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Gigi’s body shook with sadness. “I love you, Lex. I’m sorry I was such a shitty friend. I hope one day you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”
I absorbed her tears and her frustration. And her apology. “I love you, too. Thank you for apologizing,” I squeezed her hard, “but you really don’t need to. You didn’t have all the facts.”
She shook her head. “No, I need to apologize. And I have one way to start making it up to you.” She pushed away from me and pulled something out of her pocket.
She held up the “C” for Captain, from her jersey. “Here, I want you to have this.”
I stared at the badge. “Uh, why?”
She wiped her eyes and said, “I’m handing it over to you. I don’t deserve to be captain anymore. Not after the way I acted toward you.”
I looked her into her red eyes. “You’re the captain.”
She shook her head and grabbed my hand and stuffed the “C” inside my palm. “I don’t deserve the title anymore. I’m giving it to you.”
I stuffed it in her hand. “I don’t want it. You’re always the captain. And you deserve it.”
She turned and walked through the living room and into the kitchen. “It’s yours.” She set the badge on the island counter. “I’m going upstairs to start supper. Come up to eat with us when you’re done down here, okay?” Her eyes started to get all watery again.
Just like mine.
“That would be nice, thanks.”
She gave me a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Then, she wandered over and gave me one more hug. “If you need anything, please tell me.”
“Okay,” I said and let her go. “Thanks, Gigi.”
“Oh, crap, I almost forgot,” she said, handing me the bag in her hand. “This is for you.”
I took the bag and peered inside. “Holy, motherlode,” I whispered as I saw what was the equivalent of the best trick-or-treat bag I’d ever seen.
Ketchup chips, Coffee Crisps, and yes—even Crunchie bars. Plus, a few other Canadian treats that weren’t available south of the border.
“Is this your whole stash?” I looked at her with amazement.
She shrugged. “Almost. I kept a few back—in case of emergency.”
“It’s too much, Gigi,” I said, offering to hand it back to her.
She stuck her hand out to mine. “If I run out, I know where to find you. It’ll make me feel better knowing you have this. Please, just keep it.”
After she left, it was a constant barrage of players—men and women—stopping at my door to offer help with the puppy if and when I ever needed it, help with anything back home, and about a hundred offers to go to movies and out to dinner and shopping—etc.
It was their way of apologizing. And I thought it was all really nice of them.
Nobody asked questions about Dad or Trey.
Nobody asked what happened.
They simply showed up to offer a hand—and a shoulder—if I happened to need one.
And that was mighty human of them.
The next morning, the puppy woke me up with a small growl.
I rolled over and grabbed my phone. Six o’clock.
What sounded like a knock came from the front of the apartment.
