Including Karen's street.
I knew before she contacted me because Howard texted.
"Guess who has no power now."
I did not respond.
I was not interested in celebrating anyone losing electricity.
A blackout was inconvenient at best and dangerous at worst. The fact that Karen had spent two days trying to make mine harder did not mean I wanted hers to be miserable.
Around one o'clock I checked on the generator, topped off the fuel after shutting it down, then restarted it.
Caleb sat at the kitchen table doing homework because the internet connection was spotty again.
"Is Karen going to come yell at the generator?"
"Probably not today."
"Why?"
"Her power is out."
Caleb looked up slowly.
"Oh."
Then a grin appeared.
"Do not enjoy this too much."
"I am enjoying it exactly the right amount."
At 1:37, someone knocked.
Caleb looked at me.
I looked at him.
Neither of us moved for a second.
Then I opened the door.
Karen stood under the porch roof.
She did not have an HOA folder.
She did not have sunglasses.
Her hair was still pinned up, but loose strands clung to her face from the humidity.
"Mark," she said.
Her tone was different.
Not friendly.
But not presidential.
"Karen."
She glanced toward the driveway.
"Your generator is running."
"Yes."
"How much capacity does it have?"
I almost smiled.
"Why?"
She hesitated.
"My basement pump is not running."
Brookhaven had high groundwater in heavy storms. Several homes used sump pumps. Karen's house sat lower than mine, closer to the pond.
"Do you have water coming in?"
"Not yet. But the pit is filling."
That changed the conversation.
"Do you have a battery backup?"
"The backup failed last year."
"Did you replace it?"
Her expression answered for her.
"No."
I rubbed my forehead.
"Karen, I cannot power your house from my generator."
"I only need one circuit."
"That is not how this works."
"Can you run a cord?"
"Not across the street in this weather."
"My house is three blocks away."
"Exactly."
She looked irritated again.
"There has to be something you can do."
That sentence would have sounded normal from almost anyone else.
From Karen, after forty-eight hours of telling me my backup power was an unacceptable nuisance, it hung between us like a neon sign.
I did not mention that.
Instead, I asked, "Have you called a plumber or electrician with emergency service?"
"Everyone is booked."
"The utility?"
"They said restoration could take hours."
"Do you have a small portable battery station?"
"No."
I had one more work battery pack, smaller than the unit I lent Rosa.
It could not run a sump pump for long, but it could provide temporary power depending on the load. I was not going to tell Karen to connect anything without checking the equipment.
"I can come look at the pump and see whether the battery unit is suitable."
She nodded quickly.
Then she said, "Bring the generator too."
There it was.
I stared at her.
"No."
"Mark, this is an emergency."
"Yes. Which is why I am willing to help. But I am not moving my generator three blocks and leaving my own house without backup."
"Your property is not currently at risk of flooding."
"My property is still my responsibility."
"You have power."
"Because of the generator you wanted shut off."
Karen's jaw tightened.
"This is not the time to be petty."
I laughed once, because I could not help it.
"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."
She folded her arms.
"What terms?"
"You stop ordering me around."
For a moment neither of us spoke.
Caleb was standing behind me in the hallway pretending not to listen.
Karen looked toward him, then back at me.
"Fine."
"And you withdraw the generator violation."
"That is a separate HOA matter."
"Then call Howard."
"I am not negotiating board enforcement under pressure."
"You came to my house asking for help from the exact equipment you are trying to fine me for using. That is not pressure I created."
Her face flushed.
"The issue was the nuisance level."
"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 overhead.
She looked toward the street.
"The pump."
I let the silence sit for half a second.
"Get your keys."
Her expression shifted.
"You're coming?"
"Yes. Because I'm your neighbor."
We drove separately.
At Karen's house, water had not entered the basement, but the sump pit was rising steadily. I checked the pump label and the battery station rating. The pack was adequate for temporary intermittent use, so I set it up according to the manufacturer's instructions and told Karen it was a short-term bridge, not a replacement for restoration or a functioning backup system.
She listened.
Actually listened.
The pump cycled.
Water moved out.
Karen exhaled.
"How long will this last?"
"Depends on how often the pump runs."
"Can you leave it?"
"For a while. I need it back later."
She nodded.
Then we heard another vehicle outside.
Howard pulled into the driveway.
Rosa was with him.
Karen looked at me.
"Why are they here?"
"I did not call them."
Howard stepped onto the porch carrying two lanterns.
"Rachel started a neighborhood check-in list," he said. "We are making sure people with basements, refrigerators, and mobility issues are okay."
Rosa saw the battery station near the basement stairs.
Then she looked at Karen.
Then at me.
Her eyebrows rose.
I shook my head slightly.
Do not start.
She pressed her lips together.
Howard was less subtle.
"Is that Mark's battery?"
Karen answered before I could.
"He offered temporary assistance."
Howard looked at me.
I nodded.
"Good," he said. "That is what neighbors are supposed to do during an outage."
The sentence landed harder than any insult could have.
Karen looked away.
Then Howard added, "Which is also why the board suspended every generator violation this morning."
Karen spun back.
"You what?"
"Emergency vote. Four to one."
"You cannot conduct enforcement policy by text message."
"We can suspend fines issued without rule support."
"I am the president."
Howard glanced toward the dead ceiling lights.
"Today you're also a homeowner in a blackout. Maybe act like one."
Rosa coughed again.
This time there was no pretending.
She was laughing.
The power stayed off through Saturday night.
By evening Brookhaven had transformed.
Front porches glowed with battery lanterns. People carried coolers between houses. Residents with gas grills cooked food that would otherwise spoil. Those with generators charged battery packs for neighbors. The clubhouse opened as a charging station using a permanently installed backup system nobody had ever complained about because, as Rachel later put it, "apparently generators become classy when they belong to the HOA."
Karen did not return my battery pack until almost ten.
She brought it herself.
The rain had stopped, and the air smelled like wet leaves and gasoline from several distant generators.
"The utility says we may have power by midnight," she said.
"Good."
She handed me the battery.
"Thank you."
It was the first uncomplicated thank-you I could remember hearing from her.
"You're welcome."
She stood there for a moment.
I thought she might leave.
Instead, she said, "I still believe the generator could have been positioned more discreetly."