My father had been repairing swimming pools for twenty-nine years.
At sixty-one, experience had made his work look almost effortless. He could hear a struggling pump and often tell what was wrong before running a single test. He could look at cloudy water and identify the likely problem immediately.
Most importantly, Dad documented everything.
My name is Julie Marsh. I’m twenty-eight, and I work as an executive assistant for Richard Emory at Marsh Capital Management.
When Richard mentioned that the pool at his Lakeview Drive home needed extensive repairs, I recommended my father.
Dad inspected the forty-foot gunite pool and found a mess: a failed pump, damaged plumbing, a ruined filtration system, and water that had turned dark green.
He prepared an itemized estimate for $7,800.
Richard signed it.
Dad began Monday.
Nine days later, the pool was transformed.
The water was crystal clear. The waterfall ran smoothly, and the spa circulated perfectly.
“It’s beautiful,” I told Dad when I stopped by.
“Yes,” he said.
Then he paused.
“It is.”
