“What exactly are you doing?”
For one second, I thought I was imagining what I saw. Then I followed the cable with my eyes.
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.
I threw on my robe and slippers and walked out into the cool night air, my heart beating harder than it had in months.
Monica leaned against her car, scrolling on her phone, calm as a Sunday morning.
“Eleanor, come on.”
“Monica,” I said, my voice tighter than I meant it to be. “What exactly are you doing?”
She looked up without a trace of shame.
“Charging my car. What’s the big deal?”
“The big deal,” I answered, folding my arms, “is that cable is plugged into MY house.”
She rolled her eyes and slipped the phone into her back pocket.
“Because of THIS.”
“Eleanor, come on. You live alone. How much electricity could you possibly need?”
“That isn’t the point.”
“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.”
I felt the heat rise up the back of my neck.
“My bill doubled last month, Monica. Doubled. Because of THIS.”
“I’m almost done.”
She gave an irritated little laugh.
“Fine. I’ll give you ten bucks if it matters that much. Don’t be greedy, Eleanor. It’s just a little electricity.”
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.
“Please unplug the cable,” I said quietly.
“This is why I didn’t ask.”
“I’m almost done. Ten more minutes.”
“Now, Monica.”
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.
“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.”
I had let all of it slide.
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.
The door clicked shut behind me, and I stood in the dark hallway for a long moment, listening to my own breathing.
Then I walked to the kitchen table, sat down, and stared at the electric bill that was still sitting there under the fruit bowl.
Two hundred and twenty-seven dollars.
I was almost smiling.
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.
But then I picked up my phone and texted Diane.
‘Mystery solved. I know why my electric bill doubled. And I have a plan.’
My phone rang less than ten seconds later.
