G is for Gerry (Men of ALPHAbet Mountain)

“Misser Gerry!” Olly exclaimed, holding up a toy of a pro wrestler. “Look! I got a new toy!”

“Cool, bud,” I said, then glanced at Wendy, who nodded and laughed. I was pretty well versed on most American slang, but there were always separate rules for children, and I wasn’t as well versed on those.

“So, what brings you over?” Wendy asked. “Falling behind at work without me?”

She was teasing, but it was kind of true. Without her there to pep me up, I felt like I wasn’t on top of my game. No one had said anything about it, but I felt it. Especially the last two days.

I just wanted to empty it all out, let Wendy figure it out and see if she could interpret it all for me. I knew that was probably presumptive of me, though. She didn’t owe me an explanation of anything, and I was just bothering her with my problems. Yet, I didn’t really know how to address any of it without going to the beginning either. She seemed like she could tell I was struggling with it, and as she came back from the kitchen bearing cups and plates, her eyebrow flickered up.

“Well…” I began.

“Well, what?” she asked. “What’s going on, Gerry? Do you want me to call Finn?”

“No, no. I think you might be the only one who can help me with this, actually. It’s about the girl you told me about. The one who lost her leg.”

“Malia?” she said, confused. “What about her?”

I shuffled my hands together as I tried to figure out how to begin.

“I think I ran into her. Twice actually, though she only saw me once. So, I guess once. But I’ve seen her twice,” I rambled.

“Okay, wait, hold on,” she said, holding her hand up as she pulled a piece of pizza off for Olly and sat it in front of him. Little baby Hope was in a playpen in the living room, fast asleep. “I think you better start from the top.”

“Right,” I said. “Okay. So, I went to Sergio’s a week or so ago.”

I told her about seeing the two women across the bar and by my descriptions, she confirmed it was Dee and Malia.

“Then the other day, I went to Dina’s to pick up lunch and as I was walking in, the poor thing fell off the porch.”

“Oh no,” Wendy said through half a mouthful of pizza. “Was she alright?”

“Bruised ego, mostly, I think. I hopped down to help her up, and then she brushed me off rather rudely.”

“Really? That’s weird.”

“Then I caught her when she almost fell again and opened the door for her, and she was rude again.”

“Ahh,” she said. “Yeah, I think embarrassment played a big part there.”

“You think so? Because it has bugged me for a bit.”

“Is that because you have a crush on her?” Wendy asked, focusing on taking a deep sip of her drink and not making eye contact.

“It just bothered me,” I said. “I wanted to pick your brain as to if that was normal for her. That way I can move on and go back to being the hermit in the woods my mother always calls me every time we talk.”

“Hermit?” Wendy asked. “You’re not a hermit. You have a job and wear regular people clothes.”

“Compared to their life in Quebec, I am a hermit,” I said. “Trust me, anything more than five miles from a Tim Horton’s is the sticks.”

“A what?”

“It’s a donut and coffee place. Don’t worry about that part. It’s beside the point.”

“Alright,” she said. “Keep your Canadian secrets, then.”

“Not exactly a secret,” I said. “But anyway. I thought that I had maybe done something to offend her. And with her being your friend’s sister, I wanted to make sure I made things right if I did.”

Wendy sighed and shook her head.

“Malia has had a rough go of it. The accident really messed her up. And to make matters worse, there was a bit of a fight to get compensated for it.”

“How so?” I asked. “I thought when one loses a limb, that tends to end the argument over whether a settlement should be reached.”

“Well,” she said, “there was a lot of rigamarole about the particulars of the accident.”

“Is it prying if I ask what?”

“No, I don’t think so. She’s pretty open about it, and Dee said something about her wanting to start a vlog, so…”

“A vlog?” I asked. “That’s brave.”

“It is,” Wendy said. “She’s a firecracker, that girl. Always wanted to be in the middle of things. She’s wanted to be a sideline reporter for the NFL ever since I’ve known her. But she’s not a tomboy like I was. All girl.”

“I noticed,” I said, and a flicker of Wendy’s eyebrow let me know she caught it. She didn’t say anything about it, though, choosing to move on.