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.

Not the Golden Arches At Least

When Fred pulled up outside the Commercial Art building later, Myrtle was waiting for him just outside the front doors. She didn’t want to keep him waiting again for one thing, and for another, she was vaguely curious about where he would take her this time. She rather hoped Fred’s previous restaurant selection wasn’t an accurate reflection of his idea of dinner out.

"Well, we’ll get a good meal tonight, Myrtle," Fred assured her once she was settled into the passenger seat. "And then we’ll get you re-supplied with groceries,” he grinned. "I thought we’d go to the steakhouse beside the A&P," he enthused. "That way we can just skip over to the store to shop when we’re done. Is that okay?"

"Oh sure Fred," she replied, satisfied with his choice. She was familiar with Nick’s Steakhouse and Pancake Emporium ~ not a fast food joint and not really fancy either. Just right, she thought. And she also liked shopping at the A&P next door.

"It’s a good thing we came so early, straight from work, Myrtle. It’s hard to get a booth later in the evening," Fred informed her knowledgeably, once they were seated in the restaurant.

"Yes, this is very nice," she agreed, resting her elbows on the Formica table top as she gazed at the open menu before her. Steak or pancakes, she pondered.

“How do you like your steak?” asked Fred suddenly.

Myrtle glanced up. She hadn’t really decided if she wanted steak, but then thought about how she’d been eating a lot of homemade bread goods in the past week, so maybe a good old fashioned chunk of meat would be a nice change. “Medium,” she answered, smiling.

"Me too," smiled Fred. "Would the New York strip loin be all right with you?"

"Oh Fred., that’s kind of expensive. I’d be happy with a rib eye,” she protested. He offered a wounded look, once again putting Myrtle in mind of beagle puppy. She sighed resignedly and offered a penitent smile. "Well, whatever you’re having," she agreed.

And so, as the two enjoyed their early dinner, they talked about looking at apartments.

"There’s a two-bedroom, a one-bedroom and a bachelor in the building I like the look of best, and there’s a couple of bachelors available in the other building,” said Fred. “I suppose we should look at them all, but I really would prefer a one-bedroom. A two- bedroom will be too expensive and I lived in a bachelor once... with a pull-out couch. I didn’t like it."

"It is a lot of bother," agreed Myrtle.

"Dangerous too," he nodded emphatically. "I slipped once pulling my couch out and it landed on top of me."

"Myrtle’s eye widened in astonishment. "Were you hurt?"

Fred shook his head. "But I had the devil’s own time getting out from under it. Those things are heavy and the cross bar between two of the legs was right across my throat. If I’d been wearing this collar at the time... well..... " his voice trailed off thoughtfully as Myrtle just stared at him. Then he sort of gave his head a shake. "Anyway," he continued, "I haven’t really liked pull-out couches since."

"Small wonder," she agreed, her eye still wide. "I’m certainly glad you weren’t hurt."

Fred smiled bashfully. "Anyway, I guess... if you don’t mind... we should look at all the apartments. If I can only afford a bachelor, maybe we could think of a sleeping arrangement other than a pull-out couch," he ventured.

"I’m sure we could," she encouraged. "And I don’t mind at all. It’ll be interesting to see them all. When should we go?"

"Well," said Fred a little sheepishly, "I sort of made appointments for tomorrow night... but if that’s not convenient Myrtle...."

"Oh it’s not a problem at all," she assured him. I had no other plans. But tomorrow evening, before we go, you must have dinner at my place. It’s my turn to treat," she smiled.

"Okay," he agreed with a happy grin. Then his face fell just a bit... "But you mustn’t go to a lot of trouble, Myrtle."

She reached across the table and patted his hand. "I’ll just make us something fast and simple, Fred, so we won’t be too late getting out to look at those apartments."

He nodded approvingly, then sat back as the waiter poured coffee. By the time they were through, Myrtle had learned Fred received almost $7,000. from the insurance company for the contents of his apartment. In addition, he had saved almost $2,000. more. He was thrilled with the amount of money they had to work with, but Myrtle felt that properly furnishing and supplying an entire apartment on the funds available was going to be somewhat challenging. Still, she was eagerly looking forward to getting started. She felt they just might succeed if they attended the appropriate sales and weren’t afraid to look for bargains at the thrift shops. If possible, her enthusiasm was greater upon learning the monetary restrictions than it had been before. Myrtle loved a challenge.

Once Fred had calculated the tip and paid the tab for dinner, they decided to move the car closer to the grocery store. What with his hernia and Myrtle’s continued limp, he thought it best to get a parking space as close as they could. Myrtle was impressed with his thoughtfulness, especially as Fred wound up parking the car again only about three rows away from where it had been before.

