Home, Sweet Home

Fred actually had a terrible time getting to sleep, even though he was very tired. In the short time he’d been in the hospital, he’d grown accustomed to sleeping in the adjustable bed, in a slightly reclined position. He tried to get comfortable in his new bed, but it felt hard and flat. He piled all the pillows he could find under his head, but that made his neck hurt a little. It still wasn’t healed completely and he had to be careful how he joggled his head about.

After finally falling asleep, he woke himself up again not long after with his own loud snoring. His head had slipped off the pillows and he’d wound up flat on his back, sprawled across his new bed. Funny, he thought. He’d managed to bother someone with his snoring after all. Himself. He rolled over and groaned loudly. His stomach hurt. He wanted to get up and take some pain killers, and yet he was too tired to move. He wondered vaguely what was on TV at this time of night. Maybe an old National Geographic special, he thought. Maybe a Jacques Cousteau voyage, or a program about whales, he thought. He pictured this in his mind, wondering what it would be like to be aboard the Calypso. It wasn’t long before he drifted back to sleep.

The next morning, Myrtle was there bright and early, bringing coffee and donuts with her for a treat. Fred was still in bed when she got there, but he was wakeful and when he heard the door, he got up, put on his robe and peeped out to make sure it was Myrtle. She was the only other one with a key, but Fred had a landlady walk in on him once when he was having a bath. He’d scrambled out of the tub to see who was invading his apartment. It was hard to say who was more frightened ~ Fred seeing his landlady in his living room, or the landlady seeing Fred in a wet robe with little blobs of suds clinging to his legs. Anyway, he no longer took things like that for granted. He breathed a satisfied sigh when he glimpsed Myrtle setting something down on the dining table, then he turned and slipped into the bathroom, closing the door a bit loudly so she’d know where he was. He didn’t want to startle her the way he had the landlady.

He was very glad to see the coffee and donuts when he came out, and of course, glad to see a smiling Myrtle waiting at the table for him. They enjoyed a nice, relaxed, prolonged breakfast together, then Fred, a creature of habit and training, wondered if he shouldn’t walk around for awhile. Chuckling to herself, Myrtle suggested he go and have a nice, refreshing wash while she took something out of the freezer for their supper later. Obediently, Fred headed for the washroom.

And so Saturday passed in almost boring, yet strangely comfortable domesticity. Fred enjoyed Myrtle’s attention and Myrtle enjoyed looking after him. She reminded Fred that she had to go to work on Monday, so he’d be on his own all day. She’d come by to have supper with him, but he’d have to get his own breakfast and lunch. So she went over with him what foods were in the kitchen so he wouldn’t starve while she was away. After lunch she encouraged Fred to get dressed and go for a very short walk with her down the street outside his apartment building. They didn’t go far. Fred still tired easily, so even though he was eager to be able to walk to where there were shops and that nice little restaurant, there was no way he was going that far yet. They settled for walking to the corner and back again, then rode the elevator back up to Fred’s apartment. With all the challenges of being in his new digs, it was enough.

Myrtle had brought some cards and and a couple of board games with her and she gave Fred the choice of what to play. So until it was time for Myrtle to make their supper, they played cribbage. Then Fred grabbed a nap on the couch while Myrtle worked away in the kitchen. Fred complimented her so much on the supper of chicken pieces, potatoes and broccoli, and how much better it was than hospital food, that Myrtle wondered if he actually hadn’t liked it. But another look at his guileless face and his empty plate convinced her that he was just glad to be out of the hospital.

Sunday passed in much the same way. Myrtle went home for the night a couple of hours after supper on Saturday evening, and showed up again Sunday morning with treats for breakfast. Fred couldn’t help thinking that he could get used to this. He got a slightly better nights’ sleep in his new bed and was up to greet Myrtle on Sunday morning. All and all, it wasn’t a very exciting weekend, but they enjoyed each other’s company, passing the occasional shy but twinkling glance at one another as they learned more about the things they had in common and talked about everything from work, to food, to politics. Fred was very pleased to learn that Myrtle leaned a little to the left politically. His mother was a dyed-in-the-wool Conservative, so he had shied away from the political right his whole adult life. He would have been very disappointed if it turned out that Myrtle shared his mother’s political views. That could have even been a deal-breaker, he thought. By the time Sunday evening rolled around, they were actually both a little weary of the rather intense “sharing.” Myrtle headed for home after a rather ardent kiss from Fred, followed by a rather huge, proud grin from him. She almost couldn’t help laughing, but she only giggled happily, waved and headed out the door.

