Free Operation Mail-Order Bride by Elnora Field

we spent more and more of our time off together. Our hike was such a success that we repeated it until we knew the trails in the park by heart. We talked of hiking in wilderness areas more distant, and even of backpacking if we could ever get enough time off and save enough to buy proper equipment. David treated me to those “great cheap dates” in the art college gallery almost every Sunday afternoon.
    Spending time with David was such a contrast with my time spent with Blair that it was like comparing day with night. I relaxed with David, confidant that he wasn’t sneering at my limited education and my minimum-wage job. He believed, as I did, that whatever someone hired you to do was worth doing to the best of your ability, no matter how trivial it might seem. Thus, he took pride in turning out huge batches of light, airy doughnuts several nights a week, and I took pride in the next step: filling and decorating them, then arranging them attractively in the baskets and in the display cases. I also took pride in keeping the customer area of the store spotless and welcoming. Our rewards came in the form of an increase in sales on the third shift and a small raise for me. Although this improvement in the job was gratifying, it did not change my dreams or plans. I still studied the classifieds daily, looking for an opening in a printing or publishing company. Weeks passed, and there was nothing.
    The rhythm of business in our middle-sized college town was largely dependent on the university schedule. I was surprised when spring break at the university diminished even further the minuscule traffic on my shift. On weeknights the handful of customers, which usually included a few insomniac students, dropped to one or two. I expressed concern about the drop in sales to the manager one Saturday morning. She waved my worry away.
    “It’s always this way during breaks and holidays. Don’t worry, Cassie, it’ll pick up again as soon as classes resume.”
    I was taking advantage of the lighter workload to work on a colored-pencil rendering of a brightly-lit music store across the street when a familiar voice interrupted.
    “Thanks a lot, Cassie!” It was Blair, standing just inside the doorway, hands in pockets.
    I put my pencil box and sketchpad away and approached him. He did not look as if he had been doing well at all. He was pale and unshaven. Dark circles rimmed his eyes.
    “Nice to see you, too. What’s going on, Blair?”
    He compressed his lips at my gibe, then yanked his hands from his pockets and began waving them about agitatedly.
    “You’ve got me on the outs with one of my oldest friends, that’s what.” He balled one hand into a fist and was shaking the other index finger at me admonishingly. “I should have known someone like you couldn’t be discreet. You had to go blab to Rose about the way I treated you. Now she and Trent are both mad at me. When we got together at the beginning of break in Albuquerque, she unloaded on me. The worst thing is, she did it in front of Amelia. Now she won’t speak to me.”
    So that was it. The dumper was now a dumpee and he didn’t like it.
    “Blair, I swear to you, I went easy on you when I told Rose about our breakup. In no way did I badmouth you.”
    “I don’t believe you!”
    I shrugged. “Just because you don’t believe me doesn’t mean I’m lying.”
    Blair stepped closer and I began to feel alarm. He was shaking with emotion—possibly rage.
    “You bitch. You were always so smug, pointing out every little slip I made. I guess it’s the only way you can feel good about yourself—you with your nickel-and-dime jobs, your little drawings … you wouldn’t know an intellectual challenge if it bit you!”
    “Did your orals go badly? Are you on academic probation?”
    He jerked as if I had smacked him. His lip curled in a snarl.
    “That’s… that’s ….” He dropped his hands and suddenly looked crushed. “Amelia and I were having problems. I … I