Basement pipes.
No obvious moisture.
The next morning before work, I photographed the water meter.
That evening, I checked again.
The number had moved more than expected.
I called the utility company.
They told me there could be intermittent usage.
“Like what?”
“Outdoor watering.”
“I barely water.”
“Pool?”
“I don’t have one.”
That sentence would become funny later.
At the time, it wasn’t.
That night I barely slept.
Just before dawn, I heard something outside.
A metallic scrape.
Then another.
My bedroom overlooked the side yard.
I moved the curtain aside.
Margaret was standing beside my house.
For one second, I thought maybe something was wrong.
Then I saw the hose.
Long.
Green.
Coiled across one shoulder.
She walked directly toward my outdoor spigot.
Crouched.
Attached the hose.
Then fed the other end through the gap near the fence.
I stood there in disbelief.
She turned on the water.
I watched the hose swell.
Then disappear through the fence toward her property.
I put on shoes and a robe.
Went downstairs.
Stepped outside.
Followed the hose.
It crossed into Margaret’s backyard.
And went straight into her swimming pool.
I stopped.
Margaret had expanded that pool two summers earlier.
It took up a ridiculous portion of her yard.
Now it was partially drained, apparently for maintenance or cleaning.
She was refilling it.