Once home, Myrtle tidied up and picked out her work clothes for the next day. She was happy with how things were going with Fred, but she also felt a little stressed about it all. What if they got together, she wondered. She liked her little house. Would Fred be willing to move again? Or would he expect her to move into town with him. Luckinbill, she thought. She wondered kind of vaguely if Fred would mind if she didn’t change her name if they got married. She gave her head a shake, then began to wonder if the new teaching assistants for Pelham’s class were going to work out. She felt vaguely panicky about that, certain that the Dean was still somehow holding her responsible for the whole affair. She wondered if it would be acceptable to let the two new young men carry the course through to its conclusion, or if the search for a new instructor would have to continue. She sighed deeply. There was so much going on in her life right now. She felt just a little overwhelmed.

Myrtle decided she needed to relax before trying to sleep, so she made herself a hot cocoa and poured in a liberal shot of brandy, then settled on the couch with a book. She would read until her eyelids grew heavy, then she’d try to get some sleep. A work morning comes early, she thought. And after work, she’d be making Fred another supper. This, she thought, could all get a little exhausting. Yet she smiled happily as she snuggled in and scanned the book for the place she’d left off.

Fred Survives the Day

When their iced teas arrived, Myrtle thoughtfully suggested that Fred hold his against his throbbing jaw while they waited for their pizzas. This helped a bit and Fred was soon feeling a little better. His embarrassment waned as Myrtle sympathized and after a while his jaw didn't hurt nearly as much. All and all, they enjoyed their lunch, though Fred thought it better to not chew on the freshly bruised side, worrying that he may have loosened a tooth or two. But the pizzas were good and the waiter had been so accommodating, they were certain this was destined to become a favourite haunt. This made them both happy, yet it also worried each of them for their own reasons... Fred due to the design of the chair legs, Myrtle because she saw the potential for putting on weight. Nevertheless, they left the restaurant in good spirits.

Fred was even happier when Myrtle suggested they skip the curtain shopping for certain and attend to that another time. So they just strolled along Benton until they came across a thrift shop. They looked happily at each other and went inside where Fred found some CDs he wanted and a belt, and Myrtle picked up some kitchen gadgets, salt and pepper shakers, a vinegar cruit and a few mugs she thought Fred might like. This kind of shopping Fred didn’t mind. He thought it was kind of fun to explore thrift shops looking for unexpected treasures. And Myrtle just loved the idea of picking up some bargains, rather than buying everything new. Their purchases bagged up and in hand, they continued their walk until the shops yielded to houses, with more apartment buildings visible up the street. So they crossed over and walked back to Fred’s new apartment on the other side.

When they were almost there, Myrtle looked up suddenly. "Oh Fred, we must remember to turn in the signed lease before we leave."

"Yeah, I thought of that," replied Fred. "It’s ok... I had a little look at it while you were cleaning the toilet and it seems pretty standard, so I signed it, but I left it on the bags we took in. We can just get it before we go and give it to the Super," he finished, wondering if he mightn’t have left out the detail about the toilet.

Myrtle wondered briefly if she oughtn’t take a look at the lease, then decided against even suggesting it. Too pushy, she thought to herself. She would just have to trust that Fred had signed leases before and knew what he was doing. So it wasn’t long before they'd handed in the lease and were headed back to her place.

Fred was just glad that it was all looked after and he had a new place to live. He was careful to not stay too late at Myrtle’s that night, in case his mother decided to lock the screen doors again. So after a small but yummy repast of toasted bacon and tomato sandwiches and tea, Fred excused himself saying he was tired and had to get up early in the morning. Myrtle understood completely and after a couple of dangerously amorous kisses at the back door that might have tempted him to change his mind under more favourable circumstances, Fred more or less tripped out the back door and headed down the path toward his car.

He made it home without incident that night and though he would have preferred to just avoid his mother, it was if she was laying in wait for him.

