PART 2
Then my lawn mower disappeared from the garage.
It reappeared a week later with an empty tank, a dull blade, and no explanation.
Again, I said nothing.
Three children, I told myself.
She’s busy.
Give her some grace.
Monica did the same thing to other people.
Frank, who lived across the street, once complained that she’d “borrowed” his ladder and forgotten to return it.
At the time, I laughed.
That was Monica.
She borrowed first and asked later.
Looking back, I should have understood that people rarely stop crossing boundaries when nobody ever makes them stop.
“Keep the peace, Eleanor,” I muttered.
I’d been telling myself that for years.
Then I looked at the bill again.
Two hundred and twenty-seven dollars.
For a woman who watched PBS, boiled one kettle a day, and didn’t even use the air conditioner much.
Something was consuming electricity.
And I was going to find out what.
One night, I couldn’t sleep.
Even my pills weren’t helping.
Sometime around midnight, I noticed a faint humming sound through the open bedroom window.
It was the sort of noise you’d never hear during the daytime.
I pulled the blinds aside.
At first, I thought I was imagining what I saw.
Then my eyes followed the thick black cable.
Monica’s white Tesla was parked unusually close to our shared property line.
The cable ran from her car directly to the outdoor outlet on my garage.
I pulled on my robe and slippers and walked outside.
My heart was pounding harder than it had in months.
Monica was leaning casually against the car, scrolling through her phone.
“Monica,” I said. “What exactly are you doing?”
She glanced up without a hint of embarrassment.
“Charging my car. What’s the big deal?”
“The big deal is that cable is plugged into MY house.”
She rolled her eyes and slid the phone into her back pocket.
“Eleanor, come on. You live alone. How much electricity could you possibly need?”
“That isn’t the point.”
“It kind of is, though,” she said, waving toward my house. “I have three kids. I’m running errands all day. You’re retired. You just sit inside.”
Heat climbed up the back of my neck.
“My electric bill doubled last month, Monica. Doubled. Because of THIS.”
“I’m almost done.”
She gave an irritated 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 stayed with me.
I’d spent forty years bringing casseroles to grieving families, watering plants for neighbors on vacation, and helping people without keeping score.
“Please unplug the cable,” I said.
“I’m almost done. Ten more minutes.”
“Now, Monica.”
She sighed like I was an unreasonable child.
Then she slowly disconnected the cable and began coiling it.
“You know,” she said, “this is why I didn’t ask. I knew you’d make a whole thing out of it.”
I didn’t answer.
I gave her the smallest smile I could manage, turned around, and went back inside.
After closing the door, I stood in the dark hallway listening to my own breathing.
Then I went to the kitchen table.
The electric bill was still tucked beneath the fruit bowl.
Two hundred and twenty-seven dollars.
For years, I’d let things slide because I was tired.
Because I lived alone.
Because being “the nice one” was easier than confrontation.
But that night, something changed.
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.
Diane.
I smiled at her name on the screen but didn’t answer.
Instead, I texted:
***I’ll tell you tomorrow. Love u 
***
When I climbed back into bed, I was almost smiling.
I didn’t know how Monica would react.
But I knew her well enough to know she wasn’t going to stop simply because I’d asked once.
The next morning, I woke with a sense of clarity I hadn’t felt in years.
I made coffee.
Then I walked across the lawn in broad daylight and went straight to Monica’s flower bed.
There sat my garden gnome.
Still wearing the blue paint she’d put on him.
The chipped nose remained visible, and beneath the blue I could make out traces of the original red hat.
I picked him up and carried him home.
Nobody stopped me.
Monica’s Tesla was gone.
Probably out running errands on electricity I’d paid for.
I put the gnome beside my garage outlet.
Then I arranged things so I would know if Monica returned to my property again.
The gnome looked perfectly innocent sitting there.
That was precisely what I wanted.
Around lunchtime, Diane called.
“Mom, you sound too cheerful. What are you doing?”
“Just tidying up the yard, sweetheart.”
“You’re plotting something. I can hear it.”
“Only if Monica gives me a reason to.”
“Mom…”
I laughed.
For a moment, while watering my tomatoes, I wondered whether I’d become ridiculous.
I was sixty-four years old and spending my afternoon preparing to catch my neighbor trespassing.
Was I being petty?
Or had I finally decided I was tired of being invisible?
I chose the second answer.
My husband used to tease me about that contradiction.
I could send back his wrong restaurant order without hesitation.
I’d argue with a mechanic who overcharged Diane.
I’d defend anyone who needed me.
Anyone except myself.
Somewhere along the way, “keeping the peace” had turned into permission for other people to decide what I should tolerate.
I looked toward the garage.
“Not tonight,” I whispered.
After sunset, I switched off the porch light, poured myself a glass of iced tea, and waited inside where I could see the driveway clearly.
All Monica needed to do was stay off my property.
Eventually, the Tesla rolled into her driveway.
A few minutes later, Monica appeared carrying her charging cable.
Yoga pants.
Slippers.
Completely relaxed.
She walked toward my garage as though the outlet belonged to her.
Then she noticed the gnome.
She stopped.
“What in the world?”
She stared at it.
My gnome.
Her terrible blue paint job.
Sitting directly beside the outlet she wanted to use.
“Ugly little thing,” she muttered. “Move.”
She pushed it aside with her slipper.
That was when I started recording.
I stepped outside before she could plug anything in.
