“Mom, did you get the copy of the dental bill I mailed?” Diane asked, her voice carrying the clipped, fast pace of her office lobby.
“I have a bigger bill here, Diane,” I said, leaning against the counter. “My electric bill is two hundred and twenty-seven dollars.”
I heard the dry click of Diane twisting her wedding band on the other end of the line, a sound I knew as well as my own breathing.
“You probably left the basement space heater on again after you sorted the winter quilts,” Diane said. “Or the thermostat is sticking.”
“I haven’t used the space heater since March,” I said, checking my wristwatch. “And the house is sixty-eight degrees, just like always.”
“Old fridges eat power, Mom, maybe you should check yours,” she said, her keyboard clacking in the background. “They run constantly when the compressor starts to fail, and you wouldn’t even notice the hum.”
“My refrigerator is less than three years old,” I said, looking at the stainless steel door. “Your husband helped me pick it out.”
“Appliances aren’t made the way they used to be,” Diane said, her voice dropping into that gentle, patient tone she used when she thought I was being stubborn. “Just call a repairman to look at it before you get too worked up.”
“I am not worked up,” I said, though my fingers were pinching the plastic telephone cord tight.
“I can call someone for you if you are feeling overwhelmed by it,” she said. “I know how hard it is to manage the house maintenance alone.”
“I can call a repairman myself, Diane,” I said.
“Just promise me you won’t go climbing on any ladders to check the roof or the lines,” she said.
I hung up the receiver and stood in the quiet kitchen, the hum of the nearly new refrigerator sounding perfectly smooth and brief.
I moved to the double windows above the sink, where the view opened up over the low wooden fence dividing my property from the next house. Monica’s white Tesla was parked at an angle in her gravel drive, its rear bumper almost touching the property line.
