Chapter 2 - The Walk of ShameThe police arrived exactly four minutes later.
By the time two uniformed officers rushed through the side gate with their hands on their holsters, half the subdivision had gathered on the sidewalks. The officers stopped short, taking in the scene: the blaring alarm, me standing calmly by the patio door, and two naked adults shivering in the swimming pool.
"Ma'am, we got a panic button activation," the older officer shouted over the noise. "Is there an intruder?"
I stepped over to the smart hub and finally tapped the screen, silencing the siren. The sudden quiet in the backyard was heavy, punctuated only by Chloe's quiet sobbing.
"No intruder, Officer," I said clearly. "Just a trespassing issue. I came home from work and found these two defiling my property. I'd like them removed."
"Elena, stop it!" Julian hissed, his teeth chattering from the cool evening air. "Officer, I live here. This is my house. My wife is having a psychotic break."
The officer looked at Julian, then at the bundle of men's clothes I still held. "If you live here, sir, why are you hiding in the pool?"
"Because she has my clothes!" Julian yelled.
I tossed Julian's clothes onto the wet concrete, exactly two inches out of his reach from the water. "You can get out whenever you like, Julian. The gate is open."
Julian looked at his clothes, then at the open gate where the silhouettes of our neighbors were visible under the streetlights. If he got out, he would have to pull himself onto the deck, expose himself to the cops, the neighbors, and me, just to grab his shorts.
"Officer," Chloe sobbed. "Can we please have towels? I'm freezing."
"I don't provide hospitality to trespassers," I said, leaning against the patio door.
It took twenty minutes. Twenty agonizing minutes of the officers taking my statement, checking Julian's ID from his wallet on the ground, and officially documenting the "domestic disturbance." Finally, the cops threw two metallic emergency blankets onto the concrete.
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Julian and Chloe had to climb out of the pool, wrap themselves in foil like leftover takeout, and do the walk of shame past Mrs. Gable, the teenagers, and the mail carrier, all the way to the front curb.
I locked the gate behind them.
