Rideau Center is just down the street from Chateau Laurier. There, we could catch the #7 or the #12 back to the condo.
Although it was late on a Friday night, the steets and sidewalks of downtown Ottawa were still busy. There was a crowd at the OC Transpo bus stop when we got there.
I don’t remember which bus we caught. We took the first one. It had been a long evening, and we had been on our feet most of the time. We didn’t particularly feel like standing outside in a Canadian winter (even though to the Canadians standing beside us the weather was undoubtedly mild).
Once on the bus, we sat down.
Trudy’s phone rang. It was Dad.
“Where are you?” he asked.
It is late on a Friday night. The kids are not home. They are taking public transportation in a strange town. They might be lost. Or they might be having trouble.
My father is an impeccable host. He thinks of his guests’ welfare with bottomless, endearing warmth. And he was worried about us. About his 52 year old son. About the fair and industrious Trudy.
“We’re on the bus,” Trudy said. “Don’t worry. We’ll be home soon.”