“I trust you’ll let me know when you won’t be sleeping here anymore,” she said sternly.

“Yes Mother,” he replied, slowly backing away. “I’m going into hospital on Friday, for that operation, if you recall,” he reminded her. “Myrtle will pick me up when I’m released and take me back to my new apartment.”

“So then who’s going to see to you?” demanded Flora.

“I guess Myrtle will look in on me,” he replied, defensively. He didn’t want to anger his mother, but he really didn’t want her ‘looking after him’ either.

Flora was actually relieved that she wouldn’t be responsible for his convalescence. Still, she was a bit hurt that Fred apparently liked it that way too. “So when do I get to meet this Florence Nightingale of yours?” she demanded. “This girl who apparently has nothing better to do than see to your precious needs?” she almost spat.

“I don’t know,” replied Fred, still backing away, feeling behind him for the entrance to his room. When his hand felt the door jam, he smiled at his mother, said “well, good night, Mom,” and ducked into his room, shutting the door behind him. He sighed deeply and decided to change into his nightshirt before using the bathroom.

He examined the new bruise on his jaw as he got ready for bed. It throbbed just a little when he laid on that side and sleep didn’t come easily. He was frightened of his mother, he was growing increasingly nervous about the pending operation, and he was scared to death of moving and relying on a new girl friend for his care. But even though he was restless for awhile, sleep was Fred’s refuge from reality, and he eventually drifted off into a fitful slumber.

Oh Fred

Fred was still basking in the warm glow of his new relationship when he got home. Unfortunately his mother was standing in the kitchen when he entered.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in," she observed.

"I found an apartment tonight," he informed her. "Available October first."

"Well I’m not returning any of your board money for the next two weeks," she stated firmly. "Even though you’ve scarcely eaten here in the last week, I still had to shop for you. I’ve got a pound of stew beef in the freezer I don’t know what to do with."

Fred gazed at her askance and cleared his throat, biting his tongue at the same time. "Fall Fair coming up," he said finally. "You could make up a bunch of meat pies for the Ladies’ Auxiliary table," he suggested helpfully.

His mother only snorted in response, but Fred knew from experience she’d give the matter some thought and probably do just that. The Ladies’ Auxiliary would be pestering her for something and his mother, he well knew, could stretch a pound of stew beef to a lot of little pies.

"You want anything before bed?" she demanded, obviously reluctant to leave the kitchen until he was gone from it.

"No thanks. Had dessert and coffee at Myrtle’s."

"And just who is this Myrtle person? And when will I meet her?" she demanded again.

Fred shuddered slightly at the thought. "She’s just a friend," he replied. "And we’re a little busy just now… she’s helping me get stuff for my new apartment," he explained. "G’night Mom," he added quickly, just as she’d opened her mouth to speak. He retreated hastily down the hallway to his room.

After getting ready for bed, Fred snuggled in and lay thinking about Myrtle. He hummed happily to himself as he recalled the events of the evening, then his mother’s words to him about meeting Myrtle intruded upon his reverie. He wondered how Myrtle would react to his mother, and vice versa. He had no way of knowing for sure since the situation had never come up before. His mother did usually assume a reasonably civil manner for Cynthia’s benefit, despite disliking her intensely. But Fred suspected this was a special effort for Bill and didn’t think the same consideration would be extended to him.

Then again, Myrtle wasn’t at all like Cynthia. Was it possible his mother would like her? He snorted and immediately dismissed the notion. His mother didn’t like anybody ~ except Bill. He was quite sure of that.

He jabbed absently at his pillow as he lay ruminating on the matter. His mother’s attitude toward Cynthia might have been entirely different had they met prior to the marriage ceremony. It must have been somewhat surprising, even for his mother, to be called suddenly to Bill’s penthouse apartment by an unfamiliar female voice and rush into town dreading injury or worse to her fair-haired boy, only to find him fine, though somewhat whoozy for the consumption of spirits, and waiting for her in the company of a buxom blonde and Judge Bickford Waldo.

