The Neighbors

Chapter 4

Over the next few weeks, we spent a lot of time getting to know Harold. He was home almost all the time, which surprised me because I knew he had come to the States for a work assignment. The girls and I went to his house when all of his furniture and other items arrived so we could help him unpack.

"So, when exactly do you go to work?" I asked, while stacking towels into one of his kitchen drawers.

"Aaah, you've been misinformed, Ms. Gibson. I didn't come here to work. I'm actually a spy on a top secret mission for the British government," he said forcefully.

I whipped my body around to look at him, my mouth hanging open.

He started laughing a little crazily and then he said, "I'm just joking, Lise. I'm going to be supervising a five-year project at Stepworth. However, the project doesn't start until later in August. I moved here a little early so that I could get settled first. I'll be going to the office to get acquainted with my colleagues over the next few weeks, but the real work doesn't begin until late summer."

"Oh, that makes sense," I smiled, feeling a little sheepish about believing his spy story. "I have to admit that you could pass for a British spy, though."

He laughed loudly when I told him that.

We helped him load up his cupboards and closets with all his goodies. He had done a little grocery shopping, although I noticed his cabinets were still quite bare. He offered popsicles to Aurora and Grace, so I sent them outside to eat them, not wanting them to drip sticky juice onto his floors.

Harold left the room to retrieve more items to unpack. I placed Rachael in the baby backpack, then I squatted down to lift her onto my back. Then I fastened the straps so that her weight was resting on my hips. I kept unpacking and Harold came into the room, chuckling at the sight of us.

"How do you like it up there, Rachael?" I could hear her cooing while he talked to her. I loved that he was so friendly with my girls. It was refreshing to have a man in their lives, in addition to my father, who was actually interested in them and took the time to interact with them. 

"Would you like me to carry her so you don't get tired?" He offered.

"No, it's fine, really. I've built up quite the upper body strength, carrying all my girls around in this thing," I laughed. "If it gets to be too much, I'll let you know, okay?"

"Okay," he agreed. He turned to face me squarely. "You're a remarkable woman, Lise."

I bit my lip nervously. "I'm not sure why you'd think that, but thank you."

"You're so strong, physically and mentally. You're raising three girls on your own and you never complain. You are smart and funny and hard-working. And you're beautiful." He leaned over and kissed my forehead.

I was almost speechless, but I managed to mumble a small thank you. It's possible that he was just saying what was in his heart, not intending anything romantic, but the beautiful part and the kiss threw me a little.

I've never considered myself beautiful; maybe cute or pretty, but not beautiful. At only 5'2", it was hard to feel like a grown-up, even though I was already in my late 20's. My short, curly reddish hair, pixie face, and blue eyes made me feel like the eternal cheerleader, even though I never actually participated in cheerleading. I've always been fit, but I couldn't imagine someone thinking I was sexy. Sexy was a title that belonged to long-legged models with flowing black hair and olive skin, not a short white girl from Minnesota.

Eric used to say I was hot, but that's not even remotely like being called beautiful. Beautiful implies something much deeper, much more pervasive, like a beauty not only of body, but of spirit. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that Eric had only loved the external me because I was cute and fun-loving. I don't think he ever knew the real me, the woman inside. It's sad to say that, I know, since we were married for four years.