"Hiding the Truth "

For several months after Denny's death, I did everything in my power to keep strange men from knowing that I was a brand new widow. The facade wasn't easy when I had men coming to clean the furnace or to give me estimates for repairing the sprinkler system. To make it appear as though I had a husband and grown sons who lived here, I said things like, "I'm the one who gets the bids while the guys are at work."

I desperately needed new shower doors in two bathrooms and had gotten a recommendation from a general contractor in the neighborhood. I checked out the showroom display, found the doors I liked, ordered them, and scheduled a day for installation. To leave the strong impression that I did not live alone, I told the salesman that I would save money by having one of my sons or my husband clean the old sealer from the surface of the shower stalls.

I was confident I could do the job myself, but it was more labor intensive than I'd expected. My hands ached from the effort, and I soon begrudged the measly $60 I'd saved. But it was worth it to leave the impression that I lived in the house with men who protected me.

Before "shower door installation day" arrived, I placed extra stuff around both bathrooms. I put several toothbrushes in the holders, hung more towels on the racks, and set out cologne and shavers that had belonged to Denny. Since one of the bathrooms opened onto my bedroom, I positioned Denny's slippers and housecoat near the bed and placed a football trophy on top of the dresser. With all that junk around it did not appear that I lived alone - no siree! That was the kind of clutter that guys made.
When the installer arrived, he got right to work without appearing to notice any of my stage props. But he said, "Your family did a good job preparing this surface for the new caulking. It's way better than I would have done." I felt so proud that I almost took a bow to thank him and tell him how hard I'd worked - but I stopped myself just in time.

After he had installed both doors, he cleaned up his mess, put his tools away, and handed me the bill. I paid him, I thanked him, and he left. It was that simple. I was so relieved that I let out an audible sigh as soon as he was gone. Then I began to remove the carefully placed objects I'd used to fool the stranger who had occupied my house for one short hour. That's when I noticed my side of the bed.

It was quite obvious that only one person had slept there. The other side of the bed was neat and unruffled. That pillow was plump and smooth. The covers were still tucked in. The entire scene almost shouted, "Only one person sleeps in this bed, and she is a defenseless woman who lives here alone and can be ravaged at knife-point at any time of the day or night."

I didn't know whether to laugh out loud or be afraid for my next night alone. So I did neither. I got my mind off the subject by taking a shower and noticing how transparent the new shower doors were. It meant that an intruder could see me naked. But it also meant that I could see him coming, which would give me time to grab a bar of soap and throw it at him with one hand while dialing 911 with the other - IF I remembered to take the telephone into the shower.