The examination took perhaps seven minutes, and then the doctor shoved back his stool. “Lucky for you, that solution didn’t actually get into your eyes. It burned your arms. The fumes must have been potent.” He lifted Mike’s left arm. “See the spots? It must have splattered, and wherever it hit you, it burned your skin. I’ll give you a prescription for an ointment to reduce the swelling and ease the pain. The burns aren’t third degree. You may have some discoloration of the skin, but nothing requiring plastic surgery. They’ll heal. Now, about your eyes.”

Mike leaned forward. He gave Amelia a quick, anxious look. “Am I going to be blind?”

“Certainly not. You’ve got advanced cataracts that need to be removed. Another few weeks and all you’ll see is a blur. Tell the desk to set you up for surgery, first opening I have.” The doctor stood and shook Mike’s hand. “And don’t worry. I guarantee you, afterward you’ll marvel at how bright everything is, the sky, colors, everything.” He nodded at Amelia and left the room.

“You see,” Amelia said as they walked to the checkout desk. “I told you. It’s a nothing operation. You’re going to have the surgery, right?”

Mike tossed his head. “Do I have a choice? Tell me, do I?”

When they left the building, Mike had scheduled a preop appointment for one week from today, with surgery the following morning.

“I won’t have to go to the hospital, thank heaven. They have their own outpatient clinic.” He smiled at Amelia and squeezed her hand. “I simply can’t tell you how relieved I am. I detest hospitals. People get sick in hospitals. I know someone who got an infection in a hospital and died.” He turned to her. “Thank you for everything. I’ve been such a crybaby, and you’ve been so patient and good to me.”

“Isn’t that what a friend is for? I’m glad you’re going to have the surgery.”

“Look what it took to get me there. I could have spilled that stuff into my eyes and really messed myself up.”

“But you didn’t, and it will all come out just fine.”

Mike fumed and fussed all that week. In the wee hours of the morning, he paced his living room. Each day he picked up his cell phone to call and cancel his surgery, but reason prevailed, and he snapped the phone shut and shoved it back into his pocket. He could not work and avoided going to his workshop, even though Amelia had a cleaning company come in and give the place a thorough scrubbing.

When Amelia arrived to drive Mike to the clinic, he was in his pajamas and robe. They entered a charade in which she followed him about his living room with his clothes draped over her arm.