“It seems so,” I say, leaving my answer short and her question basically unanswered since I’m not sure I know myself with how tight-lipped he’s been about his days.
“Good!” Gerty says, louder than necessary. “You must keep sending letters. I never get much mail these days and I was so excited to receive the last two you sent.”
“Yes, same,” Mama says with a raised brow, likely because she only received one letter.
“I promise to keep you updated on my riveting life here.” I’m not sure if the sarcasm is only extra loud in my mind or if they pick up on it too, but I don’t think I’ve been shy about my slow progression to becoming a housewife.
I stare out the narrow side window, long after Gerty and Mama pull away from the house, wishing they could stay forever. Just as I take a step back from the window, a faint cry, or a whistle, grows in the distance. I press my ear to the window for a better sense of what I’m hearing. Another cry follows the last.
Without another thought, I whip open the front door, looking in every direction to see where the heart-wrenching sound is coming from.It isn’t until I reach the curb that I spot a bike in the middle of the road and a child lying beside it. Another loud cry rolls down the hill as I charge toward him, reaching him just as Ingrid from next door runs outside too.
“Gunther,” she shouts. “Mama is coming.”
The little boy with ashy hair and pink cheeks has a gash across his forehead from where he must have hit the road after falling off his bicycle. He’s conscious, but I don’t want to move him until I check for any other injuries.
Ingrid falls to her knees by my side and lunges forward to scoop him up. “Thank you for coming down here,” she tells me.
“Of course, but—you shouldn’t move him just yet,” I say.
“What do you mean? I need to get him out of the street,” she says, breathlessly.
“Yes, but if he hit his head, it’s critical to make sure we don’t move him too fast.”
“How are you so sure?” she asks, her question accusatory rather than curious.
“I was studying to become a nurse alongside Otto, but?—”
“I wasn’t aware,” she says. “What should I do to help? I’m sorry for snapping. He’s my baby.”
Gunther stops crying. He’s still whimpering, but he’s making direct eye contact with Ingrid. “Gunther is your name?” I ask, gently.
He nods and his lip quivers.
“Where are you hurt? Can you show me?”
Ingrid stands up, holding her hand to her chest. “I’ll go get the first aid kit.”
“Yes, ice, and whatever else you have,” I tell her.
I run my fingers through his hair. “You’re okay. Just show me what hurts.”
He reaches for his forehead, but I take his hand before he puts gravel in the wound. “Just your forehead?”
He nods again. I reach beneath his neck and feel around his spine to see if he flinches, but nothing seems to bother him, so I elevate his head enough to rest on my lap while we wait for Ingrid to return.
“I was riding my bicycle. Then a bird flew out of the tree and came right after me. I thought it was going to bite me right on the nose.”
“I’ve heard that happens to a lot of kids, but it looks like the bird left you alone.”
“The bird wanted to scare me,” he says.
“After we put a bandage on your forehead, I can have a chat with that mean bird. How does that sound?”
“I think he flew away,” Gunther says.
“The loud crash of your bicycle might have scared him off for good.”
“Hopefully,” he says, a tear rolling out of the corner of his eye.
