Malabarista

FRIDAY, AUGUST 31
chapter 17

They watched Arthur follow the operating nurse down a polished floor. He wore a blue housecoat and slippers. They waited until the automatic doors closed behind him.

Lane turned.

“Where are you going?” Christine asked.

“We,” Lane said.

“We?” Matt asked.

Lane pulled his cellphone out of his pocket. “The surgeon will call after the operation. We’re going to get something to eat. It will be a long day.”

Matt and Christine caught up to him and walked on either side. They stayed in that formation to the elevator, down to the main floor, and outside to the car.

Matt drove while Lane studied the neighbourhood of Parkdale as they passed the open schoolyard, the new houses being built, old ones being renovated, and cyclists funneling onto the river pathways. He reached into his pocket several times to ensure his phone was on.

Matt pulled in front of the café. “They open?” he asked.

Lane glanced at his phone to check the time. He looked at the café. An OPEN sign was in the window. He opened his door. “Wait here.” Lane walked up the steps to the café and went inside. The tables were empty. No one was behind the counter. He heard the door open behind him. He turned. Christine waved.

Matt looked around at the oak tables, the desserts behind glass, and the cash register. Christine moved to the left and looked through a half-open door into the kitchen. Lane followed and looked over her shoulder.

A waiter sat in an office chair, straddled by the cook, still wearing her hairnet. They were both blonde and in their mid-twenties. The cook had a butterfly tattoo on her ankle.

The wheels on the chair began to squeak.

“Oh!” Christine backed away. Lane did the same.

“Oh my God,” said the cook.

“I love you, baby,” said the waiter.

Lane and Christine retreated to a booth around the corner, where Matt sat with a newspaper, open to the comics page.

“What’s going on?” Matt asked.

“A little nooky in the kitchen,” Christine said.

“I hope they wash their hands before they prepare our food,” Lane said. Matt appeared not to be listening.

The waiter arrived behind the counter two minutes later. He was a little short of breath. “Sorry, folks, I’m Jim. Didn’t see you come in. Come on up and I’ll take your orders.” The group stood and approached the counter.

Matt said, “Come on baby, light my fire!”

“Sorry?” asked the waiter.

Christine elbowed Matt in the ribs. “Mochaccino for me,” Matt said, rubbing his side. Christine ordered the same.

“Make it three, please,” said Lane, “and we’d like some sandwiches.”

“A threesome?” Matt asked. Christine punched his shoulder.

The waiter blushed as he pointed at the order forms and multicoloured highlighters for ordering sandwiches. Lane picked up three forms and passed them out.

“Would you like a side order of nooky with your pickle?” Matt asked Christine. She glared at him while standing on his foot.

The waiter brought them their coffees and they sat back down. Matt sipped his mug quietly. Christine sat next to him, careful to keep him within elbow range.

Soon after their soup and sandwiches arrived, an older man with an enormous mustache entered the café and strode over to their table. “How’s the service?” he asked.

“Very good, thank you,” Lane said.

Christine tried to kick Matt under the table.

“Ouch!” Lane exclaimed, rubbing his shin.

Matt laughed. The waiter chuckled. Soon, Christine joined in as well.

Lane’s laughter started slowly, but he was roaring by the time a group of joggers arrived at the café, dressed in their sweats and skin-tight shirts and drenched in perspiration. They glared in the direction of the laughter.

The waiter turned to the mustached man. “Sorry, Fred,” he said. Fred shook his head and moved behind the till, then into the kitchen.

Matt laughed louder.

The waiter caught his breath. “Thanks for not squealing on me to my boss.”

“You knew?” Christine said.

“It’s hard to miss clues like ‘Come on baby, light my fire.’” The waiter’s face turned red.

“What fire?” Lane asked.

“Exactly,” the waiter said. “Dessert’s on me.”

Two hours later, Lane was sitting on a bench with Christine while Matt skipped rocks across the Bow River. His phone rang. He flipped it open. “Hello?”

“Dr. Dugay here. The operation went well. We got the tumour. There was no evidence that the cancer spread into the sentinel node. Of course, the node and tumour will be sent to the lab for a biopsy. The results normally take a week. Arthur will come out of the anesthetic within the next hour and will be assigned a room from there.”

“How soon can we see him?” Lane asked.

Christine faced her uncle. Matt looked up from the edge of the water.

“Phone this number in an hour,” the surgeon said.

Lane checked his sticky note and compared it to the number on his phone’s call display. “Thank you.” He closed the phone and looked at Matt and Christine. “He came through the operation just fine. We call back in an hour.”

“Let’s go,” Christine said.

“Where?” Lane asked.

Christine rolled her eyes.

“To get him some flowers,” Matt said.

Arthur was asleep and propped up in bed when they saw him an hour later. A pair of plastic tubes on either side of his chest drained fluid into plastic bottles. There were bandages where his breasts used to be.

The man in the next bed looked to be over eighty. He was trying to pull his iv out.

Arthur continued to snore.

Lane checked the time. “I’ll stay if you want to go home,” he told Christine and Matt.

“I want to be here when he wakes,” Matt said. Christine nodded in agreement.

“He’s sleeping,” Lane said. “I’ll stay with him. You two take a break and get a coffee.” He handed them a couple of bills. “Bring me back a coffee too, please.”

Arthur woke up ten minutes later, recognized Lane, and asked for some ice. Lane fed him a couple of cubes. Arthur chewed the ice while he tried to focus his eyes.

“Dugay thinks he got it all,” Lane said. “He thinks it didn’t spread.”

Arthur tried to smile, but pain forced his mouth into a grimace instead.

“What do you need?” Lane asked.

“Where are the kids?”

“I asked them to go get coffee. I wanted to ask you something.” “Well?” Arthur looked at the ceiling.

“Do you still love me?”