Her Amy’s back. She can see her and talk to her, and maybe it doesn’t hurt as much anymore.
Tears tumbled down her cheeks as his words gave her the strength to send him a quick text before getting up to get dressed.
It was still dark as she walked down the stairs to the kitchen, grabbed her keys, and headed out to her car. The tack room was dark as she passed the barn; the world was still fast asleep. She didn’t know why she insisted on saying good-bye at Silver Springs—Gran’s soul had departed for heaven hours before—but her body, as Ginger had always known it, would be poked and prodded into final prettiness once the Wrights took her. While it was still night, she wanted to say her final good-bye.
She pulled into the parking lot and used her employee pass to open the side door and take the service elevator to her gran’s floor. Her father sat in a chair by his mother’s body, holding her bony hand, his head bent, his shoulder shaking.
“Daddy?”
“Hey, baby,” he said, looking up her, his eyes red-rimmed and shiny.
She put her hand on his shoulder, and he reached up with his free hand to hold it. “She passed quietly, they said.”
“She’s with Amy now,” said Ginger.
Her father nodded. “That’s right.”
“Dr. Sheridan?”
“Came by with his condolences.”
She sat down on the bed bedside Gran’s lifeless body. “Why don’t you go splash your face with water and get us a couple of coffees? I’ll stay with her.”
It was the exact same line she’d used a thousand times to family members who’d lost an elderly loved one, and her father, like all the rest, nodded his ascent and stood up.
As he got to the door, he turned. “She, uh, she wanted you to have this.” He held out an envelope with her name on it.
“She wrote it?”
“Her words. I just wrote them down.”
Ginger took the envelope and stared at it, slightly dumbstruck.
“Cream? Sugar?”
“Both.” She turned the envelope over and opened it. Before she took the letter out, she took Gran’s hand and kissed it. “Thank you for this. Whatever it is, thank you for one last conversation.”
***
January 2016
Doll baby,
I am fading fast now.
So fast that I don’t always know you for the first few minutes you walk into my room, though your smile fills me with joy. And when I realize, “That’s your beautiful granddaughter,” I am filled with pride.
A long time ago, a beautiful little girl who knew two cousins asked me, “What do I do if I love them both?” and I answered, “Someday you’ll have to choose.” What I didn’t know was that your heart had already chosen. That day, so long ago, you’d already decided on Cain. Maybe you’d been born loving Cain. It doesn’t matter why or how you started loving him. He was your heart’s desire from the beginning, and I was frightened for you, and I wondered if the compass in your heart was broken.
A few years later, you came to see me, so excited that he’d asked you to a dance and desperate for me to love him as you did. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t give you my blessing because I didn’t trust him. I believe my exact words went something like this: “I’m not saying he’s bad. But I am saying if there’s a good man hiding in there, I’d surely like to see him before I tell my only granddaughter that she’s betting on the right horse.”
Not long after that, he broke your heart.
It was a confirmation that everyone was right about him—Cain Wolfram wasn’t a good man. And I was glad when he went away and you seemed to switch your affections to Josiah.
Except that you didn’t.
Your heart—that little lion heart that had always roared with love for Cain—still loved him, and—I confess, doll baby—I hated him for his hold over you because I still couldn’t see any good in him.
And yet the longer he stayed away, the more I lost my strong, brave girl. You became a shell of yourself, Ginger. Without Cain to love, I think you forgot who you were. And over time, I became desperate for his return. I wanted him to come back and breathe life into you like Adam did for Eve. I thought to myself, Yes, Cain might break her again, but at least she’ll be alive to feel the pain.
Except that Josiah died.
And part of you seemed to die with him.
Cain will be angry with me for telling you that he came to see me a month after Woodman’s passing. I knew who he was right away—his unusual blue eyes were singular in Apple Valley parish—but I couldn’t imagine why he was visiting me, and to my everlasting shame, I was cold to him and asked him to leave.