Good Neighbors

A loud knock on the front door almost made Lisa drop her coffee. Setting her mug down, she waddled around the boxes stacked in the hallway and peered through the peephole. A tall, dark-skinned woman stood there, a little girl at her side.

“Great. The Witnesses found me already,” Lisa muttered, jerking open the door.

“Thanks, but I don’t need whatever you’re selling.”

The woman looked startled, then laughed, holding out her hand.

“I promise I’m not selling anything. I just came to say hello. I’m your neighbor two houses down. I’ve brought some cookies. My name is Camille, and this is my daughter Olivia. Say hi, Olivia.”

The little girl peered shyly up at Lisa, clinging to her mother’s leg.

“I am Lisa and I am mortified,” said Lisa, taking the proffered tin of cookies. “Sorry, but I tend to be on a short fuse these days. If you can stand the mess, come on in.”

Camille laughed, following her into the kitchen.

“No problem. I remember those days well. When are you due? And you’re dealing with moving and unpacking. Double whammy. You’re entitled to be grouchy.”

“Due date’s next month. I can’t wait. It will be nice to see my toes again. I feel like an elephant. And the US army decided this is the perfect time to send my husband overseas.”

She shook her head and grinned.

“Such is life, I guess. What would you like, Olivia? I have juice or lemonade.”

Olivia pulled her mother towards her and whispered in her ear.

“Lisa has a fat tummy because she has a baby in there,” Camille whispered back.

Olivia glanced at Lisa and whispered more urgently.

Camille burst out laughing.

“She asked if that baby is in there with no clothes on. Yes, sweetie, the baby will get clothes after it’s born. Do you know if you’re having a boy or girl?”

“We asked them not to tell us. We like surprises.”

She opened the cookie tin.

“These look delicious. Will you have one, Olivia?”

Olivia suddenly noticed Wilbur, Lisa’s large tabby cat, snoozing on the couch. She looked imploringly at her mother.

“Can I pet him, Mommy?”

“Ask Miss Lisa.”

“Sure,” said Lisa. “Just be very gentle.”

Wilbur opened one eye and stretched as Olivia approached. He began to purr as she cautiously stroked him. Olivia beamed.

“He literally is a pussy cat. He’s the most mellow cat I’ve ever met,” said Lisa. “So how do you like living here?”

Camille sighed.

“It’s okay. The average age must be around seventy. That’s why I was so excited when Mrs. Purdey told me a young couple had moved in and that you guys were expecting,”

Lisa frowned.

“Who is Mrs. Purdey and why would she know all about us?”

“She’s in the house between us. Marco and I have nicknamed her Mrs. Radar because she tracks everyone’s doings. She's lived here all her life and knows the local realtors. I’m surprised I beat her over here. She’s usually the first to get in on the action. Don’t tell her a thing that you wouldn’t want broadcast.”

“Is she lonely?” said Lisa. "No family?"

Camille shrugged.

“She’s a nosy, grumpy old thing. No family and apparently nothing to do except mind other people 's business. She isn’t all that into diversity either. There’s an Asian family at the end of the street, but otherwise it’s lily white around here. She won’t say anything to our faces, but I’ve been told she’s made plenty of comments about ‘those people’ moving in and property values going down. Let’s talk about something more pleasant. We have a Monday play group that meets at the park…”

The doorbell rang. They glanced at each other.

“Bet you that’s Mrs. Purdey,” Camille said.

A hunched little lady with rigid iron-gray curls and a sharply pointed nose was standing on the doorstep holding a plastic container. Her beady brown eyes, nestled in wrinkled pouches, scanned Lisa, taking in her baby bump, baggy sweatpants and puffy ankles.

“Hello. I’m Mrs. Purdey, your next-door neighbor. I brought you some cake.”

“How kind. I’m Lisa. Camille and I are just having some coffee. Won’t you join us?”

Mrs. Purdey stiffened and glared.

“I wouldn’t want to intrude. Some other time, perhaps.”

She turned on her heel and marched off, still clutching her container.

Lisa returned to the kitchen, grinning.

“I see what you mean. Never mind. Where were we? Oh, yes, the play group.”