Fred had certainly been surprised. But Bill had requested that his mother and brother witness the ceremony and Cynthia had simply called them to hurry right over. Fred thought it rather curious that his mother hadn’t raised an unseemly fuss the moment she’d arrived, especially given Bill’s condition at the time. But to the contrary, Flora Luckinbill had seemed flustered and somewhat intimidated by the presence of Judge Waldo, particularly with Cynthia being so chummy with the venerable widower, calling him "Bicky" as she did. It was the only occasion Fred could recall his mother actually rendered speechless by another human being. The judge had seemed to sense a certain disquieting aura in the small gathering and attempted to relax everyone by joking that with Bill married, his principal competition for Upton’s pretty girls was effectively removed. Unfortunately, his well-meant light-heartedness had fallen flat on everyone but Cynthia and only heightened Flora’s tension.

Fred yawned. He was sleepily pondering just how he and Myrtle might get married some day when he drifted off.

On their way to work the next morning, Fred and Myrtle discussed their shopping ideas and decided to get started that evening after work. They would eat first at a fast food restaurant, then do the rounds of the local department stores. When Fred pulled up outside her building, Myrtle leaned across and kissed him gently on the cheek before climbing out. He grinned happily and waved as she disappeared into the building, then drove on.

Myrtle endured a rather dull day at the office. Dick was in a state of disgruntlement when he returned from delivering his report to the Dean’s Committee and, at Myrtle’s suggestion, he departed before noon. There was only one student needing her help throughout the day and even the faculty didn’t bother her that much. Not even Horace Dilby.

Fred would have given anything for a dull day. Oh, he breezed through the morning all right, taking just enough notice of what he was doing to feel reasonably confident he’d done it properly. And he fairly floated to the lunch room and back, consuming his bologna sandwich in the interim without even observing that it was the same old thing. It even appeared for awhile that his afternoon might pass as agreeably as his morning, until precisely 2:50 when Mr. Grieve’s secretary, Helen, entered Fred’s office in an obvious state of panic. She stood just inside his door in something of a crouch, staring wide-eyed at him, her hands flapping up and down beside her head and before Fred could enquire about the nature of her affliction, the words "Oh Fred!" escaped her lips, then she turned and departed his office as suddenly as she’d appeared.

Curious, Fred followed her. This was obviously what she’d expected him to do, for as soon as they reached the threshold of Mr. Grieves’ office, she stepped aside and allowed Fred to enter first, offering a look of unqualified pity as he passed. He stopped just inside the door and gazed in wonder at the scene before him. There sat Mr. Grieves at his desk, staring straight ahead, his face a pasty, frozen mask betraying only the likelihood of some calamitous occurrence. Gathered protectively around him were the Safety Supervisor, the Personnel Director and the Assistant Transport Manager. They all glanced at Fred as soon as he entered, then looked away and began a conspicuous cacophony of coughing and throat clearing. This seemed to break the spell Mr. Grieves’ was under and, as Fred stood there wondering who’d died and what he had to do with it, Mr. Grieves’ slowly raised his eyes to gaze at him.

It was a badly shaken Fred who exited Mr. Grieves’ office several minutes later. Doubting he would make it back to his own office without assistance, Helen accompanied him and left him sitting at his desk silently contemplating the ceiling. He moaned and placed a clammy palm across his face. Here he’d been expecting accolades from his boss for having dealt with the problem of the misplaced ovens so handily. What had happened could only happen to him, he thought miserably. Only for him could such a simple operation turn into such an unlikely disaster. Tucking his chin into his collar, he tried to be philosophical about the whole thing. At least he wasn’t fired. After all, Mr. Grieves couldn’t really blame him for what happened - it was just one of those things. Fred only wished he’d told Myrtle he worked at Soames without mentioning his position with the company. That way he might have survived the embarrassment of the demotion he feared Mr. Grieves had in store for him, without the added humiliation of having to explain it to Myrtle. He groaned and laid his upper body across his desk and was still in that position when Helen, concerned that he might not be conscious of the hour, or conscious at all, came by to inform him it was quitting time.

Cereal and Reports ~ Food for Thought?

After they exchanged their morning greetings, Fred gazed intently into Myrtle’s eye. "Are you all right, Myrtle?" he inquired with evident concern.

"Why yes, Fred. Why?"

"Your eye is kind of red and puffy," he observed, wondering immediately if he might have found a more tactful way of putting it. "You haven’t been overworking it, have you?" he asked to demonstrate that his motives for asking were pure.

