Ginger's Heart (A Modern Fairytale, #3)(144)

Hold on to each other, and know that I am standing beside Amy and Josiah, celebrating your happiness from heaven.



Your devoted,

Gran

***

Tears wet the precious paper, so Ginger folded it carefully and slipped it back into the envelope, then laid it gently on the bed so she could hold Gran’s hand with both of hers.

“Thank you, Gran. Thank you.”

“She couldn’t write anymore,” said her father from behind her, holding out a steaming cup of coffee, “but she was lucid. They were her true thoughts, Virginia Laire.”

“On Thanksgivin’,” she said, searching her father’s face, “when you sent me down to Klaus’s place with the pie, you knew. You knew he was visitin’ Gran.”

Her father nodded. “More importantly, I knew he was bringin’ you back from the dead.”

She held the warm paper cup in her hands. “I guess he did.”

“I was never fond of Cain. Didn’t trust his wild ways. But he grew up into a fine man, Ginger. I’d be, well, that is, someday I’d be proud to call him my son.”

“Daddy,” she whispered, chiding him gently. “We’re not there yet.”

“Furthermore, I was wrong to let your momma shelter you so much. Woodman was a good man, but Cain is strong. He changed the whole course of his life to be worthy of you, daughter. He loves you somethin’ fierce. Always has, I reckon. Always will.”

“I know,” she said, managing a small smile. “I know he does, Daddy.”

Her father sat down at his mother’s feet and looked at her face, which looked peaceful, like she was sleeping soundly. “She was somethin’, huh? Always had to get the last word.”

I am celebrating your happiness from heaven.

“Yes, sir,” said Ginger, turning to look at Gran’s lovely face for the last time. “She was somethin’.”

Thank you.

***

After the Wrights took Gran’s body away, her father headed to the Apple Valley Diner to get some breakfast before heading home. She joined him there, pushing her eggs around her plate and thinking about Gran and Woodman and Cain. Once upon a time, they had been the three most important people in her life, and now two out of the three were gone. And although that notion should have made her feel terrifyingly lonesome, she found that the person she missed the most was not Woodman or Gran, but Cain. She longed for him with a desperate pang of self-pity, wishing he would suddenly appear and wrap her in his arms so she’d feel strong and whole.

She looked out the window at the cold, rainy day, part of her expecting him to suddenly appear on the sidewalk, but he wasn’t there, of course. He was in Louisville until tomorrow night, which meant that she would have to bear her sorrow alone for a little longer.

“You want anythin’ else?” asked her father, and she shook her head no. “Want to meet me at Wright’s later on today? They said the wake’ll be on Monday night and the fun’ral on Tuesday mornin’. Not too much to arrange, really.”

“I’ll be there, Daddy.”

“Your momma never much liked your gran.”

Ginger shrugged. “Her loss.”

“She felt threatened, I think. My momma was a force to be reckoned with.”

“And mine isn’t?” asked Ginger.

Her father chuckled softly. “I think she’s mellowin’ with age.”

“As long as she understands that Colin Greenvale and I aren’t happenin’.”

“I’ll have a word, let her know that Cain might be comin’ around more often.”

“You don’t have to do that,” she said. “Cain and I are still very . . . new.”

“And here I thought the whole point of your gran’s letter was that, actually, you aren’t.”

Her father took twenty dollars from his billfold and laid it on the table, then stood up and slid from the booth. “Three o’clock at Wright’s, daughter. See you there.”

As she drove home, the rain started falling harder, until her windshield wipers were slamming back and forth and the windshield still wasn’t clear.

Which was why she didn’t see Cain waiting on her front porch until she was running into the house.

She stopped in her tracks, the cold rain pelting her as she stared up at him.

He was wearing blue camouflage fatigues with thick black boots. In his hand he held his blue cap, and he worried it between his hands, searching her eyes gravely as she approached.

When she stopped, he rushed down the steps and grabbed her hand, pulling her under the awning and into his arms.

“Are you AWOL?” she asked.

“No, baby,” he said, “I got permission to leave as soon as I got your text.”

Her eyes closed, and she let all her sadness, all her weariness, rush forth, making her body sag against him. He swooped her into his arms. “Where’s your key?”

She nestled into his neck, sighing with relief. “Extra one’s always over the door.”

Holding her with one arm, he reached up and felt for the key, then opened the door and stepped into her kitchen. He used his elbow to close the door, then stepped from the kitchen into her small sitting room and sat down on the couch, still holding her in his arms.