My Precious Neighbor

Nancy was a little older than I, and my next door neighbor of almost 5 years. She and her husband, Pete, had had a marriage with some real obstacles since each had remarried some years before. A few of the problems were self-evident to anyone who observed the two of them for a while, but some were not so easy to discern. Like the fact that Nancy generally took the low profile and meek position in deference to Pete and his lack of concern for anyone's opinion except his own. And Pete was a very hostile person when he felt his territory had been encroached.

I heard stories of his escapades with various neighbors from other neighbors; paramount amongst his adversaries had been the couple from whom I bought my house. In all of those situations in the past, Nancy felt obligated to offer apologies to the other parties when these incidents occurred. She, herself, was very well liked by everyone, as well she should have been. Nancy is 5' 4" tall, about 110 pounds, reddish-brown hair just starting to gray, very active physically, and a pleasure to talk with. She has well shaped legs and a small to medium-sized bust. With her ready smile, sincere demeanor and soft-spoken presence, she endeared herself to all who knew her.

Pete was retired and usually seemed to be busy around the house and property. That was a facade. Nancy does all of the really important work inside and outside the house. But, like I said earlier, you would have to have observed them for a long time to pick up on the nuances of their actual relationship.

Recently Pete really retired; from almost everything. He hired a gardener to take care of the lawn so he wouldn't have to do it. That was probably a great relief to Nancy since she did everything except cut the lawns (Pete had at least been doing the lawns). He really had never done anything to help in the house, but I didn't know that until recently. And he had always left Nancy to take care of his youngest daughter's special needs (from his first marriage) which is one of the things I detected some time ago). But the worm was turning.

In his newest state of retirement Pete spent a lot of time on his motor home, usually without Nancy but often with his oldest daughter who never liked Nancy (another fact I didn't know until recently). Nancy finally had enough of her servitude role and rebelled. Even in her low key way I'm sure Pete got the message because he went off on a trip to Santa Barbara in his coach. In our fairly frequent conversations about life in general, Nancy had shared some of the things I hadn't known about her relationship with Pete, but in our latest conversation her woe's spilled out like a dam that had broken. She called me at about nine in the evening to say she wanted to give me an emergency call list in case Pete needed to be contacted and she wasn't available. I walked next door right away to get the list from her. She stood in her front door in a night gown, one hand clasped at her neck holding the top of the gown closed tightly, and handed me the list. It had the coach number and license, the frequency he monitored on the Ham radio, camper parks he frequented, etc.

Explaining about the list led her to tell me that she had experienced some shortness of breath and a discomfort in her chest (at which point she placed her right hand just under her left breast). When I asked if that had ever happened before, and probably staring at her hand longer than was prudent, she said that the only other time had been earlier this year when she and Pete had had a confrontation about his role in helping with his daughter and in maintaining the property. Then she went on to say that she and Pete had just had an argument about his actions, or lack of them, of late, and that Pete just took off saying he'd call her in a day or so. She was obviously distressed and obviously in need of talking to someone. So she stood in her doorway and I stood on the porch for almost an hour while she unloaded her burden to me.

When I got back to my house I sat and thought about all she had said, things she had said in the past, and things observed or shared by neighbors. This was clearly a lady who needed some relief from problems. Pete going away for a while was certainly good for her because she had already determined to put her foot down and deliver some ultimatums when he returned. Number one was that he either shaped up or she was gone, gone, gone. Two was that her days of being the only one to take care of the many needs of his youngest daughter were over. Third was that while it was wonderful that he and his oldest daughter rekindled a relationship that had long been lost, that relationship could not be at the expense of Nancy and his younger daughter.

When Pete returned all was quiet for a couple of days, which was a hopeful sign. Finally, after he had been home for four days I got a chance to ask Nancy if all was well on the western front. She said it was getting better in a couple of respects, so far, but there were still a couple of issues unresolved. Since he had hired the gardener, I knew that Nancy would no longer be slaving away in the planted areas around their house, so that was an obvious pick for "getting better". Also, his oldest daughter, Sandy, had been over for a back yard cook-out the day before and a lot of talking had gone on, so maybe that also was now a "getting better" issue. So what I was left thinking was that an unstated issue was still out there, somewhere, and I thought I knew what it was.

A couple of weeks later, she said that her effort didn't seem to work but that she wasn't sure yet. As conversations will, ours wandered through many subjects and landed on male/female violence. Something in the news sparked that topic, I believe. (I should say that most of our conversations take place with me standing in my driveway and Nancy standing in her driveway, under the carport roof, with us being separated by a two foot wide planter that divides our driveways. And where my front door faces the street, hers faces my house, and both of our back doors face the back yards. And, finally, where I have two big gates across my driveway at the back of my house, her back door further back behind her house, with no barriers.)

Anyway, I commented that I never understood why there are men who have to touch their women with anger in their minds and hands when there were so many wonderful things to do with a man's hands on a woman's body. She agreed and shortly changed the subject. While I was looking at her slacks and blouse covered body, I couldn't help reflecting on the fact that she never wore tight clothes. Many women these days, and most girls, wear slacks, jeans or shorts so snug that you can easily see the cleft between their legs. Of course some of those women and girls shouldn't, but I sure wished on many occasions that Nancy would wear something like that once in a while that I could look at and salivate over.

Anyway, that conversation, along with some others over the few years I had lived here led me to a conclusion that just might be right. Oh, not that Pete was abusive to Nancy in the physical sense. I didn't believe that at all. He was probably verbally abusive though, and was quite obviously a withholder of affection for spite. That I had no trouble believing. Even though Pete and I laughed and scratched together in the driveway, or when he needed an extra pair of hands for some task, Pete was rather of the, "I'll let you know when I want you," persuasion, which probably extended to his lovely wife. That was okay with me, as long as we got along. Besides, I was much more interested in Nancy than Pete. I liked her a lot, and I liked her body a lot, and I was willing to bet he underused that body. A lot.

So for the past month or so, that has been the state of affairs; me doing a lot of thinking about her and her possible situation, casual conversations with Pete or Nancy or both in the driveway, and me taking note when talking to Nancy that she seemed to still be wrought about some undiscussed (with me, at least) issue