Page 52 of Waiting for Gilbert

“It’s stupid, and I’m stupid and everyone is a moron.” Cordelia shoves her mug and hisses when the hot tea splashes the back of her hand. With that hand to her mouth, she drags the cup back. “I think it would be better if you left because I’m bound to say something mean, and I don’t want to hurt your feelings.”

There we go. Well, then. If that’s all she’s worried about, we’re getting somewhere. “I’m known around these parts for my hard shell.” I knock a fist against my chest. “Shields of steel and such. Tough guy right here.” Too much? Okay. I purse my lips in what I hope is a thoughtful expression and not my poor attempt to keep from laughing at her apparent distress. If I look at her I will cave. That would be very rude.

These instructions are simply fascinating. I squint at the miniscule print.

Cordelia smacks the paper out of my hands. “Oh, shut up. Now you’re patronizing me.”

I grab her hand before she tosses the instructions to the floor. “Listen, missy.” I attempt to pry her fingers from the mini booklet. It occurs to me that I have limited experience comforting women in times of distress. If I’m reading the signs correctly—and with my track record of the evening I’m probably not—it’s clear she wants to fight. If it were Cameron I’d knock him out of his chair, he’d punch me back, and then we’d move on. Probably shouldn’t try that one.

I speak slowly. “My brother goes through these cycles where he’s up and happy and ready to take on the world one week, then hates everything and everyone the next.” She doesn’t release the booklet, and I pull each finger off the pages one at a time. “I’m not bringing him up to compare or anything. All I meant is that whatever you’ve got to say it’s not gonna freak me out. And putting it all out there—out loud—could help.” I scan the counters. “Or you can write it. Surely you have paper? Cameron meets with a counselor, and I’m not—I don’t mean anything by that, but I’m just saying. Sometimes people process life differently and can use some help and that’s—that’s fine.”

Her fingers go limp in mine. Now I’m just holding her hand. When I eventually glance at her, she’s pressing the rim of her mug against her lips with her other hand.

After three full seconds her ice sculpture melts, and she takes a sip, gaze drilling a hole through me, one hand in mine the whole time. “Do you mean me? Or… people… in general?”

I slowly straighten my spine and move slightly away.

Her mug slams on the table and more tea splashes across her hand. “You meant me! You think I… that I… what? That I’m crazy? I don’t need a shrink.” Her gaze darts around the room then lands on our touching palms. “Why are you holding my hand?”

“I’m not.” I thread my fingers through hers. “This is holding your hand.”

“You’re acting weird.”

“Yes, I’m very weird.” Backpedal. Reverse. Start over. “Wanna play cards?” I fish into the inside pocket of my coat and grab the deck with my free hand.

She shakes her hand from mine while tossing me a confused glance. “You carry a deck of cards with you at all times?” Her voice pitches lower into a strange salesman accent. “Never fear! Weirdo Gilbert is here with his colorful pieces of printed paper. They will wipe all your troubles away. Come one and all and witness the amazing trouble-wiping cards of Master Gilbert.”

I deal us nine cards each.

She fake gags. “Ugh, no. I don’t wanna play your stupid game.”

“Jackie Wins. It’s not stupid. You’re stupid, and I’m stupid, and everybody is a moron. Remember? Place three cards down in a line, three facing up on top of them, and keep three in your hand. For the first round, don’t worry about which ones.”

“The game is called Jackie Wins?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The cards I’ve dealt her seem to be invisible. Her fingers curl around her mug. “Explain.”

“It will be easier if I wait until you’re set up, but okay. The first to play all their cards wins. We take turns discarding. Twos are wild. Fours are really good, keep those, and tens restart the pile. When you play your hand, you want to start with your lowest cards because we play up. If you can’t play, you pick up the pile. When your hand is empty, you play from your cards on the table. Face up first, and then the hidden cards. It’s an unlucky surprise if you have a three under there.”

A glazed expression clouds her face.

“I thought it might be easier to talk while we’re doing something with our hands. Go ahead and lay out the three?—”

“Explainwhy it’s called Jackie Wins. I have no idea what you just said.”

I chuckle. “John’s cousin, Jackie, always wins. Always. We started calling it Jackie Wins and so does everybody else. Nobody remembers the real name.”

Cordelia places her hand over her cards and moves them to the edge of the table until they fall on the ground. “Oops.” She doesn’t even look where they fell.

Cool. If she wants to fight, I can fight. “You’re being a jerk. You know that?” I flick a card into her face.

A blink. That’s the most I get from her. She removes her hairband and shakes out her tangled mess of curls. “Yeah. Probably. Is it worse than cute and fun? Maybe it’s best. I could try to be really good and make sure people like me, except then they still don’t and they—they ask me to marry them and everything should be wonderful.” She claps her hands together in front of my face with a forcefulsmack.“But it’s not wonderful, Gilbert. It’s not wonderful because Shaun doesn’t want me. Why would he?”

Shaun, the ex-boyfriend? Ex-fiancé? I clear my throat to make a show of having something to say, but she continues without my help.

“I’m obviously not what men want. Not for keeps anyway.” She retrieves the single card from her lap and tries to throw it at me like a frisbee. “But I don’t even care!” The card sails behind my chair. “I don’t care about Shaun. And what kind of monster does that make me? Shouldn’t I miss him?” Her voice quavers. “Shouldn’t I miss his face? Or his kisses or something? We barely hung out once a week because the commute across town was a hassle. Oh my word! You’d think that would’ve been a sign. I’ve seen you every day this week. For clocked hours, it’s as much as I’d seen Shaun in two months.”

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