I stayed quiet when my neighbor stole my things \u2014 and even when she used my electricity. But the night I finally fought back, karma struck twice. The second blow was one she never saw coming.<\/p>\n
Most mornings, the biggest decision I had to make was whether the tomatoes needed watering before breakfast.<\/p>\n
At sixty-four, I liked it that way.<\/p>\n
I’d had enough surprises for one lifetime, and after thirty-two years in the same little suburban house, there wasn’t much left in it that could surprise me.<\/p>\n
\nThe number was nearly double.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n
That morning, I poured my coffee, opened the mail, and found out I was wrong.<\/p>\n
Except this time, I couldn’t.<\/p>\n
I blinked. Then I blinked again.<\/p>\n
“That can’t be right,” I said aloud, to nobody but the cat.<\/p>\n
The number was nearly double. Not a few dollars off. Double.<\/p>\n
I checked the account number. I checked the meter reading. I even walked out to the little box on the side of my garage and squinted at it, as if the digits might apologize and correct themselves.<\/p>\n
\n<\/div>\n\n“Old fridges eat power.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n
They didn’t.<\/p>\n
<\/div>\nI came back inside and called my daughter Diane \u2014 because that’s what widows do when something doesn’t add up. We call our daughters and pretend we just wanted to chat.<\/p>\n
“Mom, did you leave the AC running with a window open again?”<\/p>\n
“I did not,” I said. “I haven’t touched the thermostat since April.”<\/p>\n
“Maybe it’s the fridge. Old fridges eat power.”<\/p>\n
\n<\/div>\n\nMonica had trouble.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n
“The fridge is younger than you are, honey.”<\/p>\n
She laughed. I did not.<\/p>\n
After we hung up, I stood at the kitchen window and stared across the low fence at my neighbor Monica’s yard. Monica, thirty-something, three kids, a husband who traveled, and a shiny white Tesla always parked crooked in her driveway, nosed up close to the fence we shared, as if the mulch beds and the solar lights were only for show.<\/p>\n
Her habits, however, were not.<\/p>\n
I already knew Monica had trouble understanding where her property ended and everyone else’s began. I just didn’t know yet how far she’d taken it.<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n\n<\/div>\n\nI told myself she was busy.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n
Six months ago, my garden gnome disappeared. A silly little thing my husband bought me at a flea market the summer before he passed. He’d pressed it into my hands and grinned.\u00a0‘For the garden, El. Every yard needs a little nonsense.’<\/i><\/p>\n
Two days later, I spotted the gnome sitting cheerfully by Monica’s front steps, wearing a fresh coat of blue paint like it had always lived there.<\/p>\n
I never said a word.<\/p>\n
Then the lawn mower went missing from my garage. It came back a week later, tank empty, blade dull, and no note. I told myself she was busy. Three kids. Give grace.<\/p>\n
\n<\/div>\n\nTwo hundred and twenty-seven dollars.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n
I wasn’t the only one. Frank across the street had complained once about a ladder Monica had “borrowed” and forgotten to return. At the time, I’d laughed it off. That was Monica. She borrowed first and asked later.<\/p>\n
Looking back, I should have realized that people like Monica don’t stop when nobody stops them.<\/p>\n
“Keep the peace, Eleanor,” I muttered, the way I had been muttering it for a decade.<\/p>\n
<\/div>\nI looked down at the bill in my hand.\u00a0Two hundred and twenty-seven dollars\u00a0<\/i>\u2014 for a woman who watches PBS and boils one kettle a day.<\/p>\n
\n<\/div>\n\nI followed the cable with my eyes.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n
Something in this house was drinking electricity like a thirsty horse, and I intended to find out what.<\/p>\n
****<\/strong><\/p>\n
But one night, I couldn\u2019t sleep at all, and even my pills weren\u2019t helping.<\/p>\n
The hum was faint \u2014 the kind of sound a person notices only at midnight, when everything else is quiet. I was sitting up in bed, staring at the ceiling, when I heard it again through the open window.<\/p>\n
