4
Sailor perched on a stool at the counter, absently tracing patterns in the condensation on his glass as he waited for his father.
The last customer had left Cuppa Jo’s, but the diner still hummed with activity as Jo’s small crew bustled about, wiping tables and stacking chairs.
Jo worked her way down the counter with a damp cloth, cleaning and straightening salt and pepper shakers and napkin holders. She paused in front of him. “You look like you’re a thousand miles away.”
Sailor looked up. “Maybe so.” About a thousand miles from sanity, he thought. Absently, he rubbed his shoulder, wincing as he did.
Jo frowned. “Got a bad shoulder?”
“I wiped out yesterday. Messed up that and my knee, but I’ll heal.”
“In time for your next competition?”
“Sure hope so.”
“You’re getting older, dude. Be careful.”
“As much as I can.” He wondered how much longer he could hold onto his position on the championship tour.
At the far end of the diner, his father put away his guitar after his set. His long-time musical rock-and-roll partner had already packed his gear and headed out.
Jo rinsed her towel and squeezed it out. “You sounded good tonight, Adrian. Need anything for the road? We’ve got extra meatloaf and salad I could pack up for you.”
“That sounds mighty good, thanks.”
Adrian made his way to the counter and eased onto the stool next to Sailor. Jo served up his favorite fountain drink in a to-go cup. He took a long sip.
Jo spoiled his father with food, and Sailor appreciated that. His dad played here for the sheer joy of it, along with tips, although he was good enough to have been a star. The diner was a small operation, and Jo compensated Adrian and Russ as she could, but she made up for it with food. At least Sailor didn’t have to worry about his father eating well when he was gone.
He rubbed his chin, considering that. He’d never thought much about how his father was getting along before. But then, there were many things on Sailor’s mind he’d never thought much about. This was part of getting older and realizing your folks weren’t immortal.
Or yourself.
“How’s that knee?” Adrian asked.
“Pretty twisted. I might have a small tear.”
“You should have it checked out.”
It was an old injury, and he’d been told to stay off it. “Regardless, I’m surfing next week. I’ll wrap it well.” Sailor couldn’t pass up the trip to Hawaii, the upcoming charity competition on Crown Island, or the rest of the tour.
“Don’t push too hard, son. You’re not as young as you used to be.”
“You can’t play it safe out there.” Still, Sailor was being more cautious. He might look like he was taking chances, but that was because he’d been surfing so long he knew how to make it look easy.
“Still teaching Maileah how to surf?”
“Maileah?” Sailor repeated, surprised at his father’s question. “No, she hasn’t had much time.”
“Looks like she’s got time to date.”
Sailor shrugged. “Guess she’s got her priorities.”
“That guy she was with tonight looked alright.”
“Not all of them are,” Sailor shot back. “I had to bounce a jerk she met this afternoon. He was a real piece of work. Hey, would you keep an eye on her while I’m gone? If she has any trouble, I mean.”
