I almost smiled.
“Yes.”
She realized what she had admitted.
For once, Vanessa had nothing to say.
I continued.
“And I want my fox back.”
She blinked.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Nothing.”
I smiled.
“I’m simply remembering several unfinished conversations.”
Her face tightened.
“Fine.”
“Also, please stop putting trash into my bin.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“And tell the children not to ride across my flower beds.”
“They’re kids.”
“They can be kids on your side of the property line.”
Vanessa stared at me.
Then laughed bitterly.
“Wow.”
“What?”
“I didn’t realize you were this petty.”
There it was.
The word people use when somebody they have been taking advantage of finally starts counting.
I nodded.
“Good morning, Vanessa.”
Then I went home.
For four days, nothing happened.
The fox returned.
He appeared beside my mailbox one morning with his scarf still painted white.
No apology.
The trash stopped.
The children used the sidewalk.
My electricity usage went down.
I thought perhaps the matter was finished.
Then Friday night came.
At eleven forty-three, my phone sent an alert.
I had installed a small outdoor security camera after the first discovery.
The video showed Vanessa walking between our houses carrying the charging cable.
She looked around.
Then plugged into my garage outlet again.
I sat in bed staring at the screen.
She knew I had said no.
This was no longer someone assuming I would not mind.
This was someone deciding my refusal did not matter.
I got out of bed.
But I did not confront her.
Instead, I opened the small electrical panel in my utility room.
My late husband had labeled every breaker because he believed future generations would otherwise perish in darkness.
Garage exterior outlet.
I flipped it off.
Then I went back to bed.
At midnight seventeen, my camera alerted again.
Vanessa was outside checking the cable.
She unplugged it.
Plugged it back in.
Walked to my wall.
Touched the outlet.
Looked toward my house.
Then left.
The next morning, I installed a lockable weatherproof cover over the outlet.
Problem solved.
I assumed.
Vanessa apparently considered it a challenge.
Three nights later, the camera recorded her examining the locked cover with a flashlight.
She tugged it twice.
Then walked away.
The following afternoon, she knocked on my door.
“My car didn’t charge Friday.”
I stared at her.
“That sounds unfortunate.”
“Did you turn off the outlet?”
“Yes.”
Her mouth dropped.
“You intentionally cut power?”
“To my own outlet.”
