CW: Move in with me.
The Princess: Soon.
CW: I love you.
The Princess: I love you too.
He tucked his phone back into his pocket, then ate the shitty food and attended the remedial classes that felt a little silly after six years of active service. But on Thursday night, lying in his bunk, he pulled out his phone again.
CW: How was work today, baby?
It took a little longer for her to respond this time, and he was almost asleep when his phone buzzed.
The Princess: Still here. Just leaving.
CW: Late shift?
The Princess: Spent a little extra time with Gran.
CW: How’s she doing?
The Princess: Not good. I wish you were here.
His heart twisted because he wished he was there too. For a moment he thought about calling her, but he knew that cell phone calls at Silver Springs were frowned upon.
CW: I’m halfway there. Day after tomorrow.
The Princess: I know. She’s just . . . I don’t know. She’s so frail and weak. And the tube is bothering her. I can see it in her eyes. She’s giving up.
Cain thought about Miz Kelleyanne—a woman he’d known his whole life. She’d been kind to him, an especially good friend since—
The Princess: How’s training?
CW: Mostly bullshit. But at least I don’t have to come back for four weeks.
The Princess: Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask, can we go away sometime? Together?
CW: Like on a vacation?
The Princess: Uh-huh. I’ve barely been anywhere.
Cain rolled onto his back, sighing with pleasure as he thought about all the wonderful places he’d seen on his travels—all the amazing places he’d like to take Ginger.
CW: Where do you want to go?
The Princess: Where would you take me?
He thought about her wearing a bikini on the white sand of Crete, or getting a tan poolside in Madrid. But when he thought of Ginger, really thought about who she was and what she loved, a different place sprang to mind, all the more perfect because it would be new to him.
CW: My pop always talks about the Lipizzaners. How do you feel about Vienna, baby?
The Princess: I wish you could see my face right now.
CW: Tell me how it looks.
The Princess: It looks happy because you are so right for me. It looks sad because it wishes you were here. It doesn’t know how to love someone this much, this hard, quite yet. My face doesn’t know what to do when you say the perfect thing. Yes, I want to go to Vienna with you.
CW: Then we’ll go to Vienna.
The Princess: Just like that?
CW: Just like that. We’ll go to the Spanish Riding School and see my pop’s horses, and then we’ll ride my bike all over Austria, all over Germany, wherever you want.
The Princess: And I’ll hold on to you.
CW: Fuck, yeah.
The Princess: And you’ll speak German.
CW: Scheisse, ja.
The Princess: I’m home now. And I’m not as sad. Thanks for cheering me up.
CW: I’d do anything for you, princess.
The Princess: Then come home to me on Saturday safe and sound. That’s all I want.
CW: See you then.
The Princess: I love you.
CW: I love you too.
Cain sighed as he placed his phone on the bedside table, dreaming of Ginger and motorcycles and white stallions and making love all over Europe.
When his alarm sounded, at 0600, the little red text icon was red and waiting, and he swiped it urgently, wondering if he’d missed one last sweet PS to last night’s conversation. He grinned at the screen, scrubbing a hand over his sleepy face, but his heart sank like a stone when he read the words that popped up on the screen:
The Princess: She’s with Amy, Cain. Gran’s gone.
Chapter 35
There is nothing good about a phone ringing at 4:43in the morning. Your mind acknowledges, even before your fingers can move, that something terrible has probably happened.
It’s not that she wasn’t expecting it. She was. Just not yet.
“Ginger, baby? It’s your daddy.”
That’s all it took. And she knew.
“When?” she asked.
“An hour ago. Or so. One of the night nurses stopped in to check on her and realized that she wasn’t breathin’.”
Ginger swung her legs over her bedside. “Are you there?”
“I am.”
“Momma?”
“I let her sleep,” he said. “But you . . . you had such a special bond with her.”
Yes, I did.
“Wright’s is comin’ soon.” He paused. “Virginia Laire?”
“I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to say good-bye,” she said, “before they take her. Don’t . . . don’t let them take her yet, Daddy.”
“I’ll be waitin’, baby.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, her eyes starting to burn as her brain processed the finality of Gran’s death.
“Me too, Ginger. But, all things considered, she had a good life. And she was loved.”
Yes, she was.
“I’ll be there soon, Daddy.”
She hung up her phone and clutched it in her hands for a moment, the quiet of Gran’s cottage surrounding her with the sort of peace she wasn’t expecting.