So Much Catching Up

Myrtle stood waiting on the path the next morning still feeling a bit tired despite a good nights sleep, but also feeling quite satisfied with her breakfast of a toasted English muffin with peanut butter and jam. She had been getting tired of homemade flat breads. They’re something you don’t always think to make, she thought, and they come in handy when you can’t get out to buy bread. But a change had been in order. And as she breakfasted, she also jotted down a rather lengthy shopping list while sipping her coffee. She didn’t know how much she’d be able to pick up, but since she’d just used the last of it, coffee was right there on top.

When Fred pulled up, Myrtle climbed into the car and noticed right away that Fred was also in a rather cheerful mood. She could just feel it somehow. She had no sooner clicked her seatbelt into place when Fred gleefully bubbled that his insurance cheque had finally arrived and had been waiting for him when he got home yesterday.

"Of course, it won’t cover the total replacement cost of new furniture... insurance never does. But with the bit of rent money I’ve saved living with Mother the past three months, I ought to be able to outfit a new apartment pretty well," he enthused.

"Have you been looking for an apartment, Fred?"

"Just from the outside," he replied. "I’ve got my eye on a couple of fairly new buildings near the town limits with apartments still available in them. Would you go and look at them with me, Myrtle? You see, I’d really appreciate your help picking out my new furniture. Women are so practical about such things... and you should know what the apartment is like.. if you wouldn’t mind helping me out."

Myrtle could scarcely believe her ears. "I’d love to, Fred," she enthused. "Now, you’ll have to tell me your favourite colour and the basic kinds of things you’re looking for... oh and I think Price-Mart is having a sale on curtains and blinds next week...."

Myrtle loved to shop. It was only the realistic boundaries of her limited needs, her natural practicality, and the restrictions of her insignificant income which combined to prevent this happy pastime from blossoming into a consuming hobby. She was every bit as thrilled as Fred at the prospect of finding an apartment and furnishing it all fresh and new from scratch. By the time they entered the college grounds Myrtle had conducted a reasonably thorough investigation of Fred’s colour and taste preferences.

Fred’s favourite colour was brown, with which almost anything goes, except maybe the purples and reds... ah, but orange and yellow, thought Myrtle gleefully. And he was undecided on any of the details of just what furniture he wanted, which left the possibilities wide open. Myrtle was all aglow with the possibilities when Fred pulled to a stop in front of the Commercial Art Department.

"Anyway Myrtle, I’ve got the numbers of the building management and I’ll call today and see if I can get us an appointment for later in the week. But tonight I promised to take you grocery shopping, so I told my mother I wouldn’t be home for dinner and I thought we’d eat out, then go to the grocery store. You know, you shouldn’t shop for food on an empty stomach."

Being wrenched back into the present so abruptly like that made Myrtle feel vaguely irritable. But she stoically offered Fred a grateful smile. "I’d forgotten all about that," she confessed. "I really do need to do some grocery shopping though. Are you sure you don’t mind, Fred?"

"Positive," he grinned. "I’ll be here at about quarter of five to pick you up," he reminded her.

Once again Myrtle turned to wave after closing the car door and Fred waited until she was inside the building before continuing on his way. Pulling her work from her desk drawer she began rummaging through the top papers to remind herself what she’d wanted to tackle first.

Two hours later, having made pretty good headway on the stack of work, Myrtle was casting her eye back and forth between two memoranda. One was dated September 12 from the Records Department responding to her own earlier concern about the new computer system. The other memo was dated September 18 from the Dean’s office to Dick requesting that he deliver a critique of the computer system to one of the Dean’s committees on October 2. It was rather short notice for such a request and Myrtle wondered if there was a connection between the two memos. It wouldn’t be the first time the administration had discouraged enquiry by creating work as a sort of punishment. It was also very short notice for Myrtle to prepare the report for Dick to present, but before she did so, she wanted to know more.

She was concentrating so intensely on this problem that she failed to hear the approach of Professor Horace Dilby and was quite unaware of his presence in her office until he spoke.

"G’morning, Myrtle. Glad to see you back. Can I have an envelope?"

At the first crack of his lecturer’s voice in her ear, Myrtle started straight up in her chair. By the time he’d finished speaking, she was sitting mouth agape with a protective hand over her heart, her one eye locked into a shocked stare. Once she was reasonably certain her heart wasn’t going to stop, she slowly sagged into a normal posture. Then she reached into her drawer for the requested item and held it out to the professor. She said nothing, but offered a friendly, helpful smile as she waggled the envelope in front of him.. He seemed rather confused at the sight of it, but finally took it and, returning her smile, tottered slowly out the door as if he wasn’t quite sure where he was or where he ought to go next.

