Myrtle spent much of this and other evenings that week washing and drying Fred’s new sheets and towels. There was no way Myrtle would use things right out of a new package. They simply had to be washed first. So she tried to get into a new book while doing a couple of loads of Fred’s new linens each evening. She knew Fred was blissfully unaware of all this, but was sure he’d come to appreciate it once he was out of hospital and tucked into his own new bed with clean, fresh sheets and had fresh towels waiting for him in his bathroom. After each load was done, she folded it as best she could and packed it into a large shopping bag ready to go to Fred’s apartment.
For his part, Fred appeared each morning of that week with something of his own from his mother’s place. At first Myrtle thought he was being rather organized in removing his things from his mother’s house, but on Wednesday, when he emerged with his electric shaver in hand instead of his lunch, Myrtle realized that what he was doing had more to do with his state of mind than any careful planning. It was a rough week.
Later, Fred would scarcely remember the week leading up to his surgery. When he wasn’t sleeping, he was something of a moving mass of quivering anticipation on some sort of auto-pilot. One moment he’d be distracted and rather limp, the next he’d seem stiffened and catatonic. Since Myrtle had usurped the role of driver the first time, she wasn’t shy about assuming the responsibility on a more permanent basis. She knew she probably shouldn’t be driving with one eye covered with the patch as it severely limited her peripheral vision. But she also knew it had to be safer than letting Fred drive in his present state of mind. By the time Thursday came around, she tried driving without the patch, since it was a very overcast day. Alas, Fred didn’t even notice ~ either Myrtle’s extra eye, or the weather.
Myrtle wondered a few times during the week what she was doing. Her budding relationship with Fred was obviously on hold until he was in better health, but there were several times, in the car and late at night trying to sleep, that she wondered if she was doing the right thing to be so helpful. She was still recovering too, and between Fred and work, she was finding it all a bit trying. But Myrtle had always taken pride in being stoic about such things, a trait she was sure she inherited from the two aunts who raised her. Myrtle chuckled as she remembered how they usually handled things. She decided they would do just what she was doing for Fred. And so she struggled on, reminding herself that she must call her aunts on the weekend, if she had time.
And Mr. Grieves did indeed drop in on Fred in his office on Wednesday, scaring the bejaziz out of Fred into the bargain. Fred had been dreamily regarding Bill’s gleaming ring in the paperclip section of his drawer, wondering vaguely if he should take it with him to the hospital, and if he should put his electric razor into the drawer, rather than leaving it in the middle of his desk. Myrtle had suggested he just leave it in the car, but he just hung onto it anyway. He didn’t know why. As he pondered this, Mr. Grieves entered, leaned over Fred’s desk and boomed, “hello Fred!”
Fred jumped so badly he thought that was it for him. A sharp pain shot up his neck, his heart was pounding and he was sure it would stop all together. He actually did stop breathing for several moments, his eyes wide, face pale, mouth open as he peered over his collar at the huge, smiling face looming in front of him.
“How are things going, Fred,” asked the large man.
“F...f...fine,” stammered Fred as soon as he found his voice.
“Just wanted to wish you luck on your upcoming surgery,” said Mr. Grieves. “I’m sure everything will work out well for you, Fred.”
“Thank you... Mr. Grieves,” replied Fred, trying to sound grateful, or cheerful, or something besides as terrified as he actually felt. He hated that people kept wishing him luck as if he needed it to survive the operation. Fred had never really been all that lucky, so if he had to rely on luck to survive, he thought...
But his thoughts drifted away as Mr. Grieves kept talking. “Be sure to keep in touch with Helen throughout your recovery so we know how you’re coming along, will you Fred?”
Since those last words were voiced as a question, Fred glanced at Mr. Grieves and nodded agreeably, as well as he could with the collar. In his head he was trying to digest the meaning of his boss’s words ~ call Helen, call Helen... keep in touch...
Myrtle, meanwhile, was coping with little problems of her own. Mr. Pelham had gone to the Dean to complain about her. She knew this, because Dick had been called to the Dean’s office to confer in the matter. Dick said he had defended her stoutly and told the Dean what a damned nuisance Pelham was with his attitude toward his students. He assured Myrtle there would be nothing to worry about.
Myrtle wasn’t really worried anyway. She would do nothing until asked for her input. She suspected that someone like Pelham probably had a knack for doing himself in. Give him enough rope, she thought, and he will eventually hang himself. Besides, she had more important things to think about. She was having difficulty finding a comfortable routine with her eye patch. She didn’t want to strain her still healing eye, but she didn’t want to over-protect it either. She also wanted to make sure her work was caught up because she was taking Thursday afternoon and Friday off work to see to Fred’s needs. He was to be admitted on Thursday for an early morning surgery Friday. And Friday was also the day Fred’s furniture would arrive at his new apartment.
Yes, Myrtle too had a lot on her mind. She couldn’t help wondering if a relationship with any man was worth all this fuss. But she just kept shrugging it off, thinking that the circumstances of her budding romance were certainly unique. There was really only one way to find out what the future held, and that was to keep going.
No comments:
Post a Comment