Then came that summer.
My children went to stay with my mother for most of school break.
Three hours away.
They were thrilled.
My mother had a huge garden, two dogs and no objections to ice cream before dinner.
The morning they left, my daughter leaned out the car window and shouted:
“Don’t forget my sunflowers!”
“I won’t.”
“Every day!”
“Not every day. That’ll drown them.”
“You know what I mean!”
The car disappeared.
The house became quiet.
Really quiet.
No showers running in two bathrooms.
No constant laundry.
No forgotten glasses of water.
No one leaving the backyard faucet dripping.
I was at the office most weekdays and often ate dinner out with coworkers or brought something simple home.
My utility use should have dropped noticeably.
For several weeks, I enjoyed living alone more than I expected.
Then the water bill arrived.
I opened it on the porch.
Looked at the number.
Then looked again.
Almost double the previous month.
I actually checked whether the bill belonged to someone else.
No.
Claire Bennett.
Cedarbrook Lane.
Correct meter.
Correct account.
Wrong reality.
“What?”
I went inside and opened previous statements.
The usage was not slightly elevated.
It was ridiculous.
My first assumption was a leak.
I spent half the evening checking toilets.
Put food coloring in tanks.
Waited.
Nothing.
I checked sinks.
Outdoor irrigation.
Under the kitchen cabinet.