Myrtle chuckled knowingly. When she first came to Upton College she found it most disconcerting that so many of the faculty thought nothing of interrupting her concentration to ask her for some small item. So she had conscientiously supplied each of the eighteen tenured faculty members with all the little things they might conceivably need in the performance of their duties. Still, they came to her. And so Myrtle learned that there was an element of employer care in the world of academia reminiscent of babysitting. It was never the students who were the problem. All 370 of them in her department tried hard to be grown up and were no trouble at all. But the faculty had apparently abandoned this charming, youthful pretense and had reverted to behaviour similar to that exhibited at their mother’s knee at the approximate age of eight. And so Myrtle did her best to look after them.

Still smiling, she shook her head and glanced down once again at the Dean’s memorandum. What she’d been seeking jumped instantly from the page in the two words "clerical complaint." She realized suddenly that it wasn’t her own minor complaint which had prompted the Dean to demand a report from Dick. It was that secretary who’d been so nasty. The administrative decision she’d wanted from Dick must have had something to do with the computer system and she must have complained to the Dean when it wasn’t forthcoming. Myrtle was livid. "Bless Professor Dilby," she murmured, vaguely wondering if the poor man had remembered yet why he’d wanted the envelope.

Actually, Horace Dilby hadn’t needed an envelope at all. He was a teacher of many years tenure who had simply come to dread his own classes in Drawing the Human Figure. While he’d explored different methods over the years, the basic principles of drawing never changed. The human figure never changed. The endless sea of youthful faces yawning and munching snack food throughout his lectures and demonstrations never changed. Sometimes the poor man just needed to gaze upon a smiling human face which had nothing whatever to do with his actual classes, and though no one had ever accused Myrtle of being pretty, he had decided that she possessed the very face he was craving. Over the past two and a half years it became routine for Professor Dilby to wander into the administrative office at regular intervals. He only wanted a glimpse of Myrtle’s smiling face. But right from the beginning he had recognized that it just wasn’t dignified for a man in his position to loiter in the administrative office with no apparent purpose. Hence, his habit of requesting some small item Myrtle was sure to have handy. And since Myrtle generally proffered the requested item in concert with a friendly smile, his strategy worked to perfection.

This day found Professor Dilby wandering distractedly down the hallway debating with himself whether it was Tuesday or Wednesday. It made a notable difference in the time and location of the class he was reasonably certain was imminent and for which he was responsible. Spying a set of washrooms to his right as he toddled along, he abandoned his debate with himself for the moment and entered the door marked "men." Only when he was inside did he discover the envelope still in his hand, and as it had no practical value to his immediate needs, he simply deposited it in the washroom waste can.

Meanwhile, satisfied that she now had the clue she’d been searching for, Myrtle was prepared to begin Dick’s report, but it was going to have to wait till after lunch. During the morning, Winnifred Rodwell, the Resource Librarian in the department, had invited Myrtle to lunch with her and Myrtle was looking forward to the chance to catch up with her friend.

The Eventful and Uneventful Ride Home

Once outside, Myrtle stopped briefly to stretch and inhale the cool, evening air. When she opened her eye again, she saw that Fred was holding the car door for her and quickly climbed in, smiling her thanks as she did so. Then snuggling comfortably into the bucket seat, she put her head back and sighed. Fred was right, she was tired. But she was also satisfied with what she’d accomplished despite the well-meant greetings and minor panics which had interrupted her work at regular intervals throughout the day. She was in pretty good shape for tomorrow, she thought. Right now she just wanted to get home to a hot meal, a hot shower and a warm bed.

Then, just as Fred turned the car onto the highway, Myrtle’s eye popped open and she groaned.

"What is it?" asked a startled Fred.

"I just remembered," she began hesitantly. "Oh Fred, I don’t want to take advantage of your kindness, but I have very little food left at home. You see, I haven’t been able to get out shopping," she sighed miserably. "I’m afraid I’m just too tired to shop tonight anyhow. If you wouldn’t mind, Fred, could we just stop at a convenience store on the way home? I mean, I could just grab something handy... some wieners and buns maybe.. and some fresh milk and orange juice. Would that be all right?"

"Sure, Myrtle. But why don’t we just stop and get dinner out? That way you wouldn’t have to worry about it when you get home... you could just rest ... and we could get some doughnuts or something for the morning for you.. and I could take you shopping tomorrow," he offered.

"Oh no, Fred," she protested. "I couldn’t inconvenience you that way. I really don’t want to take advantage... just any old corner store would be fine.. honestly."

"But I don’t mind, Myrtle. Really, it’s no bother," he insisted.

