(4)
— Originally publshed in The MacGuffin, Spring 2004
Continued from page (3)
“Morning Doctor McIntyre.” Archie clung to the top of the chair and
rested one foot on top of the other.
“Morning, champ. Where’s your mother?”
Archie twisted and bobbed his head. At another umbrella-covered
table, Roxie, in an orange and yellow muumuu and floppy cloche hat,
waggled her fingers.
“Ask your mom to join us.”
Archie ran with a child’s uncoordinated stumbling. Roxie picked up her
tote bag and coffee and moved to Jamey’s table.
“Sure we’re not intruding?” She dropped the bag on the table, put
down her cup, and settled in the vacant chair. “Where are you off to today?”
“Big Sur.”
“You’ve got it all scheduled out, don’t you? How long will you be here?”
He shrugged. “Not sure.”
“You’re reliving each day?”
“Not exactly. Where are you two going?”
“We three. My mother’s with us. She’s paying for the trip. Maybe we’ll
hit Fisherman’s Wharf in Monterey. Hold still, Archie. Did you and your wife
go there?”
“Sixth day.”
“What’s Big Sur like?”
“There’s a café called Nepenthe on the top of a high hill that shoots
straight up out of the surf. You can see for miles. You should give it a whirl.”
“Lots of stairs, right?” She shook her head. “Between Archie’s attention
span and Mom’s arthritis, we’re limited.”
Jamey caught something in her eyes. A flash of yearning. He sipped
orange juice and wiped his mouth with the green napkin. “I hope you won’t
think I’m being . . .” He blushed. “But, well, it looks like you need a break.
Maybe Archie and your mother could do Fisherman’s Wharf while you and I
run down to Nepenthe for lunch. You know, not a date or anything—”
She drained her coffee cup. “I’ve intruded enough.”
“No intrusion.”
She studied him, her face calculating. “Pick me up at eleven.”
“Wear flats.”
TOM'S TALES