Something inside Ginger clenched in anguish at her mother’s words, but again she shoved it down and ignored it, grabbing her purse from the bed and heading downstairs to drive to Wright Funeral Home.
She arrived at 2:55 to find Miz Sophie, Mr. Woodman, and Cain and his mother and her husband standing in the front foyer, waiting on their appointment. She avoided eye contact with Cain, but his mother, Miz Sarah, embraced Ginger as soon as she walked in, whispering her sympathies in Ginger’s ear and holding her tight. Mr. Johnson, whom Ginger had never met, offered his hand and also shared his condolences. But when Miz Sophie turned around to find Ginger standing there, her eyes were narrow and cold.
“What’re you doin’ here, Ginger?”
Ginger blinked at her in surprise.
“I invited her to come,” said Cain from behind her. “I thought she should be here.”
“Are you runnin’ the show now?” asked Miz Sophie, her eyes sharp and furious as she turned to glare at her nephew.
“No, ma’am. But Ginger is his fiancée, and I thought—”
“Was,” bit out Miz Sophie. “She was his—”
Mr. Wright opened the double doors to the conference room, cutting off Miz Sophie’s remarks. “Sympathies, Mr. Woodman. Miz Sophie. What a terrible thing.”
“Thank you, Dale,” said Howard Woodman, rubbing his bloodshot eyes. “Thanks for makin’ time today.”
“Of course. Of course,” said Dale Wright, his voice soothing as he put his arm around Howard’s shoulders. “Come on in and we’ll talk a while.”
Miz Sophie gave Ginger a look, but she didn’t actually tell her to leave, so Ginger followed robotically behind Cain and Mr. and Mrs. Johnson.
They took seats at an elegant cherry table, Mr. and Mrs. Woodman sitting across from Mr. Wright, with Ginger, Cain, and the Johnsons sitting farther down. Cain took the seat beside Ginger, and for a fleeting second she was comforted by his presence there, but something about that comfort felt too raw, so she took a deep breath and focused on Mr. Wright instead.
He started discussing details. There would be a viewing on Sunday evening so that friends and neighbors could pay their respects, and the funeral would take place in two days, on Monday. Ginger half listened, half zoned out, her body exhausted, her mind fuzzy and numb, but when Miz Sophie said that Woodman should be buried in his Navy uniform, her neck snapped up and she felt words—unsanctioned, unexpected words—suddenly come tumbling out of her mouth.
“No. His lieutenant uniform.”
“He wasn’t a lieutenant,” sniped Miz Sophie with a bite in her voice. “He was a seaman.”
“He’s a lieutenant at the fire department,” she said, her cheeks burning as she stared down at the table, finally flicking a glance up at Miz Sophie to add, “And he loves it.”
Miz Sophie’s eye flared with fury, and she cleared her throat, turning back to Mr. Wright. “We’ll bury him in his Navy whites. Like he would’ve wanted.”
“He wouldn’t have wanted that,” said Cain.
“He was my son,” said his aunt, completely ignoring Cain and skewering Ginger with her eyes. “Why are you even here? You aren’t family. You stole enough of his time while he was alive. You don’t get to have him in death!”
“She was Josiah’s fiancée,” pressed Cain, and she could feel anger being thrown off his body like heat, tightly coiled fury that he was only just managing to control. “She deserves a say.”
Miz Sophie raised her palms and slammed them down on the table, making it reverberate.
“FUCK YOU!” she screamed, her eyes fiercely shiny with tears that didn’t fall. “Are you tellin’ me what she deserves? I didn’t deserve to have my son die at twenty-four years old!” Her face was red and her voice trembled as she raised a shaking finger and pointed it at Cain. “You could have saved him! Why didn’t you save him?”
“He wasn’t supposed to be in there!” said Cain. “I didn’t even know. I tried to find him, but . . . ”
“But you didn’t. You didn’t save him, because you are a bad seed, Cain Wolfram. You are a selfish, self-servin’ troublemaker, and I don’t want you here! No one wants you here.”
“Sophie,” sobbed Sarah, shaking her head and reaching for her sister’s hand.
“Don’t you touch me, Sarah!” She turned on Cain again, standing up and flattening her hands on the table, shrugging away Mr. Woodman’s attempts to help her sit back down. “No one asked you here!”
“Wrong,” he said, his voice ragged and profoundly broken, but crystal clear. “Josiah . . .” He paused as a wheezing sound released from his throat, which spurred on a coughing fit. When he spoke again, his voice was softer. “Josiah asked me here. I came home because of him.”