Myrtle was prepared to debate the matter further when Fred suddenly turned off the highway into a parking lot and coasted to a stop. She gazed up in surprise at the golden arches as Fred eagerly climbed from the car and went around to her side. Her argument died on her lips as she slowly realized his intentions. It wasn’t exactly what she’d pictured when he said "dinner out," but then again, it was probably quite appropriate for the situation.

Inside, he selected a table for two and suggested she make herself comfortable as he swung out one of the plastic chairs for her.

"Now," he said with delighted satisfaction as she swung her knees under the table. "What would you like?"

The mental image of a roast beef dinner passed across her mind... but she shook it away. "I don’t know," she said. "Maybe a chicken burger?" she ventured.

"Right," he agreed. "You wait here.. I’ll go get it. Hafta call my mother," he confided just before rushing off.

While he was gone, Myrtle sat chin in hands and discreetly cast her eye around the restaurant. Some people were eagerly wolfing down a burger of some sort as if there was someplace else they really ought to be. Others nibbled tentatively at a little bag of tiny fries as if they didn’t have anywhere else to go at all. And there was an old fellow in the corner sipping coffee and writing things down on napkins.

Myrtle had only eaten here once before, when she was out shopping one Saturday and had become ravenous long before she was through taking advantage of a sidewalk sale. She hadn’t really taken notice of what she had ordered and didn’t remember if she’d enjoyed it, but she was quite sure it had been fast and filling. Fred was right, she thought, it would be nice just to go home and rest without worrying about supper.

Fred returned to the table with a tray of food and placed the tray in front of Myrtle. He opened a small carton of milk, poured it into the paper cup and offered it to Myrtle.

“I forgot to ask what you wanted to drink... you like milk?" he asked tentatively. He pushed the chicken burger and a small fries toward Myrtle, then he picked up the last remaining item on the tray.. a small envelope of fries and started nibbling on them.

"Oh Fred, is that all you’re having?" asked Myrtle.

Fred nodded and squirmed uncomfortably. "Just to keep you company," he smiled. "My mother already has dinner on, so I’ll get my main meal later," he explained.

"Oh Fred, you should have come back and told me," she reproved. "You shouldn’t have bought this." Fred’s face instantly fell, putting Myrtle in mind of a beagle puppy who’d just been scolded.
Sighing, she reached over and gently patted his arm. "Well, it was sweet of you to do this for me," she said, with an understanding smile. After all, he meant well and was just trying to be helpful, she thought.

Fred returned a conciliatory little smile as Myrtle took a huge bite of her burger. Then she noticed for the first time that he was wearing a different collar. Her mouth too full to speak, she waggled a french fry at his throat and raised her eye brow.

Fred patted the collar affectionately. "Changed it today. Don’t have to wear the stiff one anymore. Myrtle’s shining eye and enthusiastic nod spoke her approval as she swallowed, then took another generous bite of her burger. "And I get my hernia fixed in...." He stopped suddenly in wide-eyed dismay and sagged visibly into his soft collar. When he’d told Myrtle he couldn’t lift anything he presumed she might guess the nature of his injury. He certainly hadn’t intended to announce it to her, much less blurt it out while she was eating.

Myrtle’s eye twinkling, she offered an amused look and swallowed hard. "Yes Fred, when is your operation?"

"A week from Friday," he replied, red-faced.

She patted him on the arm again. "I hope everything goes all right," she consoled.

He blinked. "Thank you," he mumbled, once again wondering if he shouldn’t have a word with his doctor.

Myrtle consumed her food quickly and gulped down her milk, then swivelled to her feet and piled her refuse on the tray. Fred got up, picked up the tray and led the way past the garbage container to the exit. As soon as they were in the car, Myrtle dug into her purse and extracted a ten dollar bill which she then tucked into the breast pocket of Fred’s suit jacket.

"What’s that?" he enquired.

"Ten dollars for my supper," she replied.

"But Myrtle...."

"Now Fred," she said sternly. "It was very thoughtful of you to take me there and get me my dinner, but I certainly can’t let you pay for it when you couldn’t even have dinner with me."

Fred sighed. "But Myrtle," he moaned, "your dinner didn’t cost that much. It was on special."

"Oh," she said. "Well, what can the difference be? And I owe you for all this inconvenience anyway, Fred," she insisted, waving a dismissive hand. "Would you stop at that store up there? I’ll pick up some milk, juice and english muffins," she said, sounding a little inspired. Fred complied and Myrtle was in and out of the store in a jiffy.

They rode along in silence for some time, until Myrtle wondered if perhaps Fred was sulking because she’d insisted on paying for her own supper. She stretched hugely and yawned. "Oh, thank you for everything tonight, Fred. I’m afraid I’m so tired I haven’t been fit company. It’s very kind of you to look after me the way you have."

