“I have to get goin’,” he said, covering his mouth as a coughing fit made him reach for the arm of the chair. Finally he stood up, pulled a phone from his back pocket, and ran his finger over the screen.
“You’re sick,” she said between sobs.
“I’ll be okay.” He squinted down at his phone, scrolling through messages and wincing at whatever he was reading. “I shouldn’t have fallen asleep. I have to go see my aunt . . .”
“Cain,” she said, looking up at him. Don’t go. The words sat on the tip of her tongue, drenched in sorrow, desperate for the comfort of his arms around her. Just for a little while. Just for a few minutes. They shared so many common memories, so much unique history. No one else on earth had loved Josiah Woodman like they did. No one else could share the sort of sorrow they could share with each other. And yet—
“What?” His voice was soft and dull. He was looking down at her, his face unreadable. But their conversation at the BBQ yesterday came rushing back, and she reached for her comforter, pulling it closer. He deserves better than you.
“Thank you for stayin’.”
He took a breath, staring at her intently, like he was gathering himself to say something, but then he hefted himself from the chair and nodded. He flicked another glance to his phone before looking back up at her. “Wright Funeral Home. Today at three o’clock. You should be there.”
Funeral home.
“Oh my God,” she said, sobs rising up from within her as she leaned forward to rest her forehead on her hands.
She heard him move toward her, felt his palm land on her hair and rest there. “He loved you more than life, Gin. You made him happy.”
“W-Woodman,” she whispered, remembering his last words to her. I love you. And I’m sorry.
She’d never doubted his love for her. Never. Not once in her whole life.
But her heavy heart descended into perdition as she realized that, while he’d given her his whole heart, he’d never gotten more than a part of hers. He’d said that was okay. He’d always assured her that he would only take what she was willing to give. But Cain was right: he’d deserved more. He’d deserved better. And now he was gone.
Part of her blamed Cain because the reason she couldn’t give her whole heart to Woodman was that such a big portion of it—rejected though it had been—had always belonged to Cain. And maybe it didn’t make sense, but it made her feel angry toward Cain because, if he hadn’t played with her, led her on, and eventually broken her heart, maybe she would have eventually been able to give it to Woodman.
She shrugged Cain’s hand away, looking up at him with swimming eyes. “Please go.”
Cain lifted his hand slowly, his expression swiftly changing from soft to hurt to cold. He nodded, taking a step away from her bed and wiping his hand on his dirty yellow fireman pants. “See you at three.”
Ginger grabbed Woodman’s pillow, rolled into a tight ball, and clutched it tightly to her chest as she cried until, mercifully, she fell back to sleep.
***
A soft knock at her bedroom door made Ginger turn from the dressing table mirror as she fastened the double string of pearls around her neck. “Come in.”
Her mother opened the door and peeked into the room. “Baby? The kitchen door was unlocked so I let myself in.”
“Hey, Momma,” she said, her voice soft and flat.
Unlike Ginger, who’d woken up numb after Cain left her this morning, her mother had been crying when Ginger stopped by the manor house a few hours ago, and from the looks of it, she still hadn’t stopped. Pressing a tissue to her eyes, she shook her head sadly and sat down on Ginger’s bed. “I just . . . I just can’t get my head around it. It’s just so awwwwwwful.”
“Yes.” Ginger caught her mother’s eyes in the mirror, then looked away quickly.
“Where you goin’? To pay your respects?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Tried to call Sophie a while ago. Howard said she wasn’t takin’ calls. Poor thing. I just . . . I just want to be there for her.”
Much good you’d do, thought Ginger, cryin’ all over the place.
Ginger looked at her watch. “I better get goin’, Momma.”
“Want me to come with you?”
“No, ma’am,” she said, looking at her mother’s tired, bloodshot eyes. “You rest. I’ll go.”