A gecko on a nearby branch nods sagely at me, agreeing with this assessment.
“What kind of threats?” I ask, stepping carefully around what might be a very small landslide disguised as a trailfeature.
“Oh, the usual dramatic nonsense,” Bertha waves her hand and nearly topples both of us. “Canceling vendors, ruining the wedding, making sure everyone knew he was impossible to work with. It was your average professional blackmail wrapped up in artistic temperament.”
We pause for a moment and take a seat on a fallen log that’s older than all of us combined. Ruby collapses beside Lani as if her legs have just reached their tropical operational limit.
“Never again,” Ruby declares for approximately the fifteenth time. “The next time anyone suggests an adventure, I’m suggesting we scope out eligible bachelors at the resort pool instead. Much better view, significantly less mud.”
Lani grunts. “And we have perfectly good ice cream at the resort, too. What I wouldn’t do for a triple scoop of chocolate with cookie dough.”
“It’s pineapple upside-down cake with vanilla for me,” Ruby whimpers.
I sniff at the thought because I can practically hear the coconut cream pie flavor calling my name.
“What about Candy?” I ask Bertha because I seem to enjoy conducting interrogations while my friends try to manifest frozen dairy products. “How is she handling all the wedding vendor drama?”
Bertha’s expression softens with the surprising warmth like she were about to discuss her favorite grandchildren or aperfectly prepared roast chicken—they’re about on the same level for her.
“Oh poor, Candy, bless her heart,” Bertha starts. “She tried to keep the peace. That girl has the patience of a saint dealing with all these wedding vendors and their ridiculous drama.”
“Really?”
“She kept trying to mediate between Erwin and Alana, suggesting compromises, offering to pay for extras out of her own pocket. She’s too generous for her own good, that one. Alana was taking advantage of her sweet nature something fierce.”
A rooster crows in an effort to call Bertha’s bluff.
“But Alana kept telling Candy that certain expenses were absolutely essential for social media documentation,” Bertha continues. “She convinced the poor girl that without perfect flowers and perfect food, her wedding content would be a complete failure.”
“And Candy believed her?” Honestly, you sort of do want the flowers and the food to be perfect on your big day, but I’m not giving Bertha an out.
“Candy believes everyone has good intentions. It’s charming and terrifying in equal measure. That woman was using Candy’s trusting nature to justify every ridiculous expense and upgrade.”
The trail takes a particularly vindictive turn, designed with personal grudges against human ankles and basic mobility. We begin a descent that requires careful foot placementusually associated with rappelling down a sheer cliffside—without ropes and fancy shoes with all the necessary spikes in them.
“But I’ll tell you what,” Bertha says with a sudden vehemence as if ready to share her real feelings, “I hated that woman from the moment I met her.”
“Alana? Why?” I ask because this hiking disaster has loosened Bertha’s usual discretion about sharing family opinions—or, for that matter, sharing anything at all with me.
“I have my reasons,” she says with a finality that suggests this conversational avenue is permanently closed for construction. “Let’s just say some people aren’t what they pretend to be.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’ve been around long enough to recognize manipulation when I see it. That woman was using this wedding for her own purposes, and it wasn’t just about getting paid for overpriced flower arrangements.”
A chicken skitters by and gives me a look that says this is your moment.
“What kind of purposes?”
“The kind that involves more than wedding planning and less than honest business practices,” Bertha says cryptically, having reached her limit for specific revelations. “I wish that boy knew how to keep it in his pants.”
So now it’s Candy’s fault Bertha is in this mess. And I’m more than glad to pass the torch.
We continue our descent through what can only bedescribed as nature’s obstacle course designed by vindictive ancient gods, and I realize that Bertha’s hatred might be less about Alana specifically and more about her general approach to life. Bertha seems to distrust anyone who isn’t Erwin or who threatens her control over family financial decisions.
The trail becomes increasingly treacherous as we approach a small embankment that seemed manageable on the way in but now looks like a geological challenge requiring mountaineering expertise and possibly emergency medical support, and maybe a sherpa or two.
“Careful here,” I warn, even though my own balance has been questionable since approximately the first ten minutes of this hiking adventure.