"That’s okay, Myrtle. I’m just sorry I couldn’t eat with you. But my mother is... well... rather temperamental." He shrugged, "actually, it’s not a good idea to upset her, really."

"You’re a very considerate man," she commended him. "I’m sure if you explain that you were just being kind to me, she won’t be upset with you."

Fred very nearly exclaimed that she didn’t know his mother at all, but thought better of it before any words escaped.

"And now I can just curl up with a good book until I fall asleep," sighed Myrtle.

"What kind of books do you read?" asked Fred conversationally.

"Lots of kinds, but historical fiction is my favourite," she answered lazily. Actually Myrtle was in the habit of devouring approximately half a dozen romance novels in the course of an average week. But she had long ago learned it wasn’t a good idea to reveal this, unless she was prepared to defend her choice of reading material. By now the words "historical fiction" sprang from her lips quite automatically. She chose to say that because she did have a preference for the romances set in historical times.

"My hobby is building model ships," Fred offered. "I had quite a collection of them, but of course, they were lost in the fire."

"All that hard work," sympathized Myrtle.

"Oh, that’s all right," he shrugged. "The joy is in building them. Once they’re done, there’s only so much you can do with them," he explained. "There was only enough room in my apartment to display a few at a time. I changed them around occasionally, still most of them sat in boxes in my bedroom. The new models are a lot more sophisticated than the first ones I did, so I’m just as happy to build a new collection."

"It’s nice that you have such a healthy outlook like that," she commented.

Fred grinned at the compliment. "Do you like ships, Myrtle?"

"Oh yes. I like most anything nautical... it’s so... so romantic somehow... especially those tall ships."

He grinned again as he pulled up beside the path to her house. "Well, g’night, Myrtle. See you in the morning."

She picked up her purse and the bag from the convenience store and smiled as she climbed from the car. "See you tomorrow, Fred, and thanks again for everything. You’re very understanding." She returned Fred’s cheerful wave before disappearing up the path.

Fred Up the Highway

The first thing Fred did upon arrival at his office was call the therapy unit of the Upton Community Hospital to make arrangements to exchange his brace during his lunch hour. They remembered Fred and had no problem accommodating him. The appointment made, he then settled down to the task of routing a small shipment of lathe machinery parts to the tiny hamlet of Willow Creek. The requisition was marked urgent, but the shipment just wasn’t large enough to justify sending even a small truck to Willow Creek with just that one order. He pulled out his routing log to search for a regular haul which might pass near enough to the tiny town to divert. He was relieved to find one he thought would do and began scrutinizing his routing code manual for the appropriate codes to get the job done. Finally satisfied that he had all the information he required to get the lathe parts to Willow Creek, he began filling out the shipping order, remembering to print hard so that neither the loading crew nor the driver could make a mistake.
He was concentrating so much on this task that he was quite unaware of the presence in his office of Mr. Grieves, the General Manager, until a large shadow fell across his desk. Even then, he was so engrossed that he gazed up only unconsciously into the big man’s face.

"How are you today, Fred?" rumbled Mr. Grieves benevolently.

Once Fred had slowly absorbed that he was no longer alone and he was being asked a question, he offered his boss a nervous smile. "I’m ok Mr. Grieves, thank you." He cringed only slightly. Fred was ordinarily so thorough in his work that he didn’t make errors. But his one recent mistake had blossomed into a full-blown incident which continued to be a source of embarrassment to him.

"Still wearing the brace," observed the manager.

"Oh, I’m exchanging that today.. on my lunch hour... for a soft collar," explained Fred. “And I’ve made arrangements for my hernia operation too. It’s a week Friday. I made it for a Friday so I’d miss as little work as possible, Mr. Grieves. I’m afraid I’ll still probably have to be away for a couple of weeks following." He offered an apologetic simper.

"That’s all right, my boy," boomed Mr. Grieves. "I know your mistake won’t be repeated."

"No sir," agreed Fred enthusiastically. "I’ve learned my lesson. I just felt so bad about the loading crew having to load that extra shipment because of my mistake... but I’ll never try to help them again, Mr. Grieves."

"Good boy!" nodded the manager approvingly.

Fred was actually very relieved and grateful for the way Mr. Grieves had taken the whole thing. Once the manager had determined the error wouldn’t cost much overtime for the loading crew and that the contents of the crate involved were just fine, he had been very understanding and helpful. Even before that, when two burly loading dock workers had returned a bent over, surprised and very stiff Fred to his office between them, it was Mr. Grieves who’d cleared off his desk so they could set him down.

