16. Chapter 16
Last night, after introducing herself, Lisa called me by my name. It totally freaked me out, and it left me speechless. My phone started ringing before I could ask her how she knew my name. It was a call I had been expecting all day, so I couldn’t ignore it. I looked at her, putting up a finger, and said, “Don’t move. This will only take a minute.” I ended the call a couple of minutes later, but when I turned around, she was gone.
As I walk into the bar for lunch today, I scan the entire room to see if she’s here. I spot her sitting at one of the tables by the bar. She’s holding a menu, and when she looks up and sees me, she starts waving her hand, inviting me to come over. I make a beeline in her direction.
“Well, hello,” she says, looking up at me.
“Hi,” I say. “I was hoping you’d be here.”
“I have a convention this weekend,” she says, “After tomorrow’s breakfast, I’ll head back home. Please sit down and have lunch with me.”
“I’m sorry for cutting to the chase,” I say as I pull out a chair and sit beside her, “but do we know each other?”
“You don’t know me, but I feel like I know you,” she says lightheartedly.
“Well, unless you’re psychic, there’s no way we know each other,” I say, hoping I don’t sound rude or impatient.
She laughs out loud. Her laugh is light and cheerful.
“Hi, Aaron. I’m Lisa Preston, your housekeeper.”
I stare at her like she just spoke in a foreign language.
“Excuse me?” I say, making every attempt to maintain my cool.
She picks up the small purse on the chair beside her and starts rummaging through it.
“I clean your house on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays,” she begins. “Well, except for yesterday because I’m here. I’m sure Gretchen, my mother, either did it herself or sent someone to do it. So don’t worry.” Reaching into her purse one last time, she pulls out a business card that reads, Gleaming Homes by Gretchen.
I laugh, finally putting two and two together. She starts laughing, too, catching the look of relief on my face.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “How about if we start over?” I do feel a little weird thinking about the fact that this woman washes my clothes.
“Your name is Aaron. Your daughter is Holly, and you’re a widower. I’m sorry for your loss.” Her voice is genuine.
“Thank you,” I say, trying not to sound guarded. “But how do you know all that about us?”
“Your sister-in-law gave us your name for the work order,” she begins. “Plus, the pictures you have throughout your house tell a story. There are photos of your wedding and the three of you when Holly was a baby. When Holly’s about two, your wife stops being in the pictures. There are drawings on your refrigerator with Holly’s name on them.”
I smile and nod, understanding how she drew her own conclusions while dusting and tidying up our home.
“I honestly feel like I know you,” she continues. “Not in a let me stalk you ‘kind of way, so don’t panic. You work long hours, but you have a routine that works.”
“Are you psychoanalyzing me?” I ask, smiling so she knows I’m not the least bit concerned.
“I’m sorry. I’m trying to break out of that habit,” she begins. “Yes, I was studying psychology in college, but one day, I realized I wanted to do something else. My father was livid. He basically said, “Either you stay in school or go live with your mother.”
“Gretchen,” I say.
“Yep. My parents divorced when I was a junior in high school. I didn’t want to move, so I stayed with my dad, and Mom moved back to Cold Spring.”
“And here you are,” I say, wanting to focus the conversation on her and away from me.
“Here I am. I’m working for Mom right now, trying to find my footing. What I really want to do is start my own business doing estate sales.”
“Estate sales?” I ask.
“I find the prospect fascinating,” she says.” Think about all the stuff you have in your house. Every important item is attached to a memory or a story. By the time you’re old and you either die or your kids put you in a home, you will have so much history accumulated in your home. An estate sale is the answer for most family members who just want to get rid of everything. That’s where I come in.”
“You had me at fascinating. You lost me at old and dead.”
“I’m sorry. I know it sounds morbid, but it’s true.”
We spend the next hour talking about the ins and outs of estate sales. I can tell she’s done her research. She’s twenty-one years old and already has a plan and a vision for what she wants to do with her life.
“What I need right now is money,” she confides.” My father practically cut me out of his life and his will. Mom is doing all she can to support me, but I’m starting from ground zero. I have my grandmother’s trust fund but can’t touch it until I’m twenty-five. I can’t wait that long.”
“I’m sure it’ll all work out.” I feel compelled to reach over and place my hand over hers, and when I do, I give it a gentle squeeze. She smiles and nods, understanding the gesture as supportive and caring.
We decide to order lunch and eat together. She orders a burger and fries. I order a meatloaf sandwich with coleslaw.
Our conversation flows like we’ve known each other all our lives. I hope Holly grows up to be this confident and determined to set her own path regardless of what others might think. The fact that Lisa’s father doesn’t support her choices rubs me the wrong way.
We’re polishing off a piece of apple pie a la mode when she looks up at me, her demeanor turning serious.
“I met your neighbor,” she says. “Loren.”
Instead of taking a bite, I put my spoon down on what’s left of our dessert.
“Ha! You like her!” she exclaims.
“Lisa, how could you possibly know that? You just met me.”
“The minute I mentioned her name, your eyes turned a different color.”
“That’s impossible,” I say.
“Your oxytocin levels increased, my friend, causing your pupils to dilate, making your eyes look different. You’re in love.”
“You should’ve stayed in college, Dr. Preston,” I tease.
We both laugh before she continues.
“Does she know how you feel?”
“I don’t know how I feel,” I say.
“I just told you how you feel,” she assures me. “You’re in love.”
I smile at her assertion before adding, “She’s much younger than me.”
“Age is just a number.”
“Says the girl who’s barely old enough to have a beer,” I retort, “I’m forty years old. She’s still in her twenties.”
“You’re going to let a few years stand in your way?”
“Fourteen years is not a few.”
She doesn’t argue that point. Instead, she takes her spoon and scoops up the last of the pie and ice cream into a heaping spoonful and puts it all in her mouth. She looks like a little girl with her mouth full and her eyes twinkling. I’m old enough to be her father, and she’s not much younger than Loren. That is the harsh reality.
“How did you meet her?” I ask, my curiosity piqued.
After swallowing the huge bite, she says, “The first time, she came by to drop off Holly’s art project. The little dish with a painted drawing on the front.”
I nod and take a drink of my water.
“The second time, she was driving in just as I was getting ready to leave. She walked over and asked if I was your girlfriend.”
I choke on my drink and spend the next thirty seconds coughing and trying to take a breath.
“Are you okay?” she asks, chuckling.
I clear my throat a few times before talking.
“Yeah, I’m fine. So, did she just come out and ask you if you were my girlfriend?”
“Well, not in so many words, but the question was implied.”
I shoot her a glance drenched in skepticism that doesn’t go unnoticed.
“Don’t look at me that way.” She says, raising an eyebrow, “Women are a lot more perceptive than men. We can read emotional cues put out by another woman or man, no matter how subtle. Trust me, Loren’s were not that subtle.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter. I’m not looking for a relationship,” I say with all the conviction I can muster.
“Does Loren get along with Holly?” she asks.
“Loren loves Holly,” I answer without hesitation.
“Then I don’t understand what is standing between you and your pretty neighbor,” Lisa adds before crossing her arms in front of her with a sense of finality.
“What I had with my wife only happens once in a lifetime.”
“I don’t mean to sound insensitive,” she says in a measured tone. “But she’s gone. So, you mean to tell me you plan to be alone for forty or fifty years?”
“I have Holly,” I say matter-of-factly.
“Holly’s a little girl right now. She’s going to be grown and gone before you know it. You deserve more.”
“Okay, Dr. Preston,” I say, knowing she’s right, “Thank you for the therapy session. Now, can we please change the subject?”