard.
“Is that…”
His wife whispered something.
He lowered his voice.
“The pool house?”
Curtis turned away because he was about to laugh.
I said, “You should ask your realtor about any property records that concern you.”
The man nodded slowly.
“Right.”
They remained inside eleven minutes.
No offer.
Denise eventually sold.
The price was roughly seventy thousand dollars below what she had originally wanted.
The morning the moving truck arrived, I was repairing an old brass faucet in my shop.
I heard a car door.
When I stepped outside, Denise was walking toward the fence.
No sunglasses.
No white suit.
Jeans.
Simple blouse.
Hair pulled back.
For the first time since I had known her, she looked almost ordinary.
Still beautiful.
But human.
She stopped on her side.
I stopped on mine.
Neither of us spoke.
Finally she said, “Are you happy?”
“With what?”
“This.”
She gestured toward her house.
The truck.
The boxes.
“You got what you wanted.”
I set the wrench on the workbench beside me.
“I wanted you to stop taking my water.”
“You destroyed my life over water.”
“No.”
Her eyes hardened.
“You think you’re some kind of hero?”
“No.”
“People were hurt.”
“I know.”
“And you just stand there.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I want you to admit what you did.”
“I changed a fixture on my own property and labeled it. You sent somebody across my fence after I told you repeatedly to stop.”
“You knew what would happen.”
“I knew you might keep stealing.”