License plate.
Connection.
Timestamp.
Then I went inside.
The next morning I knocked on Vanessa’s door.
She opened it wearing exercise clothes.
“Eleanor! Everything okay?”
“I need to ask you something.”
“Sure.”
“Have you been charging your car from my house?”
She paused.
That pause told me everything.
Then she smiled.
“Only a few times.”
“A few?”
“My outdoor charger has been acting strange.”
“Why didn’t you ask?”
“I didn’t think you’d mind.”
“You did not think I would mind paying for your car?”
She sighed.
“It’s not that much.”
“My electric bill increased by more than one hundred dollars.”
“That cannot all be me.”
“Some of it is.”
She leaned against the door.
“Eleanor, you barely use any electricity.”
I stared at her.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“You live alone.”
The sentence came out so casually that I almost missed how insulting it was.
“You’re retired. I’ve got kids. I drive everywhere. I’m just saying your house isn’t exactly consuming huge amounts.”
“So whatever I don’t use belongs to you?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“It is exactly what you said.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Fine. What do you want? Twenty dollars?”
“No.”
“Thirty?”
“I want you to stop plugging your vehicle into my home.”
“I said the charger at my house is broken.”
“Then repair it.”
“That takes time.”
“Then use a public station.”
“Those cost money.”
