Cain’s eyes were wild and cold as he looked at his cousin. His expression was fierce but inscrutable, even for Woodman, who knew him so well. He read a mixture of frustration and sadness, anger and regret, but there was so much more—and for a moment, Woodman felt like he was seeing the root of the deep conflict between them. The distance that Woodman had felt for years now was simmering and seething just beneath the surface of all the commonplace emotions Woodman could identify. But before he could figure it out, Cain dropped Woodman’s eyes and looked down at the ground, muttering, “You take her, Josiah.”
“She’s not fuckin’ expectin’ me, you monumental asshole. You fuckin’ kissed her, Cain, Might have meant diddly-squat to you, but it fuckin’ meant somethin’ to her.” Woodman put his hands on his hips, shaking his head in despair. “Jesus, brother. You can’t keep treatin’ people like this. Like shit on the bottom of your shoes.”
“It was a mistake,” said Cain softly, after sucking a breath through his teeth, the blood from his nose starting to dry a dull maroon on his upper lip. “She was sad about us leavin’, sad that her date to the dance got sick and canceled. I was only aimin’ to comfort her a little, and then . . . and then . . .”
“Your fuckin’ tongue found its way down her throat.”
Cain’s head snapped up, and he searched Woodman’s eyes. His voice was low and taunting when he murmured, “You know what, Josiah, you self-righteous fuckin’ prick? She wasn’t exactly complainin’.”
Woodman’s arms shot back, and his hands flattened on Cain’s chest, pushing with all his might. Cain stumbled backward, ending up on his ass. He didn’t get up, sitting in the grass and looking up at his cousin in defeat.
“Shut up already and take her to the goddamn dance, Josiah. Just fuckin’ take her,” said Cain, his voice resigned, the frustration and anger seeping from his eyes until only sorrow remained. “You know you want to.”
Woodman nodded, staring down at his cousin in disgust. He spat on the ground right near Cain’s hip, then swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “Fine. I will. I will clean up your mess once again.” He started to turn away, then paused and looked down at Cain, hands on his hips. The setting sun shone brightly in Woodman’s eyes, which meant he was barely able to make out Cain’s face. “But this is the last time. You hear me, Cain? The last time. You’re on your own from now on.”
Cain, who’d rested his elbows on his bent knees, looked up at Woodman, blocking the sun, and his icy blue eyes flashed white-hot in the dying light. “We’re headed to boot camp tomorrow. Together. In the Buddy Program.”
Woodman raised his chin, looking down his nose with wide, furious eyes. “Well, that is just a sorry fuckin’ coincidence now because I am finished cleanin’ up after you, buddy. Sink or swim startin’ tomorrow, but you’ll do it on your own. I ain’t steppin’ in for you ever again. You ain’t my problem no more, Cain.”
“Josiah—”
“No more,” Woodman repeated firmly, then he turned and walked away.
***
As he pulled into the circular driveway in front of his parents’ white plantation-style mansion, Belle Royale, Woodman looked at the clock on the dashboard. Six fifteen. He had but forty minutes to shower, shave, dress, and find some flowers in his momma’s garden before driving back to McHuid’s. And though, yes, he knew that some part of Ginger might be disappointed that he was taking her instead of Cain, Woodman’s excitement grew with every passing minute because tonight was their first date. And though he wished it had happened a different way, he couldn’t deny that there was no one on earth with whom he’d rather spend his final night at home.
But first, he had to break the news to his parents that he wouldn’t be joining them for dinner. Walking into the house, he beelined through the breezeway to the back patio, where he found his parents sipping a chilled chardonnay and watching the sunset over the rolling pastures behind their estate.
“Josiah!” greeted his mother. “We expected you an hour ago! Go change, dear. Our reservation at the country club is for six thirty. You’ll have just enough time for a cocktail with us before we go.”
She tried to smile at him but sniffled a little, her eyes sad.
“Aw, Momma,” said Woodman, walking through the open French doors and sitting gingerly on the arm of her wicker chair. “Don’t, now.”
Drawing a handkerchief out of her sleeve, she dabbed at her eyes. “I just don’t understand why you’d go and enlist.”
“We’ve been over this,” he said, seeking his father’s eyes for solidarity, but his father took a sip of his wine and looked away, ashing his cigar on the patio bricks. “I wanted to serve. I missed my shot at Annapolis, and I—”
“You could’ve gone to college and done ROTC,” his mother half wailed. “You could’ve gone to Officer Candidate School after you got your bachelor’s degree. But enlist? Like a common—”
“Now, Sophie,” said his father, letting his rocking chair rock forward so he could pat his wife’s knee gently. He looked up at his son. “What your mother’s tryin’ to say is that enlistin’ is fine for someone like Cain, what with his low character and all those danged stunts he pulled in high school, gettin’ suspended every other month and such, but you? You could’ve done your service another way.”
“A safer way,” put in Sophie.
Woodman scowled. “And here I thought you’d be proud of me for servin’ my country.”