The utility workers stood by their SUV for a short minute, muttered to each other, and finally got back into their vehicle.

They drove away, their tires kicking up loose gravel.

Miguel looked at me through the wire fence.

“Thank you, Sarah,” he said quietly.

“Thank you for showing up, Miguel,” I said.

The crowd slowly began to disperse, talking in quiet voices as they walked back to their homes.

***

The next morning, the office at our San Francisco headquarters was quiet.

The smell of stale coffee filled the small kitchen area.

My phone rang on the desk.

It was my mother.

“Sarah, I saw the local news segment online,” she said, her voice tight with disapproval. “They showed you standing in the dirt next to a police car.”

“We kept the neighborhood powered during a heatwave, Mom,” I said.

“But the tone of it,” she said, sighing. “It looks so unprofessional. Your father’s colleagues at the club were asking why you aren’t working for a real utility company.”

I looked at the framed Stanford PhD diploma on my wall, its glass reflecting the grey morning light.