"Well, I’m glad to hear you’re getting better, Fred," continued Mr. Grieves. "And I hope the operation comes off without a hitch for you." Then, with a perfunctory little wave the manager turned and strode from the office leaving a dazed Fred gaping at the doorway.

Until that moment he hadn’t been the slightest bit worried about the operation. The doctor had said it would be a breeze. It was a simple procedure. No problem. Fred sank deeper into his neck brace and stared at the door through glazed eyes. He would have to speak to the doctor again to find out what risks were really involved. But then he wasn’t at all sure he wanted to know. It wasn’t as if he was prepared to go through life with a hernia if he didn’t like the sound of the operation. He sighed deeply. Then he struggled to revert his attention to the shipping order, reminding himself that he didn’t want to make any more mistakes.

Having finally sifted through all the papers on her desk, Myrtle gleefully discarded one small stack and was about to delve into the matters of the most compelling urgency when she heard a tentative tapping at her office door. It was slightly ajar, but since her caller evidently wasn’t inclined to enter without an invitation, she got up from her chair and pulled it farther open. Fred was patiently waiting on the other side.

"Oh Fred.," she said with some surprise. "You’re sweet to come in for me. I guess I expected you’d just wait outside...."

"I did... for a little while. Are you ready to go? You look tired," he observed sympathetically, immediately wondering if he mightn’t have found a better way to put that.

Myrtle grabbed the clock from her desk and stared at it. "Oh Fred... I’m sorry! I had no idea it was so late. I guess I got kind of caught up in all this," she explained, pointing at her desk.

"That’s all right, Myrtle. I know how it is," he assured her. "But you must be about all in... I mean, it is just your first day back. You shouldn’t overdo."

"But mostly I shouldn’t have kept you waiting, Fred," she apologized again. "I’ll be right with you."

She pulled her purse from the desk drawer, replaced it with the freshly tidied stack of work, locked her desk and grabbed her sweater. "Ready," she puffed as she pulled the office door closed behind her.

Myrtle Back at Work

Myrtle entered her office with that eerie feeling of coming home after a long vacation. The Department Chairman, Dick Filmore, was standing beside her desk gazing mournfully at her empty chair, one hand on his hip and the other worrying an ear. He was the very picture of dejection, yet Myrtle almost hated to disturb the moment. "Good morning, Dick," she said gently.

He jumped visibly at the sound of her voice and stared at her, his hopeless expression changing to surprise, then to relieved optimism. "Myrtle! You’re back!" he observed gleefully.

"I’m here, Dick," she assured him, with her one good eye wide at the sight of her desk surface. It was every bit as littered as she had feared.

"Oh Myrtle, I’m so glad you’re back. You don’t know what this place has been like...."

"There, there, Dick," she comforted. "You better sit down and tell me what’s been going on."

The Chairman obediently pulled up a chair and sat down, then got up again, shut her office door, and returned to the chair. Meanwhile, Myrtle had tucked her purse into her desk drawer and made herself as comfortable as possible on her own office chair. Then her overwrought boss proceeded to spin a narrative of one small crisis followed by another all the time she was away. He had no sooner called her to obtain the solution to an administrative irritant, he complained, when some academic enigma would arise. On top of all this, the Dean of Arts had been lurking around during the past few days and two secretaries of other departments had been nasty with him. One had even demanded to know why he refused to make an administrative decision she had wanted promptly from his department. Myrtle was careful to get their names. This sort of thing made her angry. These secretaries and assistants knew as well as she did that at Upton College, the Chairmen of academic departments were not administrators, rather they were chosen from among the academics in the department to serve the college two practical purposes: to safely remove tired or stale tenured professors from the classroom for awhile, and to provide the appearance of administrative balance. Dick was right. These women were just being nasty.

Dick had been Myrtle’s Chairman since just shortly after she acquired the position of Clerical Assistant in the department and she thought he was a good one. He was a man who’d spent a lifetime conscientiously avoiding even the slightest suggestion of responsibility, so Myrtle had always been able to count on him to take direction well and never attempt to make decisions behind her back . As an added bonus, despite chronic nervousness when dealing with a committee of any sort, Dick Filmore somehow lent an air of dignity to the Chairmanship when outside the department. Overall, he had scarcely been any trouble since accepting the appointment and Myrtle was quite proud of him - and rather protective of him as well.

She patted him on the hand and thanked him for filling her in, then suggested he quietly disappear for the rest of the day and take some rest from the place. He was obviously tempted, yet reluctant. "But what if the Dean comes snooping around looking for me," he asked fitfully.

"I’ll look after him, Dick. I promise. Really... it’s okay. Unless you have an important appointment, you should really take a break."

He hesitated only a moment more, then suddenly seemed satisfied that Myrtle was really back. Grinning his relief and appreciation, he toddled off down the hall.

