By this time their clothes were in the dryer and Myrtle was comfortably ensconced on one end of her slightly shabby couch. She fussed with it a bit, turning one cushion over, then sat staring at the wood stove across from her, sipping her coffee and wondering what was taking Fred so long. She set her mug down on the coffee table in front of her and got up for a piece of firewood from the bench/wood box at the end of the tiny room. After feeding the fire, she returned to the couch and sighed deeply. Then she saw a movement out of the corner of her eye and glanced up to see Fred peeping around the corner of the arched doorway.
“Come in,” she encouraged.
He rather timidly entered the room and stood looking helplessly at Myrtle, who, despite a valiant effort, couldn’t contain her laughter. Wrapped in her pink robe, the frilled collar delicately framing his neck brace, knobby knees and white, almost hairless legs sticking out beneath the frilly hem and wearing only one sock, Fred made a precious picture. He was uncomfortably aware that he appeared a less than stalwart member of the male species and was tempted to offer Myrtle a polite curtsy by way of sarcasm, but this time he remembered his hernia and resisted the notion.
Then, as he stood gazing at Myrtle, a silly grin slowly crossed his face. She had successfully removed most of the mud from her face, but a single, round blob remained intact on her eye patch. Situated as it was smack in the middle of the patch, and being the same colour and approximate size as the iris of her good eye, it occurred to Fred that it actually looked a good deal more normal than just the plain patch did. He decided to say nothing about it.
Myrtle, still smiling at him, motioned toward the rocking chair across the room from her. Fred went to it and sat down. Myrtle got up and covered his legs with a blanket, ostensibly to keep them warm, and pointed to the mug on the little table beside him, next to the stove. Then she settled back onto the couch.
Fred smiled gratefully and picked up the mug, gazing a moment into the black liquid. He normally took his coffee with both cream and sugar, but he felt he’d already put Myrtle to enough trouble and didn’t want to ask for anything more. He raised the mug to his lips and took a huge gulp, instantly realizing it was hotter than he’d expected. He swallowed quickly to get rid of it, then coughed violently at the sudden discovery that the coffee was liberally laced with brandy.
“Are you all right?” asked Myrtle anxiously.
He nodded and blinked hard, hoping she wouldn’t notice the moisture overflowing his eyes. Then he took a deep breath and smiled. "So how did you hurt your eye?" he sort of croaked, wondering instantly if he mightn’t have come up with a more subtle approach.
"Car accident," she replied. "I was driving along Forbes Road... big fellow in a pickup ran a stop sign... rammed right into me. I was injured all down my left side. The car was ruined.. frame bent."
“Other driver’s fault,” surmised Fred.
"Oh yes," agreed Myrtle.
"Hope he was insured," he said with concern.
"Fortunately," she assured him. "But I’m not especially eager to settle with his insurance company until I find out if my eye’s going to be all right."
“Very sensible,” he agreed admiringly.
"I’d like to return to work on Monday," she continued, "but I don’t know how I’m to get back and forth. I suppose I could rent a car and charge it to his insurance company, but I don’t know if I can legally drive with only one eye.”
“Where do you work?” he asked.
"Upton College... out on highway 12. I’m Clerical Assistant to the Chairman of the Commercial Art Department."
Fred’s eyes widened with interest. "Oh, I work out on Highway 12 too.... at Soame’s Shipping. I’m a senior shipping clerk," he announced proudly. It was actually less than a year ago that Fred had been just a junior shipping clerk. Then he was promoted into Dexter Watson’s job when Dexter was caught in the stationary supply room with Anna Soames, the CEO’s niece. Dexter’s departure was very sudden and Fred had been given the advancement opportunity, even though there were two other junior clerks who’d been there longer.
"I’d be happy to drive you to and from work," he offered. "I mean, we live and work so close together... it wouldn’t be out of my way,” he argued.
“Are you a good driver?” asked Myrtle cautiously.
"I think so," replied Fred, a bit defensively. "I’m a careful driver. A bit slow maybe. At least my mother says so. She always badgers me to go faster so we can get there before she’s deceased. But the speed limit signs are the maximum speed permitted, not the required speed," he ended, a bit lamely.
"I never thought of it that way," confessed Myrtle. "Anyway, it’s very kind of you to offer and I do believe I’ll take you up on it, but I insist on helping with fuel expenses."
"Really, that isn’t necessary! The extra distance is so small," he protested.
"The insurance company will pay for it in the end,” she assured him. “I want them to pay for our inconvenience," she insisted sternly.
"Oh. Well, ok then. But I won’t accept a nickel from you till you have the insurance money in your hands," he declared.
Myrtle smiled gratefully. “That’s very sweet of you, Fred.”
He blushed at the praise, then glanced up in alarm at a loud buzzing emanating from the area of the kitchen.
"That’s the dryer," explained Myrtle. "I guess our clothes are done." She hurried from the room, returning a few moments later with Fred’s trousers, undershorts and one sock draped over her arm.
Fred blushed again. "I forgot to mention I’d taken off my shorts," he apologized as he got up.
Myrtle smiled sympathetically. "Well, I certainly understand why you did. They were very muddy. Of course, I wouldn’t normally throw something that light in with the darks...” Fred just stared. “But at least the mud is gone," she finished, handing Fred his clothes. “The last door on the left... before the bathroom,” she pointed. Fred smiled and toddled off. “Just leave the robe on the bed,” Myrtle called after him.
The smugness Fred had felt in the shower instantly returned. Here he was in her bedroom, he thought, gazing around. It wasn’t as frilly as he’d expected a woman’s room would be. The floor was covered with a pale green carpet and the walls painted a dusky rose. Both colours almost matched the colours in the abstract pattern of the curtains and the bedspread. A white dresser and hutch stood against one wall and matching bed stands at either side of the three-quarter bed. Fred threw the robe onto the bed and dressed.
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