More Than Just a Few Cents

Inside, Susan poured black coffee into two heavy mugs. The smell of toasted rye filled the kitchen.

“She was right there,” Daniel said, taking a seat at the laminate table. “Crouched by her rear tire with the cord in her hand.”

Susan leaned against the counter with her mug in both hands. “Did she think you wouldn’t see her?”

“She acted like I was the one out of line,” Daniel said. “Told me it was just a few cents of juice.”

“It’s not about the money, Dan,” Susan said. “It’s coming onto the property without asking.”

“The meter was spinning like a lathe,” Daniel said, tapping his knuckles against the table. “And that plastic cover is scraped black. That wasn’t a one-time thing.”

Susan watched him for a second. “So how do you want to handle it?”

“I’m not going to start a shouting match over the fence,” Daniel said. “I’m going to document it. If she wants to pretend it never happened, I’ll need numbers.”