“Which part?”
“You know exactly what I mean.”
“The part where you took my garden decoration? Or the part where you’re trying to use my electricity after I told you to stop?”
Her mouth tightened.
“I wasn’t stealing anything.”
“Then why come over after midnight?”
Before she could answer, Frank spoke.
“Probably the same reason she took my ladder while I was at work.”
Monica whirled toward him.
“I gave that back.”
“Three months later.”
More laughter.
Suddenly, she didn’t look angry.
She looked trapped.
“This is ridiculous. You’re all ganging up on me over nothing.”
“No,” I said. “We’re finally saying something.”
That line silenced her.
And strangely, saying it made my hands stop shaking.
Eventually, Monica stormed back toward her house.
Neighbors remained outside for another few minutes comparing stories.
A borrowed hedge trimmer.
A missing extension cord.
Someone’s children’s bicycle left in Monica’s garage for weeks.
Apparently, I hadn’t been the only person keeping quiet.
When everyone finally went home, I stayed outside for a moment looking at the empty driveway.
My hands began trembling again.
Not because I was afraid.
Because Monica had shouted at me.
She’d tried to embarrass me.
And I’d refused to back down.
Nothing terrible had happened.
Two weeks later, Monica’s landlord, Mr. Alvarez, knocked on my door.
