A Ride to the Airport

“I’ll give you a ride to the airport,” George said, while we were having coffee at Happy Bean Cafe in the West End of Vancouver.

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” my boyfriend Tom said. 

“That’s kind of you, George, but we don’t want to put you to all that trouble. It’s too early and we’ll preorder a taxi.” I’d done research and the buses wouldn’t be running until after six, which would be too late for us.

Tom pulled a long face at me. “George just wants to help us.” 

 “No problem for me. I’ll be up long before you have to go and I have nothing happening that day,” George said. 

George was a lot older, retired and available, and I felt uneasy. 

“It’ll be fine, Mandy,” Tom said. 

 This trip was a big deal. Covid had delayed our France vacation for three years. What if George didn’t show up in time? They both looked at me, waiting for me to agree. Tom was always telling me I worried too much and pointing out when my concerns didn’t come true. 

“Oh, okay,” I said. I stretched a quick smile on my face. “Thank you George. That’s nice of you.”

“Glad to help you.”

Tom flashed a grateful smile at me. 

The next morning at five, we bundled our luggage and ourselves into George’s orange Subaru. So far, we were on time. I relaxed as George drove through the West End and then took the Howe street ramp onto the Granville Bridge. Traffic was light and we could have left twenty minutes later, and arrived three hours early, but Tom conceded leaving home early to me. 

I double checked my passport and wallet were in my carryon bag. 

“What the hell!” George startled me. 

I looked up, expecting another car had cut him off. Steam smoked out from under the front hood, and George’s cheek puckered in his clenched jaw. 

“Must be the radiator,” he said, pulling over to the side. 

Tom’s pale face mirrored my panic. 

“Now, what?” I said. Blaming him now wouldn’t fix the car. 

 “Well guys, I’m really sorry. Maybe I can get my brother to come out and give you a ride,” George said, breathing hard. 

How likely was his brother to respond to a call at five in the morning? I knew for myself I powered off all my devices at night, risking missing any emergency calls. The peace of being able to shut out the world overwhelmed any guilt.

Tom scrolled through his phone, and I hoped he’d have luck getting a taxi for us.

“Do you have BCAA?” Tom said.

George shook his head. “The Automobile Association? No, the premiums kept rising, so I gave it up.” 

“Here are some tow-truck companies. Do you want me to call them?” Tom said.

My mind reeled. BCAA and tow-truck companies? We needed a taxi fast! I’ve never had good spur-of-the-moment taxi karma, like when I missed the bus and needed an urgent ride to make a ferry; calls and flagging taxis failed me. I favored abandoning George and hiking down to the other side of the bridge with our luggage, and hoping something showed up.

“I’ll call my brother.” George fumbled through his pockets. “I thought I took my cellphone with me, but I guess I left it at home.”

“You don’t need to bother him. I’ll call the tow-truck,” Tom said.

“But I feel responsible. Graham can drive you the rest of the way,” George said.

“Don’t worry. It’s not your fault,” Tom said.

Watching Tom considering George’s well-being, a smidgen of guilt arose in me. 

“I’ve got BCAA,” I said.

“Why didn’t you say so?” Tom said. 

“We don’t have time. I’m calling a taxi or we’ll miss our whole trip to France.” I tapped George’s shoulder. “You understand, right?”

“I’m so sorry,” George’s shoulders slunk, and he braced his hand against his chest. 

“It’s your account. You call BCAA, I’ll get us a taxi,” Tom said.

 The BCAA operator said she’d try to get a service vehicle out to us in fifteen minutes, but she couldn’t promise. I tried not to think of the time it would take to fix George’s car, if it was possible, though from my experience several years ago with a broken radiator, it’d get towed to a service station. “It’s not busy. They might get here faster.” Tom said, when I relayed what the BCAA operator had said. 

“Did you get a taxi?” I peered over his shoulder at his phone; even though with my glasses back in my pocket, I could only see a blurred screen.

“I’m on hold…” He pointed at his phone.

I sighed. “I guess we’re going to miss our flight,” I said, not keeping the grumbling out of my tone. We had just over ten minutes before we needed to scuttle to make our flight. Would the airport check-in accept us if we arrived so much later than the required three hours it took for them to scour us, looking for toothpaste tubes that could blow up the airplane?

“Don’t worry, George,” Tom said. 

I didn’t like how George looked. He was breathing heavily and looked faint. Surely he wasn’t having some sort of cardiac event. 

“Are you okay?” I said.

George waved his hand in a feeble gesture. “No, I’m fine. You two can go. I’ll be fine.”

He didn’t look fine at all. 

“What’s your brother’s number?” Tom said.

“604-799-2526,” George said. 

 Dumb us. We hadn’t thought of asking him for the number. Before smart phones, I knew all kinds of numbers, but these days I only knew my number and the number my parents still had for our childhood home. I didn’t even know Tom’s number. But George, still in the age of landlines, had numbers in his head.

Tom held up his hand. He was on the phone and talking to George’s brother.

He finished and smiled. “Graham is on his way.”

George smiled, but it came across as a twinge of discomfort. “Are you sure you’re okay?” I said.

He hesitated. “My chest hurts a little. Maybe indigestion.”

“We’ll call an ambulance?” Tom said.

“No, I’ll be fine,” George waved his hand more feebly. 

Tom fidgeted like he wanted to run. Or maybe I was projecting.

George jammed his hands into his pockets. “It’s got to be here.”

“Don’t worry about your phone, George!” Tom said. 

“No,… pills.”

I expelled a sharp breath. “Angina pills, George? Is that what you mean?” 

He nodded. “Heart pills.”

Tom leaned over, “Let me, George” he said and pulled out a small vial. “Nitroglycerin,” he read out.

“Give him one under his tongue,” I knew about angina medication, because my grandma had used them, and I got ready to set the timer on my phone.

Tom looked uneasy. “You do it. I’m calling an ambulance.” I grabbed the vial and shoved a pill under George’s tongue and set my timer. 

“Here’s Graham,” Tom said, with a lift to his voice. 

George’s color was improving. Thank God. 

 A minute later, Graham parked behind George’s car, and approached us.

“George!” he said. 

George gave a weak nod.

“I gave him his angina medication. In three minutes, he can have another one, if he needs it.” 

“An ambulance is coming,” Tom added.

Graham nodded and set the timer on his own watch.

“Looks like you’re headed to the airport?” Graham said, tipping his head at our luggage in the back. 

Tom and I nodded. “Poor George,” we both said at almost the same time. I felt a little surprised my natural selfishness had fallen away. 

 George didn’t look well, but at least he was breathing easier, and he wasn’t clutching his heart.

“Why don’t you two take my car? George and I will manage. I’ll get out to the airport later and pick up the car?” Graham said.

“We’ll stay until the ambulance gets here, and we know for sure George is okay,” I said.