With my water.
“Margaret.”
She looked over.
No panic.
No embarrassment.
Not even surprise.
“Oh.”
She smiled.
“You’re awake early.”
I stared at her.
“What are you doing?”
She looked at the pool.
Then the hose.
Then back at me.
“Filling the pool.”
“With my faucet.”
“It’s closer.”
I actually waited because I thought there had to be another sentence.
There wasn’t.
“My water bill doubled.”
Margaret shrugged.
“I don’t see how that’s my problem.”
“You are literally using my water.”
“We’re neighbors.”
“No.”
“We are neighbors. That is true.”
She rolled her eyes.
“You know what I mean.”
“No, Margaret. I actually don’t.”
She leaned against the fence.
“You act like water is gold.”
“I pay for it.”
“So?”
“So you need to disconnect that hose.”
Her expression changed.
That familiar offended look.
The one she used whenever I said no.
“Claire, really.”
