Page 20 of Geordie

Geordie leans on his crutch, his bulk filling the doorway. A navy T-shirt brushes across his chest, the soft fabric outlining the cut muscle underneath, and his loose fleece gym shorts hang past his knees. The grin of welcome he gives me is that of an old friend. I half expect him to throw his arms around me in a warm greeting.

I’m a contrast in white. I ditched my tunic for a white T-shirt I had in my office. I slip by him into the living room. A coffee service sits on the counter, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee a treat. “You’ve been busy.”

He manages the steps to stand next to me. “All I did was make coffee, from my wee machine, then fill the carafe.” He eyes me with a smile. “I bought this coffee maker myself, without the help of a decorator.” He looks at the machine sitting on the counter with satisfaction. “ It’s pretty simple, really, but I can only brew two cups at a time.”

He says this like it’s nothing to arrange coffee, milk, sugar, and cookies while managing crutches. Maybe I’ve embarrassed him with the compliment. He looks toward the large picture window. “It’s a warm evening. I have a view of the city from my balcony, which is one of the reasons I stay here… you should see it in the summer when there are fireworks displays. Tonight, we can enjoy the twinkling lights while we talk about our day.”

A twinge of guilt surfaces. This is how Stephen and I would end our day in a companionable rut. Now I’m here with another man doing the same thing so quickly after the breakup. What does that say about me? It’s not cheating. You have to be in a relationship for that to happen. “I’ll get the tray,” I offer.

A breeze ruffles my hair as I step onto the balcony. I set the service down while Geordie leans on the banister, his back to me. It gives me a chance to study him until he turns to face me. “Thank you for coming over. You saved me from a night of listening to podcasts.”

“Podcasts?” I ask absently. “What kind do you enjoy?”

“Anything really… politics, news, sports, commentary, self-improvement.”

I feel uninteresting for watching reality TV and game shows, the mindless entertainment I use as my stress reliever after work. I do more highbrow stuff, well, not lately though.

“What do you do in the evenings? If you don’t mind me asking, how do you wind down?”

I consider while setting the last items on the table, then remove the tray, setting it on a shelf that runs along the side. “The same things as you,” I lie. “It depends on how I’m feeling. Sometimes it’s just music until I go to bed.”

Geordie pushes away from the banister, securing his crutch under his arm. “That’s what I forgot, music. Tell me what you like and I’ll call it up from a music station.” He pulls his phone from his pocket, swiping through apps. “What’s your pleasure?”

The carafe is heavier than it looks. He’s got enough liquid in it for eight people, so I heft it a bit to pour out enough to fill two mugs. “I’m feeling nostalgic tonight. Why don’t we listen to oldies? Anything from the ’90s would be great.”

“That’s easy enough,” he says, glancing at his phone, his thumb still moving information around the screen. “There’s a ’90s station. This should be a good mix of that period.”

The gravelly baritone of Eddie Vedder, the lead singer of Pearl Jam, sings the songDaughter. I nod to the soulful rhythm, my foot tapping to the beat. Geordie moves toward the table to take a seat opposite me, pulling another chair over so his ankle has its own resting place. When I slide the mug of coffee over to him, I notice that the bandage on his ankle is too tight and probably cutting off circulation. “How’s the ankle?”

He looks up from sliding a cookie off the plate. “It’s fine, although my foot goes to sleep sometimes.”

“Did I tell you that my mother is a nurse? She spent all her career at San Pacitas General. When you grow up with a nurse, they’re adamant about you knowing stuff like first-aid and Heimlich, and one thing she taught me is how to wrap a bandage. I think you might be having problems because the bandage is too tight. Did they show you how to wrap your ankle when you were in the hospital?”

He pulls up his leg, the heel of his foot resting on the chair to examine the wrap. “They did. Although they went through the procedure quickly.”

I’m up and moving toward his foot and realize I haven’t asked for permission to help him. “I’d like to rewrap this for you, if nothing else, to keep in practice.”

It looks like his pride is about to say no, so I smile, placing a light hand on his ankle.

“Well, if it’s helping you maintain your skills, then I’ll allow you to practice on my ankle. He extends his leg over the seat of the chair, watching me work quickly to remove the binding then reset it. “The key is a snug fit, not a tight fit.”

When I finish, he wiggles his toes. “Thank you.”

I slip back into my chair and pick up my coffee mug. “No problem,” I say, like it’s normal to administer to someone, but secretly it felt good to use what my mom had taught me.

My phone rings, preventing more discussion. I pull it out of my pocket, thinking I shouldn’t have fished it out of my bag while I’m here. Molly’s face appears on the screen. I glance up at Geordie’s curious face. It’s not right to talk to my friend while I’m visiting. I punch the button to send it to voicemail and set the phone down beside my mug.

“You know you could’ve taken that call.”

I shrug. I shouldn’t spend my time with him yacking on the phone with Molly. That could take hours. “It can wait. I’m having coffee and listening to the Counting Crows singingMr. Jones. This is more important.”

My phone zips, and I can’t help it, I glance down at the text. Molly has written “call me, it’s important” in all caps and she punctuates it with three scream emojis. Remembering her condition, I glance up at Geordie’s concerned face. “Sorry, I have to take this, I think it’s an emergency.” I rise and walk through the sliding glass door into the living room for privacy. The curtains are open so I can still see Geordie drinking coffee, gazing at the view. Molly’s voice comes through instantly after I punch the return call button. She’s on speaker to save my hearing. I still don’t know how a grown woman can do a high-pitched squeal like a ten-year-old.

“Where have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you for the last hour. Did you turn off your phone?”

“I just took the phone out of my bag a few minutes ago. What is it, Molly? What happened?”

“This is not how I planned it. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this,” Molly rambles on without a point. Her incoherence is forming a tight lump of fear in my gut. “Molly, you’re not making sense. Why did you call me? What happened?”

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