Myrtle smiled and patted his arm. "No, Fred. I’ve just been chopping onions."

"At 7:30 in the morning?" he squeaked.

"Yes," she chuckled. "For dinner tonight. I browned some brisket and chopped onion and put that along with a can of tomatoes and some herbs and spices into my crock pot. It’ll simmer all day while we’re at work and when we get home, dinner will be practically ready. I’ll just have to boil some potatoes and peas," she explained proudly. "I hope you like it."

"Sounds great," he said, trying to sound eager. It sounded fine to him, but he found it difficult to enthuse about a hot meal with onions in it at 7:45 a.m. He was a cereal man who could only rarely entertain the notion of bacon and eggs in the morning. Too greasy, he thought. The morning after his apartment burned down he had tried an egg breakfast out, but he hadn’t liked it and wished he’d just bought an ordinary bran muffin somewhere.

"What do you usually eat for breakfast, Myrtle?" he asked suddenly, instantly wondering if the question hadn’t sounded abrupt.

"Cereal," she replied.

Fred smiled in approval. "Me too. I particularly like Cheerios," he announced.

"Oh, I like those too, but I usually eat bran flakes... for the roughage," she said, wondering if she'd actually needed to say that. "Sometimes I have Cheerios or Rice Krispies for a treat though," she added. "What do you like for lunch, Fred," she asked, sort of trying to change the subject.

"Oh, I generally take a sandwich," he said without enthusiasm. "I’m tiring of it though. My mother has packed me a bologna sandwich every day since I came to stay with her."

"Why don’t you ask her for something different?" inquired Myrtle with a tone of disbelief.

"I did. I mean, I mentioned one day that bologna every day was a bit boring. The next day I got two unbuttered slices of bread with a piece of paper between them. She’d written on it, "violets are purple, roses are red, it isn’t nutritious, but it’s different, Fred."

Myrtle couldn’t help laughing, but Fred could only manage a half-hearted snort.

"Your mother sounds like quite the practical joker," ventured Myrtle.

"I guess so," he responded uncertainly. Actually, Fred was of the opinion that his mother did such things out of sheer meanness, but he had to admit he’d never really considered the possibility that she possessed a sense of humour. "Anyway," he continued, "I wound up buying a sandwich out of the vending machine. I thought it would be better than two slices of dry bread."

"Was it?" asked Myrtle.

"No,” he said simply. “Probably lucky it didn’t kill me,” he added, sticking out his tongue. “I don’t think people should buy food from machines.”

"Couldn’t you make your own lunches?" she ventured.

"I’d actually like to... I’m used to looking after myself," he assured her. "But my mother won’t let me use her kitchen unsupervised.” He suddenly realized how that sounded. “I mean, she’s just like that," he added hastily. "She doesn’t trust anyone else in her kitchen.”

"Oh. I’ve heard some women are like that," remarked Myrtle almost feebly. But she noticed that Fred had already drifted away on the current of his own thoughts. That was ok, she thought, pondering her own habit of buying a salad lunch in the college cafeteria. Not exactly exciting conversation, she thought, yawning. So they drove the rest of the way to the college in silence and said their usual smiling goodbyes at the door to her building.

Dick was standing in her office looking thoughtful as Myrtle came in. "Oh Myrtle, have you had a chance to do that report on the computer system?" he asked fitfully as she hung up her jacket.

"Good morning, Dick," she said calmly. Then she made herself comfortable at her desk, pulled her work file from the drawer and put away her purse. "Yes Dick, it’s done," she answered finally, pulling a paper-clipped sheaf of papers from her file and holding it out to him.

Dick nervously flipped through the papers. "Oh good," he sighed. "It isn’t too long."

"Of course not," she replied. "But you’ll be wanting to go over it carefully before you present it to the committee," she cautioned.

"Okay. Are we for it or against it?" he asked.

"For it, with certain reservations," she replied.

"Fence-sitting again," he observed with obvious delight. "But then, I guess that’s why we have cracks in our asses," he giggled.

