“Why?”
She hesitated.
“My basement pump isn’t running.”
Karen’s home sat closer to the pond, and several houses on that side of Brookhaven relied heavily on sump pumps during heavy rain.
“You have water coming in?”
“Not yet. The pit is filling.”
“Battery backup?”
“It failed last year.”
“You replaced it?”
Her expression answered.
“No.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“I cannot power your house from my generator.”
“I only need one circuit.”
“That isn’t how this works.”
“Can you run an extension cord?”
“Three blocks through the rain? No.”
“There has to be something you can do.”
Coming from almost anyone else, the sentence would have sounded ordinary.
From Karen, after forty-eight hours of telling me my backup power was an intolerable nuisance, it hung between us like a neon sign.
Still, I didn’t throw it back at her.
“Have you called an emergency electrician?”
“They’re booked.”
“The utility?”
“They said hours.”
I had another smaller portable battery unit. It might run her pump temporarily depending on the starting load and duty cycle.
“I can come look at the pump and determine whether the battery is suitable.”
She nodded.
“Bring the generator too.”
There it was.
“No.”
“Mark, this is an emergency.”
“Yes. Which is why I’m willing to help. But I’m not moving my generator three blocks and leaving my own house without backup.”
“You have power.”
“Because of the generator you wanted me to shut off.”
“This is not the time to be petty.”
I laughed once.
“Karen, I have not said one petty thing. I just offered to walk through the rain and help you.”
“Then help.”
“I will. On reasonable terms.”
“What terms?”
“You stop ordering me around.”
Caleb stood behind me pretending not to listen.
Karen looked at him.
“Fine.”
“And withdraw the generator violation.”
“That is a separate HOA matter.”
“Then call Howard.”
“I will not negotiate board enforcement under pressure.”
“You came to my house requesting help from the exact equipment you are trying to fine me for using. That pressure isn’t mine.”
Her face flushed.
“The issue is nuisance.”
“No. Your email said the problem was the impression portable generators create.”
She froze.
“What email?”
“The one I was accidentally copied on.”
For the first time, Karen looked genuinely worried.
Then thunder rolled.
She looked toward the road.
“The pump.”
I let the silence sit half a second.
“Get your keys.”
Her expression changed.
“You’re coming?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m your neighbor.”
At her house, the sump pit was rising but no water had reached the basement floor yet. The smaller battery pack could handle the pump on an intermittent basis, so I set it up according to the manufacturer’s limitations and told her clearly that it was temporary.
The pump cycled.
Water moved out.
Karen exhaled.
“How long?”
“Depends how often it runs.”
“Can I keep it here?”