Chapter Sixteen
Clip clip clip.
Ginger cut smoothly around the image of a giant duck and pasted it to the coffee table’s surface, smoothing the edges with her fingers. It reminded her of the disastrous Halloween she attempted to dress up five-year-old Willa in a makeshift costume consisting of a pillowcase and flip-flops. The final touch had been an orange funnel she’d taped over her sister’s mouth in lieu of a beak. They’d been forced to return home when Willa kept running into people and trees, unable to see over the kitchen utensil.
She turned the page in her Good Housekeeping magazine, eyes immediately drawn to the image of a family dressed in robes, gathered around a Christmas tree, complete with a wealth of wrapped presents at its base. Her smile disappeared. They’d never been able to afford a Christmas tree or presents, save the camera she’d bought Willa one year. Carefully, she cut around the tree, before applying paste to the back and slapping it upside down on the table, partially obscuring the picture of Dolly.
As she browsed further through the glossy pages, Ginger caught herself wondering what kind of home life Derek experienced as a child, then quickly sipped her scalding coffee to dispel the thought. She would never find out and it didn’t matter. His childhood could have rivaled hers in shittiness and it wouldn’t change a thing.
She ripped a page from the magazine and began cutting out a cherry pie recipe. Maybe this project’s theme could be Irony. A table full of things they’d never had. Disgusted with her attitude, Ginger let the scissors drop on the floor and heaved the magazine across the room.
Ironic is me buying Good Housekeeping magazine in the first place, she thought, looking around at her pathetic attempt to create a home for Willa. It might have been a vast improvement from Nashville, but to her it screamed low-class. God, she’d never escape the reminders of where and what she’d come from. Maybe she wasn’t meant to.
Ginger wrapped her arms around her knees and hugged them to her chest, letting her head fall forward. The second her eyes closed, Derek’s plea swam through her mind.
Give me a chance, beautiful girl.
Was she only imagining the plaintiveness in his tone? She hadn’t slept since their conversation, the memory still felt achingly fresh. Allowing herself to imagine, even for a second, what he’d meant by “give me a chance,” left her feeling dizzy and panicked. He didn’t know, couldn’t know, what he asked of her.
By forcing her to acknowledge that his interest went beyond sexual attraction, he’d effectively blasted a hole in the side of her already-sinking ship. She didn’t know her own identity without the illusion of sex. Had always used her looks to her advantage. But he wanted more. He wanted her.
Who am I, really?
Yesterday, she would have winked and told anyone who asked, “I’m a Southern girl with a big heart and an even bigger mouth.” Today? She didn’t have an answer. For so long, her focus had been solely on Willa, and she wouldn’t change her actions for anything in the world. But somewhere along the way, had she become the girl she’d merely been pretending to be?
Derek seemed to think more existed underneath the surface. How could he be so sure? If she gave him a chance, how long would it take him to realize his error?
She couldn’t open herself up for that kind of pain.
Not even for Derek, who could comfort, arouse, and challenge with a single look.
Caught up in her own thoughts, Ginger nearly jumped out of her skin when Willa spoke to her from the kitchen.
“Coffee, sis?”
How long had she been standing there? “No thanks, I’ve already had three cups.”
“Good lord.” Willa scooped the grounds into the holder, added water, and closed the lid. “Who are you and what have you done to Ginger?”
“Huh?” Trying to hide her puffy eyes, Ginger looked down, concentrating on the cigarette advertisement she pasted on the coffee table.
Willa frowned as she removed a coffee mug from the cabinet. “You worked last night. Shouldn’t you still be in bed?”
“Hmmm? Yeah. I couldn’t sleep.” She cleared the cobwebs from her throat and smiled at Willa. “Hey, I had an idea! I found this amazing coffee table downtown and I thought we could collaborate on it. We can combine some of your photos with the interesting clippings I find. It’ll be ours when we finish. We’ll keep it. What do you think?”
