She arrived with muffins the week she moved in.
She told me my garden was beautiful.
She asked whether her children could retrieve soccer balls that occasionally landed in my yard.
“Of course.”
That answer seemed to become a lifetime membership to my property.
The first thing that disappeared was a folding ladder.
I noticed it was gone when I went to clean the kitchen windows.
Two days later, it reappeared beside my garage.
No note.
No question.
I assumed Vanessa had borrowed it.
I said nothing.
Then my pruning shears vanished.
I found them three weeks later under a bush in her yard when I was returning one of her children’s balls.
Again, I said nothing.
Then my garden fox disappeared.
That one bothered me.
I walked outside one morning and saw the empty patch beside the hydrangeas.
For nearly an hour I searched the yard as though a ceramic fox could wander.
Then I glanced across the fence.
There he was.
Sitting beside Vanessa’s front steps.
Except now his little green scarf had been painted white.
I stood at the fence and stared.
Vanessa came outside holding coffee.
“Oh, Eleanor!”
She followed my gaze.
“This little guy is adorable, isn’t he?”
“That’s mine.”
She blinked.
“What?”
“The fox.”
“Oh.”
She laughed.
“I found him near the side yard. I thought someone had thrown him out.”
“He was beside my hydrangeas.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
She looked at the fox.
“Well, the kids love him.”
I waited.
Vanessa did not offer to return him.
I should have walked over and picked him up.
Instead, I heard my husband’s old voice inside my head telling me not to waste energy on foolishness.
So I said:
“Just bring him back when they get tired of him.”
“Absolutely.”
They apparently remained fascinated for nine months.
I told myself it did not matter.
That became my specialty.
It does not matter.
The ladder came back.
The pruning shears were cheap.
The fox was only decoration.
When Vanessa put two trash bags into my garbage bin because hers was full, I let it go.
When her children rode bicycles across my lawn, I let it go.
When a delivery driver left six packages on my porch because Vanessa had apparently told him I could receive things for her, I let that go too.
My daughter hated it.
“You teach people how to treat you, Mom.”
“I am not starting a neighborhood war over cardboard boxes.”
“You don’t need a war.”
“What do you suggest? Artillery?”
“I suggest the word no.”
I told her she sounded dramatic.
She told me I sounded like someone being used.
We agreed to disagree.
Then my electricity bill arrived.
My monthly bill was normally between ninety and one hundred ten dollars depending on the weather.
That month it was two hundred thirty-eight.
I stared at the number for several seconds.
Then checked the billing period.
Correct.
Meter number.
Correct.
I walked outside and looked at the meter even though I had no idea what I expected to learn from it.
Nothing looked broken.
I called the utility company.
The representative told me usage had increased substantially during overnight hours.
“Overnight?”
“Yes.”
“Every night?”
“Not every night. Several nights per week.”
I lived alone.
My television was usually off before ten.
The air-conditioning was set conservatively.
I did not own any machinery powerful enough to explain it.
