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.