Willa finished pouring milk into the mug, then returned her smile. “I’ll go get my portfolio. Maybe I have some old shots we can use.”
“Great!”
Avoiding Willa’s intelligent gaze, Ginger ducked her head once more, pretending to consider different placements for the cutout she held in her hand. A few minutes later, Willa came back in the room carrying an oversize folder and took up residence on the floor beside her. Ginger felt a rush of gratitude for her sister when she refrained from mentioning the overtly sarcastic quality of the project so far.
Willa extricated a handful of photographs and began picking through them.
Ginger set down the magazine and picked up a glossy eight-by-ten shot of a broad-shouldered young man wearing a basketball uniform, his brows drawn together in concentration. The players surrounding him were the only giveaway that he was a high school student, because of how much older he looked. “Who’s this?”
“That’s Evan. Evan Carmichael.”
“Oh.” Ginger studied the picture. “Did you take this on Friday night? It’s really good, Wip.”
“Yep, I did. Thanks.”
Ginger set the photograph back down on top of the pile. “He’s really cute. Do you know him?” She winced at her attempt to sound nonchalant. Willa would definitely clam up on the double.
“Yeah. I know him. Actually…” She tugged the sleeves of her hoodie over her wrists, poking her thumb through a hole she’d created. “I think he’s going to ask me to the prom. Ha.”
Ginger’s mouth fell open. “Wh-what did you say? You’re considering going to a dance with this boy?”
“I’m thinking about it. Yeah.” She sighed. “If he asks, I’ll go.”
Ginger’s mind reeled. Her little sister, who to the best of her knowledge avoided human contact at all costs, had agreed to attend a dance? Remembering Willa’s reaction to her barb about attending the school basketball game, Ginger refrained from relaying her thoughts aloud.
Did this mean coming to Chicago had been the right thing for Willa? She scrutinized the blush staining her sister’s cheeks, the glimmer of humor in her eye. Ginger’s heart swelled.
She quickly tried to hide her proud-mama reaction by ducking her head, but her smile must have shown because Willa snickered into her coffee cup.
“Well, that’s fantastic, Willa,” Ginger said, attempting casual. “I assume you’ll need a dress?”
“I might.”
“Then I might be able to help pick it out?”
Willa laughed. “Ginger, I know f*ck-all about dresses. You’re hired.”
Unable to restrain herself, Ginger clapped her hands twice. “Great. Just give me a little direction. Short, long, strapless…?”
Her sister gave a lopsided smile. “Just make me look better than Evan’s ex-girlfriend, Natalie. The blond, pom-pom-toting femme-bot.”
Ah, so this is what had been bothering Willa. She felt a rush of relief. Normal teenage problems. “Girl, when I’m done, she’ll have nothing on you.”
They passed the next hour going through Willa’s photographs and pulling out their favorites, deciding where to place them. Ginger even managed to weasel a few more details about Evan out of her sister—enough to get the sense that she really liked the boy. Which was shocking, to say the least. When Willa eventually left for school, Ginger dragged herself from the floor and went to make a fresh pot of coffee.
As she waited for it to brew, she tried to comprehend the last hour. Instead of reticent and moody, Willa had been practically jovial as they worked on the joint project. She’d had to force herself to act normal and not gape at the changes taking place in her sister. Her signature snark and foul mouth hadn’t gone anywhere, which Ginger found herself oddly thankful for. She loved the old Willa just as much as the new one.
Sipping at her fresh cup, Ginger found herself torn between joy over Willa’s transformation and confusion over her own inability to transform herself. Perhaps it had to do with age. Willa was still young and able to learn new tricks, so to speak. Ginger chose to take it as a sign that in some small way, she might have actually managed to shield Willa from the worst of their upbringing before it caused any permanent damage.
As for herself, she’d lacked any type of shield or voice of reason. Her life had been molded into a shape and left to harden in the sun. It was too late for her to change now.