It was the 1970s. I was a young bachelor living in a small Midwestern city, beginning my career as a writer. I bought a modest home on the edge of town. The house next door was a rental property that changed renters every year, it seemed.
The latest occupants were a quiet couple. He was older and struck me as kind of a dour and unhappy guy. His wife was younger than he, 33, I came to find out. When I would see her outside she was always dressed very modestly - plain colors, skirts below the knee, modest tops, "practical" shoes. Her long brown hair was worn pulled back with a barrette or a hair band.
I don't want to sound unkind, but she really wasn't very pretty. Her figure was hidden under her modest clothes, she wore no make-up - not even lipstick - and she wore the expression of someone who had lived a hard life. We would say "Hello" and exchange casual greetings across the yard, but we hadn't had occasion to get acquainted.
That changed the day I came home from work and found a package on my porch that had been delivered to the wrong house. I carried it over next door and left it on the porch, then went home and fixed dinner, thinking nothing more about it.
The next day I had no sooner walked into the house after work than there was a knock on the door. The neighbor lady had a plate of fresh-baked cookies for me, a thank you for delivering the package. She had seen me through the window. "I was disappointed when you didn't knock," she said. "You looked so handsome in your suit."
This was the first time I had looked at her up close. She was more attractive than I had thought. And it looked like she had made an extra effort to look nice - she had fixed up her hair a little and wore lipstick - albeit a subdued color. I guessed she was about 35, 10 years older than I was (I was close). I thanked her for the cookies, but didn't invite her in; we stood on the porch and talked. She pressed a piece of paper into my hand with her name - Arleen Burke - and their phone number "in case of emergency or something," she said. I reciprocated with my name and number. She hesitated for a moment, as if she had something else to say, then turned and headed back home.
It had seemed like a strange conversation, but the cookies were good. I liked to do a little baking myself, so the next time I made bread I did an extra loaf for her, and took it over, returning her plate. This time I knocked on the door, and she opened it right away. I gave her the bread, she thanked me, and I saw her husband frowning a little from the hallway behind her.
Then it began. I would come home to find cheerful notes stuck in my door. "Hope you had a good day at work," one day. Another day, "I really liked the tie you wore yesterday." It seemed almost creepy, but the notes were innocuous and friendly, so I shrugged it off.
My next day off work the phone rang about 2 o'clock in the afternoon. It was Arleen. She asked if she could come over, she had baked more cookies. I had been mowing the lawn, and she must have seen me walk back into the house. "Of course," I said. "I like cookies."
She was at my door in a flash, and this time I invited her in. She gave me the plate of cookies and asked if I had a minute to talk. "Sure," I said, and gestured toward a living room chair. I apologized for being all hot and sweaty from mowing the lawn, but she dismissed it saying she had watched me. I sat across from her. She had come in carrying a small tote bag, which she set next to her chair.
"My husband is at church, so I wanted to take a chance and talk to you," she began, blushing a little. "This is very hard for me, but I am desperate, and hope you can help me." She was wringing her hands. I told her I would help if I could.
"This is my second marriage," she explained. "I married my first husband right out of high school. It was a mistake. My father was abusive, and I just needed to get out of that house. My husband was immature, couldn't hold a job, liked to drink, and was unreliable. I think he actually did love me, but before we could settle into a mature relationship he was arrested for a string of burglaries, and went to prison. I was left alone with nothing. I couldn't move back to my parents' house, I had only just escaped from there.
"I wound up in a homeless shelter run by a church. The people were very nice, and tried to help me find some self respect. One of the volunteers was an older man who paid me some special attention. It was Jacob, my husband. He was kind, in a quiet way, and after a time he asked me to marry him. He was alone, lonely, and needed someone to cook and clean and look after him. He made pretty clear that it would be what you might call a marriage of convenience - I would look after him and the house and he would give me security. He helped me get a lawyer and a divorce. We got married the next week."
She paused for a moment and looked at me to see if I was with her in her story. I was a little puzzled about why she was telling me all this, but tried to appear interested and concerned.
