As the days and weeks pass, things seem to roll along in a steady rhythm toward autumn. Most of my days are the same from one day to the next. Drive the Commander to appointments, occasionally take Mrs. Waterford to other wives for tea, maintain the car, fix items around the house, eat, read a little, sleep, repeat.
A couple of times a month the Commander must scratch his itch and has me take him to Jezebel's. I do my trading then, maybe get a chance to have a conjugal visit with Beth and something fancy to eat. As an Eye embedding with a Commander, I do occasionally get to meet up with my superior, but most of my reports are passed on in writing via Guardian Eyes on our block. Less suspicious that way.
It seems the only spark of new we have these days is Offred, as it appears she has finally been released from confinement. She has started taking all her meals in the kitchen, or so Rita tells me. As of late, most of my meals have been at the Mitchells or in the cafeteria at the Council building. My work usually has me up and gone before the handmaid makes her appearance. The few meals I have had with her have been quiet affairs. Dinner talk is confined to safe topics such as the weather, the food, and sometimes news on newly expecting handmaids, so we can pray for the health of the baby of course. We needn't worry about the handmaid though; they are just the gestational pods in Gilead's view.
Though our contact is infrequent and kind of sterile in content, she seems to have loosened up around me. She's less afraid to make eye contact, though still respectfully limited. She speaks above a whisper and always greets or departs from me with a "Go in grace" or "Under His Eye."
Today I'm tasked with dusting all of the light fixtures on the 2nd floor and changing out bulbs, never mind that they aren't blown. Super fun stuff. I've just set up my ladder on the landing when I spot Offred skirting out the gate and making her way down the block with her walking partner Ofglen. I watch them until they are of sight, recalling my most recent report on the aforementioned walking partner. The rumblings about her have gotten louder over the past couple of weeks. She was apparently pulled into the handmaid program despite being a "gender traitor." Health ovaries trump their stupid pious views on appropriate love. That in and of itself doesn't worry me, there are several handmaids like Ofglen, what's concerning is chatter in the Martha network that some Eye intercepted. There are rumblings about a possible affair between the handmaid and someone at her last posting, no specifics yet or confirmation, but it won't take them long to figure it out. Offred needs to be wary and keep this woman at arm's length. It's unfair, her only source of companionship and she can't even have that at face value.
"Nick, are you nearly done with lights?" Mrs. Waterford asks, sounding irritated.
I straighten up, "Nearly ma'am. This is the last one," I state, hoping she didn't notice what I was doing just now.
"Okay. When you're done, I need you to move some bags of gardening soil to the greenhouse," she says sounding bored.
"Yes, ma'am," I agree, climbing the ladder.
An hour and 15 bags of soil later, I'm finally given leave for a break. I've just passing the dining room where the Commander is taking his tea and reading some files when I hear him call out to me.
I back up to the door, "Yes, sir?"
"Ah, Nick," he starts, his eyes still on the pages in front of him. "Tomorrow night Commander Mitchell and I will be taking a meeting across the river. We will need to leave here around eight."
I nod. A meeting across the river is code for Jezebel's. I wish I could say I thought the new Commander Mitchell was above the use of prostitutes, but this is exactly who I thought he was the first time I meet him. I scratch my chin and make a mental note to reach out to my contacts to make sure they have the booze I ordered ready for pickup. I turn to head for the kitchen for the drink I was after, but the Commander clears his throat and stands. Collecting his files, he glances up at me for the first time. "Also, let Offred know I need to see her in my office tonight at 9 pm."
My brain grinds to a halt and my breath catches in my chest. This was the first move he made with the other Offred, then three months later she was dead.
"Nick, son, are you okay?" the Commander asks.
I give my head a shake, "Uh, yes, sir. Just a little dehydrated I think."
His eyes bore into mine, searching for truth, but I'm better at this game than him. He only gets what I give him.
"Ah, I see. Please, don't let me stop you then. Rita said she made some iced tea, perhaps that would help," he suggests.
"Yes, very good idea sir," I state.
With a nod, he's off and headed into his office, leaving me to hate him just a little more than I did 10 seconds ago.
I make my way down the hallway to the kitchen, just as Offred steps in the back door. She's dripping wet.
I bite the inside of my cheek and straighten my tie nervously as I make my way into the breakfast room.
"Get caught in the rain?" I ask. Great Nick, another stellar start to a conversation. Focus!
She glances up at me as she takes off her wet cloak. "Yes." She says quietly.
Here goes nothing, "You were gone a while," I say, tinkering nervously with an old cigar box on the table.
"Sometimes we walk home along by the river," she explains, removing her boots.
Glance up from my fidgeting at her, and God help me, but I catch a glimpse of her bare knee and thigh and seem to get stuck on it. When ankles are the most you see of everyday women this is almost provocative. What's worse is she notices my gaze and self-consciously pulls down her dress. I drum my thumb on the tabletop, I need to push on but damn this just got awkward.
"You need to be careful," I state, persevering. I wander over to the hutch and fixate on it while she finishes up with her boots.
"By the river?" she asks.
No, not by the river. "With her. Ofglen," I clarify.
She pauses for a moment, and I feel her eyes on me. "She's, my partner. We shop together." She returns.
I close the drawer I opened for no other reason but to have something to do with my hands and turn around to lean against the hutch. Keep going. "Don't get too close to her, it's dangerous," I instruct, feeling like a dick for being so…male at the moment.
She glances up at the serious tone of my voice, worry behind her eyes. She stands and goes over to the coat hook to hang her cloak.
I stand mutely for a second before getting the guts to relay the Commander's request. "He wants to see you," I manage evenly.
"Who?" She turns, stunned.
I taste bile in the back of my throat, "The Commander, tonight in his office."
"Why?" she asks worriedly.
Because he's an asshole who only finds pleasure in taking everything from women. He's small and emotionally impotent, and he loves his games. That's why. But I can't say this to her, I'd end up on the wall. So, I just state facts, "9:00 don't be late." Message delivered, I turn and walkway. I know I'm leaving her to fret over the meeting, but I'm also impotent, in that I have no power to help her through whatever Fred Waterford has planned.
9 o'clock comes and I find myself staring out the window of my apartment, eyes permanently glued to her windows. Nothing moves and I barely breathe. Today was a birth day, I had prayed that the labor would stretch out into the night. Not because I'm a masochist, but in hopes that Offred would have to stay at the Putnam's through the night. It's a naïve prayer, because if not tonight it would be another night. I'd still be glued here to this bench, worrying my lighter with my thumb while I wait for the lights to go on in the handmaid's room.
After an hour and dozens of unpleasant possible scenarios later, I peel myself off the bench and force myself into the shower. I stay in it until the water runs cold, then take even longer to shave the stubble off my chin. Finally dressed for bed, I wander back out into the room that I live in. I want to avoid the window and go to bed because I'm exhausted, but my feet lead me back to the bench. Hesitantly I look out, expecting nothing to have changed, but Praise fucking be, she is back in her room, sitting in her window. For a brief and ridiculous moment, I think she's done this for me, to show me she's okay, but I realize a split second later that she probably can't see me from where I stand. I hesitate, should I present myself, let her know I see her, that I waited up for her? Give her some sense that someone cares about what happens to her. I chew on my bottom lip, weighing my options. By the time I make up my mind to reveal myself, she's gone. I've missed my window. Coward.