Then Myrtle got to work. First she dug out her departmental memo paper and hastily typed a memorandum to each of the secretaries who’d been disagreeable with Dick. She informed them that she was back on the job and graciously thanked them for their patience, understanding and courtesy to her Chairman during her absence, ending the notes with “it’s certainly comforting to know one can count on their colleagues in an emergency.” She was confident the sarcasm and veiled threat wouldn't be lost on the other women. That done, she extracted from her purse some personal note paper she’d brought from home and wrote a brief note of sincere thanks to another assistant who’d been kind enough to send a get well card. Then she called Winnifred Rodwell in the Resource Library to tell her she was back, and thank her for checking up on her by phone several times. They chatted for just a few moments though, since Myrtle was gazing at the pile of work needing attention as she spoke.

After hanging up, she had an inspiration and picked up another sheet of the note paper. She knew why the Dean had been lurking around the department. He was a real administrator and could quite conceivably be held responsible for anything that went wrong in any of the five academic departments under his jurisdiction. He was actually harmless enough, but Myrtle was no more comfortable with the Dean’s proclivity to lurk than Dick was. So she quickly jotted a cheerful note thanking him for the lovely flowers he and the Chairman so thoughtfully sent her while she was away. As she deposited the memoranda and the two notes in the office mail box, she smiled with satisfaction. There had been no flowers of course, but she was confident that upon receiving her note, the Dean would feel embarrassed for not having thought of it, chagrined and confused that Dick evidently had ~ and had inexplicably included his name on the card ~ and worried that Dick would eventually attempt to collect half the cost of the flowers from him.

Myrtle sat down at her desk to begin the task of sorting and stacking the papers strewn across it. Once he received her note, the Dean was certain to avoid the department in general and Dick in particular for many days, allowing her the opportunity to clean up the mess without suffering the unpleasantness of his skulking presence.

Getting Better Acquainted

After arranging the time and place to pick up Myrtle on Monday morning, Fred made his way back up the road. Once inside his mother’s comfortable frame house he removed his raincoat and boots, placing the left boot carefully by the register to dry. In his haste to escape any inquiry from his mother, he had forgotten that the furnace wasn’t on and that his mother wouldn’t have it on until Thanksgiving, regardless of the weather. Nevertheless, his wet boot dismissed from his mind, he went merrily to his room and changed his socks, hanging the clean but once again wet one over his desk chair to dry. Then he laid back on his bed and thought about his new and happy acquaintanceship with Myrtle until his mother called him to supper.

The meal was no surprise. The strong odour of lamb stew had been evident even before he’d entered the house. Yet as his mother leaned over him to set his plate down she hesitated and sniffed at his head.

“What’s that in your hair? Perfume?” she demanded.

"Ah... it’s a special treatment... to prevent baldness," he lied.

"Ach, it’ll do you no good. You’re just like your dear, dead father and you’ll be as bald as he was too. No avoidin’ it," she encouraged.

Fred reached for the salt shaker and sprinkled a liberal amount of the stuff on his food before even tasting it. Then he set the salt shaker in front of his mother’s plate and glanced up into her glowering face. "Salt?" he enquired.

She pushed the shaker away and took a fork full of food. "Now it’s too bad you’re not more like your brother," she offered as she chewed. "It’s a fine head of hair Bill has. He’ll never go bald."

Superman Bill again, thought Fred resignedly. He had long since grown accustomed to his younger brother being his mother’s darling, but he still got tired of hearing about him. He was sure he knew why his mother felt that way. He was just a younger version of his dear, dead father, as his mother referred to his dad ever since the latter’s untimely death, and she had long ago ceased to hold Fred senior in high esteem. Bill, on the other hand, apparently took after his mother’s side of the family. At least his mother said so time and again, though Fred had never encountered a maternal relative who put him in mind of Bill. In fact, the only one who came close to Bill for sheer size was Mother herself, who had grown larger and larger over the past many years, even as his father had seemed to shrink. However, Fred suspected her size had more to do with her baking than with heredity.

Anyway, he was just as happy to hold no special place in his mother’s heart. The huge woman was demonstrably affectionate with the people she cared about and Fred had at one time feared an early and unpleasant demise in an unanticipated display of motherly love. He was certain his father had harbored a similar fear. In fact, for a while after his father’s unexpected death, Fred had wondered if the poor man hadn’t actually perished in an unusual moment of wifely affection. But Fred had since abandoned this idea. His father had passed away peacefully, with a smile on his face.

Having consumed half his meal, Fred mashed the rest of his boiled potatoes with his fork, then pushed the rest of his stew on top of them and mushed it all around. His mother watched in morbid fascination as he lifted a fork full of the sloppy mixture past his neck brace and into his mouth.