Myrtle smiled tolerantly. Dick very often indulged in silliness unbecoming a man in his position whenever he felt relieved, yet still tense about something he had to do. "You should go over the last page in particular, Dick... to make sure you’re comfortable with the language prior to the meeting," she advised.

Dick turned to the last page. He looked over it and settled on a spot to begin reading out loud. "There are still some problems, large and small, to be resolved, but this is to be expected when in transition from one system to another. The college should encourage cooperation and patience from all employees working with the new system, and this committee in particular should take care to separate constructive criticism, which may help us overcome the problems we encounter, from petty complaints motivated only by self-interest." He glanced up at Myrtle. "This is strong stuff. It could upset the Dean," he almost whimpered.

"No, it won’t," she assured him gently. "It might embarrass him a little, but don’t worry, the rest of the report is quite boring."

"But, if I’ve lulled them to sleep, why wake them up at the end?" he anguished.

"Well, for one thing, Dick, it’s the kind of thing that will keep the Dean from asking you for any more reports for awhile," she smiled.

Dick returned a slightly uncertain, yet conspiratorial smile and sighed with some measure of relief. "All right then. I’ll go over it all before I read it to the committee tomorrow morning," he promised. Clutching the report in both hands, he turned to leave. "I hope they have donuts at the meeting instead of those stale cookies," he muttered as he wandered out the office door.

Myrtle chuckled softly. Dick would come to work tomorrow dressed in his most funereal suit, looking very dignified and ready to stand before the Dean’s Committee to offer an important perspective on a subject of some controversy throughout the college. Of course, Myrtle’s report would have him actually commit to nothing more than a general concept of collegiality. Myrtle breathed a sigh of relief herself and began thumbing through her work file in search of some ordinary task to perform. She came across some faculty correspondence which needed typing and decided to tackle that next.

It's Just Shopping, Or Is It?

Inside the grocery store, a shopping routine was quickly established with Fred falling into the practice developed during shopping trips with his mother. It was his custom to assist by requesting specific instructions regarding the item and brand required, searching the aisles for same and returning to the cart with either that item, or something he’d seen in passing and wanted. Grocery shopping was the only kind of shopping Myrtle didn’t enjoy, but she soon discovered that Fred’s routine was fun and it did seem to get the job done a bit faster. Quickly getting into the swing of it, she sent Fred hither and yon for everything from baked goods to coffee to dairy products, being careful not to send him for anything heavy in consideration of his injuries. Each time he returned to the cart with the correct item and a satisfied grin, Myrtle rewarded him with a smile and a "thank you" and sent him off again. This gave her time to read labels and browse new possibilities.

Only once did Fred err and return to her with the wrong item. She had asked for salted Premium Saltines, and he had returned with unsalted crackers. She glanced at him as he handed her the package. He stood grinning happily, his face fairly shining in eager anticipation of her approval and a new assignment. Myrtle dropped the crackers into the cart and offered the usual smile, then sent him off for frozen orange juice concentrate. She then wheeled over to the cracker aisle to change the selection herself. As she did so, she spied a box of animal crackers and it inspired the notion that buying a special treat for Fred for all his help would be a great idea. Not the animal crackers though, she chuckled inwardly. That might seem to be mocking him. She’d think of something else.

Carrying a container of frozen orange juice in each hand, Fred scurried through the store looking for Myrtle, who, in turn, had selected the shortest available line up and was patiently waiting for Fred. The cart was more than half full, and knowing that Fred couldn’t carry any heavy bags, she’d decided it was time to check out. She didn’t have everything on her list, but the essentials were in the cart and she’d find a way to shop again soon. When a puffing Fred finally found her, she gratefully took the orange juice from him and added it to the conveyer belt.

As the final items rolled past the cashier and into the hands of the bag boy, Fred became uncomfortably aware of being stared at. He turned and looked into a baleful expression on the fresh, young face of the bag boy packaging Myrtler's groceries. Fred recognized him, and the boy evidently recognized Fred, who blushed and turned away, looking for escape. Crouching slightly, he maneuvered himself behind Myrtle. He had hoped he’d gone unnoticed during the unpleasant incident in the parking lot the last time he’d shopped here with his mother. Shortly after Fred’s father had died, his mother had sold their little house in town and purchased the comfortable, frame bungalow she now occupied. Having done this, she found she was in need of some form of reliable transportation to carry her to and from town. With Superman Bill’s encouragement, she had chosen a small, red pick-up truck with which she had developed a certain rapport by the time it was worn out some years later. To replace it, she had chosen a full-size, red pick-up, on which she proceeded to lavish her affection in the form of running boards, fog lights, grill guard, very loud chrome horns, mag wheels, mud flaps and miscellaneous chrome trim and decals. As preposterous as it seemed to Fred, his fifty-six year-old mother currently owned and actively drove a vehicle that was the envy of every burly black-shirt in the county.