I pulled the blinds back an inch and squinted out at the driveway.<\/p>\n
\n<\/div>\n\n“What exactly are you doing?”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n
For one second, I thought I was imagining what I saw. Then I followed the cable with my eyes.<\/p>\n
Monica’s white Tesla sat pressed up close to my property line, and a thick black cable ran from the side of the car straight to the outdoor outlet on my garage wall.<\/p>\n
<\/div>\nI threw on my robe and slippers and walked out into the cool night air, my heart beating harder than it had in months.<\/p>\n
Monica leaned against her car, scrolling on her phone, calm as a Sunday morning.<\/p>\n
\n<\/div>\n\n“Eleanor, come on.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n
“Monica,” I said, my voice tighter than I meant it to be. “What exactly are you doing?”<\/p>\n
She looked up without a trace of shame.<\/p>\n
\n<\/div>\n\n“Charging my car. What’s the big deal?”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n
“The big deal,” I answered, folding my arms, “is that cable is plugged into MY house.”<\/p>\n
She rolled her eyes and slipped the phone into her back pocket.<\/p>\n
\n<\/div>\n\n“Because of THIS.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n
“Eleanor, come on. You live alone. How much electricity could you possibly need?”<\/p>\n
\n<\/div>\n\n“That isn’t the point.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n
“It kind of is, though,” she went on, waving a hand at my quiet little house. “I have three kids. I’m running errands all day. You’re retired. You just sit inside.”<\/p>\n
<\/div>\nI felt the heat rise up the back of my neck.<\/p>\n
“My bill doubled last month, Monica. Doubled. Because of THIS.”<\/p>\n
\n<\/div>\n\n“I’m almost done.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n
She gave an irritated little laugh.<\/p>\n
“Fine. I’ll give you ten bucks if it matters that much. Don’t be greedy, Eleanor. It’s just a little electricity.”<\/p>\n
Greedy. That word landed harder than she knew. I had spent forty years being the woman who baked casseroles for grieving families and watered plants for neighbors on vacation.<\/p>\n
“Please unplug the cable,” I said quietly.<\/p>\n
\n<\/div>\n\n“This is why I didn’t ask.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n
“I’m almost done. Ten more minutes.”<\/p>\n
\n<\/div>\n\n“Now, Monica.”<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n
She sighed like I was a child asking for a second cookie, then made a slow show of tugging the cable out and coiling it in her hands.<\/p>\n
“You know,” she added over her shoulder, “this is why I didn’t ask. I knew you’d make a whole thing out of it.”<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n\n<\/div>\n\nI had let all of it slide.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n
I did not answer. I forced my mouth into the smallest, tightest smile I could manage, turned on my heel, and walked back into my house.<\/p>\n
The door clicked shut behind me, and I stood in the dark hallway for a long moment, listening to my own breathing.<\/p>\n
Then I walked to the kitchen table, sat down, and stared at the electric bill that was still sitting there under the fruit bowl.<\/p>\n
Two hundred and twenty-seven dollars.<\/i><\/p>\n
\n<\/div>\n\nI was almost smiling.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n
I had let all of it slide at first. Because I was tired. Because I was alone. Because being “the nice one” was easier than the alternative.<\/p>\n
But then I picked up my phone and texted Diane.<\/p>\n
‘Mystery solved. I know why my electric bill doubled. And I have a plan.’<\/strong><\/i><\/p>\n
My phone rang less than ten seconds later.<\/p>\n
Diane.<\/i><\/p>\n
\n<\/div>\n\nQuiet widow next door.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div>\n
<\/div>\nI looked at her name flashing on the screen and smiled, but I didn\u2019t answer.<\/p>\n
‘I\u2019ll tell you tomorrow. Love u\u2764\ufe0f’<\/strong><\/i><\/p>\n
By the time I climbed back into bed, I was almost smiling.<\/p>\n
I didn’t know exactly how Monica would react. But I knew her well enough to know she wouldn’t leave that gnome alone.<\/p>\n
Tomorrow, Monica was going to learn something about the quiet widow next door.<\/p>\n