Ginger's Heart (A Modern Fairytale, #3)(30)
Cain rolled down his window and leaned his elbow on the sill, his mind shifting to the moment he’d heard that Josiah was en route to Morón. Without a full account of his cousin’s injuries, Cain had been almost paralyzed by the fear that Josiah’s wounds were mortal, and had headed straightaway to his commanding officer, demanding, with all the composure he could muster, to be released from duty immediately so he could follow Josiah’s transport. He’d be forever grateful for the compassionate calm that Lieutenant Carlson had shown, directing a distraught Cain into private quarters to explain the extent of Woodman’s injuries and assure Cain that, while his foot was in grave danger, his life, most likely, was not.
After a full report on Woodman’s condition later that day, Cain had formally requested leave and headed straight to Germany, where he spent a few hours every day keeping Woodman company. When Woodman wasn’t totally out of it from the constant drip of pain meds, they’d play cards or swap stories about their shared childhood and their past three years in the service. The rest of the time, Cain’s German came in handy as he caught up on a couple years’ worth of sex with many a Rhineland Fr?uleins.
Woodman’s injuries notwithstanding, it was a strange and unexpected time of mending and healing for the cousins. Cain’s priorities had shifted while they were away from home, his experiences in the Navy molding him from an unruly lump of clay, little by little, into the man he wanted to be. He’d learned loyalty and discipline, brotherhood and responsibility, and tied inexorably to this experience and growth had been Josiah—his cousin, practically his brother, and the best friend he’d ever known. He wanted and needed his cousin in his life, and he was determined not to act with the same selfishness he’d exercised as a teenager. Now that he felt the full measure of Josiah’s camaraderie restored, he never, ever wanted to lose it again.
Prior to his transfer from Germany to Maryland, Woodman, who’d held out hope of making a full recovery, was advised that his career as a damage controlman was over and that his file had been remanded for retirement approval. Cain watched in horror as his cousin’s indomitable spirit dipped dramatically, his eyes filling with uncharacteristic tears at the terrible finality of naval retirement at only twenty-one. In a sudden act of solidarity, Cain found himself promising that he’d meet Josiah at Walter Reed so they could drive home together. His cousin seemed encouraged by the idea that he’d have a wingman for the transition home, and Cain kept his promise, strolling into Woodman’s hospital room three days ago and flashing the keys to a rental car.
“Hey, cuz! Ready to go home?” he asked with a grin.
Woodman lifted his eyes, and Cain worked hard not to register the surprise he felt at the changes in his cousin’s appearance. Sitting in a wheelchair by a window, he looked like a caged animal who’d given up the hope of returning to the wild. He still had the muscle tone he’d built up over the past few years, so his chest was wide and strong under a thin blue hospital gown, but his face was bony and sallow, his eyes dull and discouraged, his beard shaggy.
“Cain,” he said softly, mustering a small smile. “Good to see you, man.”
“Josiah.” Cain had sat down in the chair beside his cousin. “You look . . . rough.”
“Don’t lie to me, huh?”
“I’m not a good bullshitter.”
“Since when?”
Cain scoffed softly. “You workin’ out?”
Josiah’s eyes narrowed. “I’m crippled.”
“One foot.” Cain slid his eyes to his cousin’s other foot, which was bare and in perfect condition. “Other one looks A-OK, sailor.”
To Cain’s horror, Josiah’s lips trembled. “I’m not . . .” He cleared his throat and continued in a stronger voice. “I’m not a sailor anymore.”
“Stop talkin’ crazy. You’ll be a sailor until you die.”
Looking down at his lap, Josiah muttered, “Part of me sorta wishes that day would come sooner’n later.”
The rest of Cain stiffened except for his left hand, which darted out and slapped his cousin’s face hard enough to leave a red handprint. Staring at each other in shock, Cain mumbled, “You talk like that again, I’ll break your neck.”
Josiah’s lip started trembling again, but to Cain’s relief, his cousin was on the verge of laughter, not tears. “Well, that’d hurry things along!” he finally said between gasps of mirth.
Cain joined him, laughing along, but inside he was deeply troubled by Woodman’s despondency and made a silent promise to do everything he possibly could to get his cousin back on his feet, proverbially and actually, before Cain had to return to his post.
Over the past three days at Walter Reed, slowly but surely, Woodman brooded less and laughed more in Cain’s company. But in every quiet moment, Cain saw the profound change in his cousin—the frustration and anger brimming just beneath the surface, the fatigue and despair—and he hated it. Of the two of them, Woodman had always been the golden boy, kind and smart, decent and popular, destined for great things. Even in high school, when his torn ACL had sidelined him from Annapolis, Woodman had managed to pick up his spirits, rehab his leg, and find another path for his life. With gusto. But now? He just seemed so goddamned hopeless, and it worried Cain.
Added to his worries about Woodman, he wasn’t that excited about going home after three years away. Things in his life had changed quite a lot since he’d left Apple Valley, and he wasn’t sure of where he would fit in or—in light of his behavior in high school—what his welcome would be like.