At first, Gertrude seemed like the answer to our problems, and we welcomed her into our home with open arms. I knew she was special from the moment we met.
I shook her hand. “Happy to meet you. I’m Jeffrey.”
“A pleasure,” she said, smiling through the pain of her recent hip replacement surgery.
“Are you sure you’re ready to work? Take time to recover if you need to. We wouldn’t want you to injure yourself.”
But she swatted at me. “They don’t call me Gertrude the Grizzly for nothing.” She lifted her hands and growled like a bear. “Grrr!”
I laughed politely, and she slapped my back, perhaps a little too hard. Then, she grabbed a mop and polished the shit out of our floors. She also polished our countertops and windows, making everything sparkle, and she cooked a mean lasagna and tuna casserole. She was also attentive and doting, anticipating our every need and wish.
Once, she brought me a pitcher of coffee while I worked in my home office.
“Try this, Jeffrey,” she said, pouring me a cup. “It’s from the Nepalese forest. It gives you super-concentration powers.”
Intrigued, I took a sip. After a moment, I adapted to the bold flavor. “Not bad,” I said. “Thanks so much. I feel pretty energized!”
Gertrude knew just what we needed and when.
Life wouldn’t be the same without her.
Or so we thought.
_ _ _
The trouble started a week later. Usually, Gertrude wore sweat clothes, but one day, she arrived in a miniskirt and stilettos.
“Those shoes can’t be good for her hip,” Becca said as we watched Gertrude heave herself from her rusty Buick and then totter up the porch steps.
“Going somewhere special?” I asked, opening the door.
Gertrude smiled. “Right here!” Then she threw her arms around me. “You guys keep me young. I’m seventy-eight going on twenty-three when I’m with you!”
She twirled around, modeling her miniskirt, and gave us each a huge kiss on the cheek.
The whole situation felt awkward—not going to lie—but what could I say?
The following week, Becca and I decided we could use some time alone, so we offered Gertrude a break.
“We’d like to offer you a four-day paid vacation,” I said. “You’ve earned it.”
But to our surprise, Gertrude’s eyes darkened. “But the floors—”
I shook my head. “Don’t worry about the floors. They’ll be here Monday when you get back. Now, go relax.”
Finally, she left, but she wasn’t happy.
_ _ _
Around midnight that night, headlights outside caught our eye. We lived on a cul de sac, rarely traveled by anyone but the neighbors, but no one was awake now.
Who is that? I wondered.
Curious, I glanced outside to find Gertrude’s Buick circling the street. Round and round, she went, not once or twice, but twelve times.
“What is she doing?” Becca asked as we watched from the window.
But as soon as I opened the door, her tires squealed, and her Buick rocketed off like a bullet.
The next night was similar to the one before it.
Gertrude’s Buick appeared around midnight and circled the cul de sac several times. Then, she flipped off the lights, parked her car, and whipped out a pair of binoculars.
“Honey, I think we have a situation here,” Becca said.
I sighed, then slipped on my shoes and opened the door to go talk to her.
But the second the door opened, Gertrude sped off into the night.
_ _ _ _ _
The next night, text messages arrived from an unknown number. I glanced at my phone:
Sender.: What are you up to?
Me: Who is this?
Sender: Guess.
Me: No idea. Please tell me.
Sender: Your secret admirer.
After that message, Becca grabbed my phone and responded.
Me: I’m married. Knock it off.
Silence.
About an hour later, Gertrude’s car returned to the cul de sac. She circled several times, then turned off the headlights and peered at our house again through her binoculars.
But like the last time, when I opened the door to go outside, she raced off into the night.
“Does she not know we see her?” Becca asked, confused.
I shrugged. “I have no idea.”
And the trouble continued the next night when I awoke to a strange thud.
I shot up in bed, alarmed, as a hooded figure appeared in the doorway.
“Who’s there?”
Then, the moonlight cascaded through the window, and a familiar face appeared: Gertrude’s.
An unhinged smile spread across her face. “Didn’t you miss me?”
Without another word, Gertrude ripped off her trench coat, revealing a halter top and miniskirt underneath.
“Let me dance for you.” She breathed into my ear and reached for my leg, but my hands rose in fright.
“Gertrude!” I squealed. “This is inappropriate.”
She began to grind, whirl, and thrash like an exotic dancer on a four-day meth binge. My eyes bulged in horror, knowing I’d never be the same man again.
I nudged Becca, but she was out cold.
“Don’t worry about her,” Gertrude said, cackling. “I knocked her out with some homemade brew. You and me got seven hours baby!”
She sounded half drunk, half mad.
“No!” I shouted, but my cries fell on deaf ears.
Then, Gertrude whipped out something from behind her back: a giant machete.
“I told you I didn’t want a vacation!” she roared.
“Then what do you want?” My mind raced, searching for answers, but I found none.
“Let me move in with you!”
Oh God, help me. Help me.
“But you’re unwell…” I regretted the words the moment they left my lips.
“I’m perfectly well when I’m with you, my little petunia.”
“Shit,” I said, trying to think of something—anything—to appease her. Finally, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind.
“Fine, move in with us.”
Shit, Jeffrey, what are you saying? You’re going to regret this.
But her face broke into a broad grin, and the light returned to her eyes. Gertrude put away the machete and gave me a huge bear hug.
“Oh, Jeffrey,” she said. “I knew you’d come around.”