When he’d finished his meal and cleaned off his plate with a piece of buttered bread, he carefully wiped off his neck brace with his napkin, placed his dishes in the sink and disappeared into his room. He would have gladly helped with the dishes, but ever since his mother remarked that she couldn’t really afford the breakage associated with his help, he’d felt it best not to offer. So he spent the remainder of Saturday evening and most of Sunday in his room concentrating on his hobby. He was currently working on a model of an eighteenth century frigate. It wasn’t easy to handle the delicate rigging and glue the tiny pieces into place while peering over the stiff neck brace, but he patiently persevered.

Myrtle spent the remainder of the weekend getting ready to return to work. She’d lost a bit of weight while off, so she went through her closet to pick out what had been her tightest slacks, then chose a sweater to match. She didn’t actually care if it was a bit baggy, just so she didn’t look like a bag lady when Fred came to pick her up.

At twenty to eight Monday morning, Myrtle stood waiting at the base of the path to her house when a pale green Toyota scooted by across the road, did a U-turn at the end and pulled up in front of her. She peeped through the windshield to make sure it was indeed Fred, returned his cheerful wave, and climbed into the passenger seat.

"I just realized why I thought this lot was vacant before," smiled Fred, instantly wondering if he mightn’t have presented this observation more tactfully. Myrtle only returned his smile.

“You don’t have a driveway,” he announced with inspiration.

"No," she agreed. “It’s a dead end road.” Fred’s smile slowly faded, his expression betraying his confusion. She came to his rescue. "Actually, to build on the lot, I really should have had a driveway, but the county hasn’t called me on it, so for now, I just park to the side of the road. The plow can get by in winter, and digging my car out is so far no worse than having to shovel a driveway,” Myrtle explained.

“Oh,” said Fred, comprehension slowly dawning.

"A lot of people here just put in parking pads instead of driveways," explained Myrtle further. Fred only nodded. "I just cleared some bushes on the side there," she continued. "No need for a lot of fuss until I have to."

"How are you feeling this morning," asked Fred, adroitly changing the subject as he drove back up the road.

"Oh, I’m not regretting my decision to go back to work yet," she replied cheerfully. "It’ll be nice to be out of the house for awhile anyway."

"Bruises from Saturdays collision?" he asked contritely.

"Just a few... nothing to be concerned about," she chirped. "You?"

"Fine," he grinned as he turned the car onto paved road and sat up straighter to obtain the clearest possible view over his neck brace.

The two rode along in silence for a awhile as Fred guided the car slowly along Forbes Road toward the highway, mentally groping all the while for something conversational to say to his companion. Myrtle seemed so chipper and he was never at his most alert in the morning.

"Looks like the sun might peep out today," he offered at last.

"After such a drab weekend," she added.

"Not such a bad weekend at that though," he smiled shyly.

Myrtle glanced at him and chuckled softly. "No," she agreed. "Still, it will be nice to see the sun again."

"Yes it will," he confirmed. "I suppose you’ll be glad to be back at work," he ventured.

"Eventually... when things settle down again," she shrugged.. "But right now I just know there’s a mess waiting for me. But I suppose it won’t take long to sort things out."

"Oh," he said, suddenly stricken with concern. "Well, I’ll give you my number at work Myrtle, and if you find it’s too much your first day back, you call me. I can make some excuse at work and come get you."

"Oh no, Fred," she said. "It’ll be all right... honestly," she assured him. "It’s just that I’ve been away so long and certain things probably weren’t done while I was away. But it’s nothing to worry about... really."

"Well," he nodded adamantly, "I’ll give you my work number anyway.. just in case."

"Well, I suppose it is a good idea," she agreed. "I’ll give you mine too. After all, we should be able to contact one another."

As the possibilities slowly sank in, Fred smiled bashfully. "I suppose we should exchange home numbers as well," he suggested.

"Yes we should," agreed Myrtle, immediately foraging in her purse for a pen and a scrap of paper. By the time she had jotted down all four numbers, placed his in her purse and tucked hers in the breast pocket of Fred’s suit jacket, Fred had turned off the highway into the college grounds. Myrtle guided him through the maze of buildings to the front door of the Commercial Art Department.

"Pick you up here at about quarter of five," he confirmed, beaming up at her as she climbed from the car.

"Okay, and thank you Fred. I really do appreciate this." She closed the car door and waved cheerfully. Fred returned the wave, then waited until she was safely inside the building before continuing on his way.

Fred smiled all the rest of the way to work. He’d just met a girl, he had her phone numbers, and he was helping her out. He couldn’t help thinking this situation held some promise and he was very pleased.