As if this alone wasn’t sufficiently embarrassing to Fred, it was in this vehicle that he had accompanied his mother to this very A&P scarcely three weeks ago. And it was the boy now warily eyeing Fred who’d wheeled her groceries out to her truck. As he lifted the groceries into the truck bed, the boy had enthusiastically and repeatedly proclaimed his admiration for the vehicle. When he’d finished loading the groceries, he had glanced first at Fred, then at the huge, grey-haired Flora Luckinbill and quite innocently commented that the owner of the magnificent truck was a swell fellow for letting them use it. Flora’s face had instantly turned the most remarkable shade of purple. Then she had unleashed upon the poor lad a torrent of verbal vitriol which left him a wide-eyed and quivering lump in the parking lot as she climbed into the cab and roared away. Fred had scarcely had time to jump into the back of the truck, at first thinking it likely safer anyway than riding in the cab with his infuriated mother. He now recalled this rash decision with mixed feelings, for his mother’s rather aggressive driving style and the bumpy rural roads had combined to reduce Fred to a moaning mass of black and blue. To add insult to injury, he later discovered that the dozen eggs and several tomatoes amongst the groceries had somehow arrived home unscathed.

Fred shook his head and glanced back at the boy, who continued to regard him suspiciously while loading Myrtle’s groceries into a cart. Then the boy followed her only reluctantly to the parking lot, continuing to keep a cautious eye on Fred as he went. The boy did seem somewhat relieved when they stopped behind Fred’s Toyota. However, as soon as Fred had the trunk open, he slipped quietly into the driver’s seat and just waited. He heard and felt the trunk slam shut, he watched in his rearview mirror as the boy departed and he breathed a sigh of relief when Myrtle climbed into the car.

"These are for you," she said, holding out a box of Cracker Jacks.

Fred stared at them, then smiled slowly as he took them from her. "What did you get these for?"

"For you," she smiled back. "You were so helpful in there, I just wanted to get you a little something for a reward. I hope you like them."

"They’re my favourite," he grinned. "Of course, the prizes aren’t what they used to be...."

Myrtle giggled. "Oh Fred, you’re such a card."

Fred only shrugged as he set the Cracker Jacks on the console and started the car. Then he offered Myrtle another bashful grin as he put the car in gear and headed for the exit.

Myrtle had Fred carry the bags containing rolls, bread and paper products into the house, while she lugged the heavier groceries. Then she told him firmly to sit and wait as she made one more trip to the car where she got the last of the bags, as well as Fred’s Cracker Jacks. He was so thoroughly embarrassed by his inability to carry more that he just felt like slinking home. But Myrtle was getting to know Fred well enough to anticipate this reaction and she was determined he wasn’t going to leave until she’d had the opportunity to raise his spirits. So he obediently sat waiting in the living room while she quickly put away the frozen foods and other perishables. Then she poured some milk into two mugs, put them in the microwave, picked up his box of Cracker Jacks and hurried to join him.

"I brought these in so you could have some with your hot chocolate if you wanted," she explained, setting the box in his lap.

Fred picked it up and sort of hugged it to his chest. "Thank you, but you don’t have to make hot chocolate, Myrtle."

She borrowed Fred’s own technique and pouted. "But the milk is already warm," she explained. Getting up, she gestured toward the kitchen. "I just need to add the cocoa. I thought you’d at least stay to enjoy a nice mug of hot chocolate with me before rushing home."

Fred acquiesced, of course. So once the hot chocolate was ready, Myrtle brought it in for them and settled down near Fred. Then she pulled some catalogues from the magazine rack. It wouldn’t hurt to start looking over what was available as they enjoyed their treat.