Page 47 of Geordie

“Wonderful,” I say, glancing at the people traffic just outside the waiting area. “I'm in prime working order too,” I say, although that last statement sounded a bit hollow.

Geordie catches the doubt. “Well, that's good, very good. We're both good.”

Why is he making this awkward? “Did you notice you used good three times?”

His grin is back on cue. “I did. I could have easily inserted wonderful instead. Would you like me to try again?”

I give him a half-grin for his trouble. “It's a beautiful day outside. Could I entice you to play hooky or do you have meetings you can't get out of?”

He tilts his head, considering. “Nothing I can't move to the next day. Where do you want to escape to?”

“When was the last time you drove up the coast?”

I drop the top on my second vehicle, a shiny black beamer, when we cruise into Santa Cruz. The cool air lifts and swirls my tendrils of hair around me; the breeze has the feel of the cold water from the Pacific. “Are you hungry?” fitting a lock of hair behind my ear while we sit at a red light.

He lifts his sunglasses just enough for me to see the glint in his blue eyes. “I am. What do you have in mind?”

“There's this place near the boardwalk that has the best fish tacos. They have this corn relish that you will not believe, then I'll take you to another place for dessert.”

There are a fair amount of people walking near the boardwalk as we pass by rows of colorful shops, Geordie is moving well on his crutches, but I still don’t want to over burden him with walking, no matter how able he thinks he is. I grab Geordie's arm and guide him into a retro surf shop. He looks around, bewildered at the bikinis, T-shirts, shorts, and other apparel. “Are we planning to catch a wave before lunch?” Running his fingers over the edge of an old wooden surfboard that's part of a display.

“Look at the way we're dressed. We're hardly in beachwear. It's a little warm today to be wearing jeans. I thought we'd duck in here and buy T-shirts and shorts, maybe some flip-flops, and I think you shouldn't go another step without a hat.”

“I see. Then I insist on paying for our clothes and our lunch since you drove.”

“Deal.”

The way Geordie is selecting clothes, it seems like he's done this before. I pick a neon-pink tank top that saysI heart Santa Cruzand navy shorts and think about buying a bathing suit, but we won't be here long enough to do some decent sunbathing. When we emerge from the surf shop, we look like tourists going to the beach.

“So, where's this fantastic restaurant we're going to?”

“Oh, it's just over there,” I say, pointing to the next block. Do you think you can make it?

He nods, and begins moving. We round the corner and we're stopped by a long line of people. “Here it is. We're really lucky. The line isn't that long today.”

“Are you serious? We're going to dine at the Taco Fish Taxi?”

“What? You're too good for a food truck?” At that moment, the exhaust fan from the truck belches out the aroma of tacos and his eyes turn a little dreamy.

It surprises me that Geordie lets me order for him. After we receive our tacos, we walk across the street to the boardwalk and find a picnic table. We munch and drink beer in affable silence; the food is that good.

Geordie downs several of the small street tacos in rapid succession until they're gone, then moans loudly at the amount of food he's eaten. He tips his beer, watching the throng of brightly dressed people walking by. “I've got to say that's probably one of the best things I've ever eaten.”

“I hope you remember I'm taking you for dessert.”

He pats his taut stomach. “Never fear. I have room for whatever sweet delights you have in store for me.”

I giggle at his crazy speech. “When does the doctor think you'll be completely healed?”

He takes another sip, thinking. “Probably another month. But I'd like to walk without a crutch sooner than that.”

“That means you won't need my help soon.” Somehow, realizing this brings more sadness and dampens my hunger. I push away the last taco nestled in mustard-colored paper.

Geordie doesn't notice my mood shift; he's still in people-watching mode. “I imagine you're eager to get back to your old routine and not have the grumpy likes of me to take care of.”

I say nothing and take another drink of my beer.

“I couldn’t ask for a better caregiver—and the food. You’ve shown me there’s more to life than mince and tatties. I’ll truly miss you when you're gone.”

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