As Camille had said, most of the residents in the street were elderly, though none as prickly as Mrs. Purdey. Camille’s husband Marco, a gentle giant, was a PE teacher at the local middle school. Camille shook her head in mock exasperation when Lisa commented on the steady stream of young teenagers, mostly boys, who visited the house.

“Marco collects waifs and strays,” she said. “They eat me out of house and home. But that’s one of the reasons I love him. He had a difficult childhood, so he relates to these kids.”

Mrs. Purdey lurked, peering through blinds and over the fence, ever ready to complain about the slightest infraction on the part of the youngsters. Any attempt at insolence on their part was quashed by a glance from Marco, so the old lady became an object of humor instead. The boys would rush to carry her groceries when she returned from shopping, opening the front gate for her with exaggerated courtesy and bowing slightly as she passed. Lisa had to laugh when she observed these episodes which flustered Mrs. Purdey far more than rudeness would have done.

A few days later Mrs. Purdey returned with her cake container. Lisa had not felt well all morning, with occasional cramps, but the nurse had reassured her that there was nothing to worry about when she called her obstetrician in a panic. She had not been thrilled to see the old lady but didn’t have the heart or energy to make excuses.

“You’ve done a good job,” Mrs. Purdey said, scanning the kitchen critically as Lisa made coffee and put out cake.

The boxes were all unpacked, pictures were on the wall and Lisa had arranged her houseplants around the room. Wilbur sprawled in the sun on the window ledge.

“Thank goodness for Marco and Camille. They’ve been a huge help,” Lisa said. “I wouldn’t dare climb on a ladder to hang pictures or move heavy boxes while I’m in this shape. I’d be like a turtle on my back if I fell.”

Mrs. Purdey sniffed.

“I daresay they’re nice enough people. It’s just not what I’m used to. When I was growing up, we all knew our place. You know what I mean.”

Lisa stared at her, momentarily speechless. Mrs. Purdey, taking her silence for assent, munched on her slice of cake. Lisa inhaled sharply and her vision blurred as a surge of anger washed over her.

“Why should I know what you mean? Because I’m white like you or because I’m racist like you? Let me introduce my husband.”

She struggled to her feet, grabbed a framed photograph from the dresser, and slammed it down in front of Mrs. Purdey who jumped back with a squeak of alarm, spilling her coffee. Tears welled as Lisa looked at Ricardo’s handsome copper face, his dark eyes glinting with humor, stiff and proud in his dress uniform.

“Meet Sergeant Ricardo Portillo of the US Army. Overseas, defending bigoted old white people like you. Now I think you need to leave...”

Mrs. Purdey gasped and clapped her bony hand over her mouth as Lisa suddenly felt a warm gush run down her legs and doubled over in pain.

“The baby’s coming. Get Camille …”

Mrs. Purdey rushed out in panic. She returned a few moments later dragging Marco by the sleeve. He calmly took charge.

“Mrs. Purdey, call the ambulance. Lisa, it’s okay. Breathe deep.”

“They told me first babies take a long time to come,” panted Lisa. “But this one doesn’t want to wait.”

By the time the ambulance had arrived, Violet Miranda Portillo was bawling heartily in her mother’s arms. Marco turned to Mrs. Purdey, who had flopped onto a chair, pale and trembling.

“Come with me,” he said. “Camille and Olivia will take care of you. This is more excitement than any of us are used to.”

Mrs. Purdey followed him meekly.

Two weeks later, there was an impromptu gathering at Lisa’s house. Sergeant Portillo opened the door to Marco, Olivia and Camille, beaming.

“Welcome, welcome,” he said. “I’m so grateful to you all for taking care of my wife and daughter. Lisa's told me all about you."

Lisa appeared, holding a swaddled bundle.

"Come and meet her formally," she said, laughing.

She handed the baby to Ricardo as the doorbell rang. "I'll get that.

Her smile died as she opened the door and saw Mrs. Purdey.

"It's just that I crochet and I 've made a little blanket."

The old lady held out a gift bag in trembling hands. " And I'm... I'm sorry for what I said.

Setting the bag down, she turned to leave.

"Wait. It's okay," Lisa said. "Water under the bridge. Come on in. Ricardo's and my parents are far away. Violet's going to need an honorary grandma here."