Cain watched her at the wreath-laying ceremony: the impassive expression on her face, the way her eyes didn’t tear up. She didn’t sniffle or cry, just stood stoically beside him, accepting condolences politely, her voice devoid of emotion.
Across from them, his Aunt Sophie stared daggers at Cain, still wishing him dead, and he wished it didn’t hurt, but it did. He and his aunt had never been close, but losing Woodman had been a blow to both of them, and they could have been a comfort to each other. Instead his aunt kept her anger trained on him, which kept her an island of sorrow, isolated by fury.
Much like Ginger.
What will it take for you to break? he wondered, stealing a glance at her neat blonde bun. Because you’re going to break, princess. Eventually you’re going to have to say his name; you’re going to have to acknowledge that he’s gone. You’re going to have to scream and cry or you’ll never be able to grieve. You’ll never have any relief from the terrible sadness that’s weighing you down.
Not that Cain felt light as a feather. He didn’t. Most days he still struggled wildly with Woodman’s death and felt the sharp heartbreak of his cousin’s loss. Five weeks hadn’t softened the images of Woodman dying, nor erased his final words from Cain’s head, though Cain had noticed that, ever since he’d started honoring his promise to Woodman, he’d felt the very beginnings of a peace he’d been missing when he was drinking and raging. He wanted Ginger to know that peace for two reasons: one, because without it, she’d never find her way toward healing, and two, because it’s what Woodman desperately would have wanted for her. Cain intended to do whatever he had to do to help her find it. He’d promised.
After the ceremony, they stood with Mary-Louise and Scott Hayes for a few minutes, but Ginger looked pale and tired, so Cain finally excused them so that he could take her home. He debated what to say to her—he felt a responsibility to get through to her, but he wasn’t sure how.
Just be yourself.
The words skated through his head, and he decided to give them a try.
As soon as they pulled away from the cemetery, she sighed audibly as he looked over at her.
“You okay?
“Fine.”
“They did a nice job.”
She didn’t answer, just stared out the window.
“It was good that you went.”
Still nothing. No reaction.
“I been meanin’ to ask,” he said, an edge creeping into his voice. “How’s your gran doin’?”
“Haven’t been out much.” She looked over at him, her eyes flashing.
“She’s old, Ginger.”
“What do you know about my gran? Besides, it’s none of your business where I go and what I—”
He pulled the truck over to the side of the road, and the brakes screeched as he stopped in a cloud of dust and swirling fall leaves.
He cut his eyes to her, trying to keep his voice level but failing. “You know what, Gin? I understand that you’re hurtin’. I’m hurtin’ too. But Woodman would be ashamed of the way you’re behavin’, and that’s the truth. Refusin’ to see his grave honored? Not visitin’ your gran? Lyin’ around all day in your pajamas? Not showerin’? Not takin’ care of yourself?”
“Oh, I’m sorry I’m not keepin’ myself to your high standards of feminine—”
“This has nothin’ to do with me. I could give a shit whether or not you deck yourself out to the nines every day, princess. This has to do with honorin’ his memory by livin’ your life with dignity. By bein’ the woman he loved even though he’s gone. That woman was spunky and strong. She was gorgeous and smart, sweet and carin’. Even when people thought she was breakable, she proved to all of them—to this whole goddamned town—that she wasn’t.”
Her nostrils flared, which was the only indication she’d heard him since she still stared out the windshield, expressionless. Finally he huffed out a long breath. “And you know what else? If that Ginger shows up—the one who my cousin loved so fuckin’ hard, the lionhearted l’il gal who didn’t let a broken heart keep her down—maybe let me know, huh? Because I’d surely like to see her again.”
He put the car in drive, burning rubber as he pulled away from the shoulder, and neither of them said a word until they reached her cottage. As soon as the truck came to a stop, she reached for the door, but Cain grabbed the hand closest to him and held it and squeezed it gently, trying to soften the blow of his words, trying to let her know that they came from a place of caring.
But she nailed him with furious eyes and jerked her hand away. “Don’t you touch me.”
Aw, Christ, he thought, shaking his head in frustration. Fine. Have it your way.
He narrowed his eyes at her. “Go see your grandmother, for fuck’s sake. She don’t have forever.”
“Screw you,” spat Ginger, hopping down from the truck and slamming the door behind her.
Chapter 25