One Wish (Thunder Point #7)(48)

Ray Anne had seen Ginger four times in the months since the baby died. She hadn’t been looking good then. She wasn’t looking any better now. As Ray Anne walked toward Ginger, who was pulling her suitcase out of the trunk, she thought perhaps the girl was steadily deteriorating. She was far too thin, that was obvious even while she wore her coat. She was pale under her freckled complexion and her expression had become permanently downcast. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail; the beautiful strawberry blonde locks had gone dull and dark. She obviously hadn’t done a thing to it in months.

“There you are!” Ray Anne said cheerily. “I was starting to get worried!”

“I stopped to look at the ocean,” Ginger said.

“Well, of course! I should have thought of that! But now you’re here, let’s get your things inside.”

“I’ve got it,” Ginger said, snapping up the pull handle.

“Is that all you’ve got? One bag?”

“It’s all I need,” she said.

“Well, I guess you’ll be doing laundry then. Come on, let’s get you settled.” Ray Anne took the handle of the suitcase and pulled it up the walk and into the house. “I cleaned out the guest room and the bathroom, so it’s all yours. I put some pampering things in there for you—soaps, lotions, candles. Did you bring a hair dryer?”

“I don’t need one.”

No wonder her hair was so flat and thin looking. She must be washing it and letting it dry any which way. And she wasn’t using any product! “We can share mine. Or maybe we’ll get you a new one.”

“Really. I’m fine.”

“Right in here,” Ray Anne said briskly, pulling the suitcase into the newly painted and decorated bedroom. “Voilà!” she said, throwing an arm wide to showcase her decorating.

“Thanks,” Ginger said, not noticing how pretty it was. “I’ll just lay down for a while.”

“No, ma’am,” Ray Anne said, lifting the suitcase onto the bed. “We’re going to unpack, hang and put away your clothes.” She unzipped the suitcase and found the items inside had shifted because it wasn’t even full. Or maybe they hadn’t and Ginger had just haphazardly tossed them inside. She lifted out the first pair of wrinkled jeans. Then a second. Then a long-sleeved T-shirt. Then an old sweatshirt that she might have used when she painted something...years ago. And her underwear—pathetic.

“Oh, brother,” Ray Anne muttered.

Ginger just sat on the bed. She didn’t respond.

“Are we even related?” Ray Anne asked her. She lifted a dingy pair of granny panties and let them dangle from one finger. “Do we share any DNA at all?”

Ginger shrugged. “Just wasn’t a priority, Ray. Why bother?”

Ray Anne sat on the edge of the bed and took one of Ginger’s hands. “I’ll tell you why we bother. Because there are things you can do to try to get beyond devastating pain. They might be small, stupid things, but they actually help a little. Things like fixing yourself up so you look better than you feel. Getting out helps—you have to live in this world. Work helps. Meaningful work, if possible, and that’s something different for everyone, but keeping busy instead of lying in bed and making constant love to the hurt—that can help. Tell me something—are you taking anything?”

“Like what?”

“Like tranquilizers or antidepressants or anything?”

“Not anymore,” she said. “They weren’t working. And I kept thinking about swallowing the whole bottle.”

Ray Anne gasped. “Jesus,” she muttered. She wondered if she should hide all pills from Aspirin to hormones. And sharp objects. She stiffened her spine resolutely. “All right, I have to run a quick errand I put off while waiting for you to get here so you wouldn’t find me gone when you arrived. I want you to put away your clothes in this chest and the closet. Then put the empty suitcase in the closet. Do that before you lie down. From what your daddy tells me, you’ve perfected napping and I’m willing to bet you’re all caught up on sleep. I’ll be back in fifteen or twenty minutes.”

“All right,” Ginger said, standing.

When Ginger hung her coat in the closet, Ray Anne noticed her jeans were sagging off her flat butt and her tennis shoes were beat-up. The girl was a complete mess. Her attire and body language were such a put off, holding back any well-intentioned person, it was as if she longed to go it alone and wallow in grief.

“Do you have my cell number?” Ray Anne asked.

“Probably,” she said.

“Where’s your phone?”

“I don’t know. Probably in my purse. It’s turned off.”

“Why is it turned off?”

Ginger flashed her an angry look. “Because no one’s going to call me! And there’s no one I want to talk to!”

“Is that so?” Ray Anne asked without flinching. “Well, your father and I were trying to reach you to see if you’d had a problem on your drive and we went straight to voice mail, worrying us even more. Now, I can understand if you’re avoiding calls, but is it either fair or kind to ignore people who love you and are concerned about you? If you want to do this to yourself forever, I don’t suppose anyone can convince you otherwise, but your parents suffered a painful loss, as well, and I don’t think they can deal with another one. I’m going to call them and tell them you arrived safely. Meanwhile, please turn on your phone. Charge it. Whatever. I’ll be back in twenty.”