And then, as if given permission to finally let go, whatever breath was left in Josiah Asher Woodman’s lungs escaped in a peaceful sigh, and he lay, limp and lost, in his cousin’s arms, sightless staring up at the sky.
Cain lurched up to a sitting position, and a gurgled scream rose from the depths of his being as he put his hands on Woodman’s shoulders and shook his cousin. “NO! FUCK, JOSIAH! No! No! Don’t you go. Don’t you leave me alone! No! You hang on. You fuckin’ hang on. Josiah! Josiiiiiiiiah . . . ”
His cousin’s name became a wail, a sobbed lullaby, a lament, and a terrible plea for something—for someone—who was already gone.
***
Woodman’s body was placed in the back of the ambulance, and Cain stood in his bunker coat and pants, blinking in shock as he watched it drive away into the night. He watched until the red headlights were pinpoints in the darkness, until they finally disappeared.
Fred Atkins had called Aunt Sophie and Uncle Howard to meet Woodman at the hospital. He hadn’t told them that their son was dead. That was news, apparently, that they’d receive upon arrival at All Saints. Cain ran a hand through his hair as he fully recognized the nightmare they were about to walk into.
Fred and Scott had encouraged Cain to head to the hospital in the ambulance with Woodman to be with his grieving aunt and uncle, but there was someone else who needed to be told about what had happened, and she deserved to hear it directly from him, not from some well-meaning firefighter she’d known for the past couple of years. Whatever choices she’d made that Cain disdained, she had made Woodman happy. Telling Ginger fell to him.
He heard footsteps behind him and turned to see Scott Hayes approaching.
“Cain,” he said softly, his face a mask of sorrow, “I’m so goddamned sorry.” Cain clenched his jaw to keep his tears at bay and nodded. “Fred asked if I’d stop by Ginger’s place and—”
“No,” said Cain. “I’ll tell her.”
“You sure?”
He nodded again. “Yeah. I, uh, I’ve known her forever. It should come from me.”
Scott’s eyes were heavy, and his face was covered in soot, a reminder that the last moments Cain had had with Woodman he owed, in part, to Scott’s bravery.
“You were the only one who followed me in,” said Cain. “Thanks for that. I owe you.”
“Maybe this ain’t the right time but . . . ” Scott shrugged. “I love my wife. I don’t kid myself that I was her first, but I love that woman. I know which ones treated her like shit and which ones didn’t. You never bragged about her, never talked dirty about her behind her back, never made her feel like trash. That meant a lot to her. And she means a lot to me. So you’re welcome, but you don’t owe me nothin’.” He paused, swiping at his eyes. “Huge fuckin’ loss, your cousin. Wish I’d gotten there sooner.”
“Me too,” said Cain, choking back tears.
Scott reached in his pocket and held out the keys to his official AVFD SUV. “I’ll get a ride with one of the guys. You go set with Ginger a spell. Won’t be easy.”
“I don’t . . . I don’t know how to tell her . . . ”
Cain swallowed over the lump in his throat. He had no idea what to say, no idea what to tell her, how to look into the eyes of someone he’d known his entire life and say the words, Woodman’s gone. He could barely think them, let alone say them.
He cleared his throat, using his thumb and forefinger to rub his burning eyes, feeling helpless and horrified and sick with grief.
Scott put his hand on Cain’s shoulder. “The words’ll come.”
“Yeah,” he murmured, staring down at the ground. “Thanks, Scott.”
Without looking back, he strode away, toward Scott’s truck, and let the tears fall freely as he drove from Laurel Ridge Farm to Woodman’s house, where he assumed he’d find Ginger. As he was driving, his mother called, her own voice thick with tears.
“Cain, it can’t be true!”
“Momma,” he sobbed. “I didn’t get there in time.”
“Oh, baby. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Cain. The doctor at the hospital had to give Sophie a sedative. Howard just called. I’ll be there tonight. Jim’s drivin’ me down. We’ll be at Sophie’s. Come and meet me over there in an hour or so.”
He nodded. “Yeah. I got somethin’ to do first.”
“Cain . . . don’t go drinkin’.”
“No, Momma,” he said. “Nothin’ like that. I’ll, uh, I’ll see you over at Aunt Sophie’s later.” Before she could say anything else, he hung up the phone, wiping his eyes and concentrating on the road.
His body ached, but his heart, oh God, his heart felt like someone had taken a club and smashed the shit out of it. It felt battered and raw, bloody and broken. His lungs were still congested too, but he had no interest in seeing a doctor. He’d be okay in a few days.
Turning down Main Street, he held the steering wheel with an iron grip at a red light.
What the fuck are you goin’ to say? How are you goin’ to tell her this?