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    Five Stories
    Five Stories
    Five Stories
    Ebook67 pages1 hour

    Five Stories

    By Richard George

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    About this ebook

    Here are five stories ranging from a mouse's confrontation with a nurse to a chance meeting between former lovers.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherRichard George
    Release dateSep 19, 2013
    ISBN9781301056088
    Five Stories
    Author

    Richard George

    RICK GEORGE was appointed president and chief executive officer of Suncor Energy Inc. in 1991; he retired in spring 2012. He was named Canada’s Outstanding CEO of the Year in 1999 after leading a remarkable business turnaround at Suncor, and he received the Canadian Business Leader Award from the Alberta School of Business in 2000. George was appointed an Officer of the Order of Canada in 2007 for his leadership in the development of Canada’s natural resources sector,for his efforts to provide economic opportunities to Aboriginal communities, and for his commitment to sustainable development. Originally from Brush, Colorado, George lives with his family in Calgary, Alberta.

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      Book preview

      Five Stories - Richard George

      Five Stories

      Published by Richard George at Smashwords

      Copyright 2013 Richard George

      A Meeting

      Mark brushed the raindrops from his shoulders. It fell into the muddy water on the vestibule floor. Romero's had not changed much in the years Mark had known it. Varnished shells clung to a net behind the cash register. They seemed still wet from their native ocean. Rosa, the hostess, never showed any aging. She had always looked to be about forty.

      Good evening, Mr. Harrison, she said. Her sharp black eyes appraised him. Wet out, isn’t it?

      Hello, Rosa, Mark said. Yes. It’s wet. Do you have a table for one?

      Only one, Mr. Harrison?

      Yes, Rosa; Mr. Ramsey won't be with me again. His heart gave out on him. Inwardly Mark was surprised at how easy it was to say the words. He passed last week.

      I'm sorry to hear that. He was a pleasant man and a steady customer. We will notice his absence.

      I guess we all have our time, Mark said. He wished he could have said something more profound, more original, to somehow mark the occasion, but there seemed to be nothing else to say that was not more banal. Down inside his psyche there was hurt and rage; someday it would come out, and when it did, the grief would ease. It was not time for that, yet. He still feared that to let it loose would overwhelm him.

      A table by a window?

      Yes, please, if you have one.

      I will have, in about five minutes.

      I'll stop in the bar, maybe have a Scotch and soda, then. It had been customary between Mark and Jay that they had their weekly suppers by the window. Mark wanted to cling to custom in this.

      I'll come and tell you when I have a table. We are busy for such a rainy night.

      Thank you, Rosa.

      Yes, sir. I'll come as soon as I have one.

      Mark went into the bar. Even though there were quite a few people in the dining room, the bar was almost empty. One other customer was in the bar with George, the bartender. George was Rosa's husband; George had grown grey and pudgy since Mark first knew him.

      Scotch and soda? George rasped. George had always had a throat condition that made him sound like Jimmy Cagney with a bad cold. Mark nodded. George made his drink and went to the other end to pour another white wine for the red-haired woman sitting there. Mark glanced briefly at the woman's profile and turned to his drink. Tonight he wanted to be alone, not to encourage any conversations with strangers. Mark stared into his drink.

      Mark raised his head and stared at the bottles behind the bar without seeing them. He had been thinking of himself as a small boy running over the vacant lots of his home town in the shadows of the mountains.

      The woman said something to George that Mark couldn't quite hear. Something about the voice was like another intrusion of his past, another part of his past, and it altered the flow of his memories. There was a familiar timbre to it that stirred things he had thought he had long put behind him, had long wanted to forget. He looked at the red-haired woman again. There was a similarity, but the red hair was wrong, or was it? Hair color came from bottles as often as from nature these days. The woman had her head turned away from him. Mark shook his head slightly and stared at the ice cubes in his drink slowly growing smaller. He sipped his drink, and it was watery. How long had he sat here? It was warm in the bar, but not that warm.

      Rosa came in and said quietly to him, I'm sorry it was so long, Mr. Harrison. The other party didn't leave as soon as I thought they would. Your table is ready.

      That's all right, Rosa; I'm in no hurry to go anyplace tonight. He got up, taking his drink with him. Behind him the red-haired woman raised her head and stared a long moment at his back as he left. If he had turned, just then, he would have seen her frown in a puzzled way. He might have recognized that frown, even under the red hair. Mark did not turn.

      Rosa led him to a familiar table. True to her word, she had set a table by a window aside for him. Romero's had a dozen tables in this corner of the dining room; only two of them had a view of the Bay. The other window table was occupied by a couple with white hair. They were eating without talking, though the woman smiled at the man with the fondness that bespoke long and comfortable associations. Mark thought again of Jay, and nodded. Friendship that was quiet and deep was good. Some few achieved it, some in marriage, some in other ways. He pulled out the chair and sat down, facing the window. When Jay was with him they had taken turns facing the window, making a game of keeping records as to whose turn it was on the backs of envelopes and paper napkins. He smiled without noticing that he smiled. Verna, the waitress, thought the smile was for her and smiled at him.

      I was sorry to hear about Mr. Ramsey, she

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