Ginger's Heart (A Modern Fairytale, #3)(62)

She giggled, and Woodman’s mother swatted at her playfully. “Magnolia Lee, you are so baaaaad!”

But Miz Magnolia preened, winking at Sophie before fixing her eyes on Ginger. “You’ve been waitin’ for Woodman to come on home now, haven’t you, Virginia? Well, here he is. What’re you goin’ to do about it?”

Ginger’s cheeks flushed as she stared down at her full plate. She’d barely eaten a bite, and she seemed especially fragile tonight. It made him feel worried, and he was anxious for dinner to be over so he could speak to her alone.

“You are lookin’ just fine, Woodman, bum foot notwithstandin’,” boomed Ranger McHuid from the opposite side of the table.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Damn proud of you for servin’ like you did,” Ranger continued, helping himself to a third and fourth scoop of mashed potatoes.

“It was my honor to serve, sir.”

“Chip off the old block, eh, Howard?”

Woodman’s father nodded, taking a serving of ham and reaching for the saucer of honey on the table. “That’s right. Woodmans are naval men. Josiah carried on a fine tradition.”

Sophie smiled at her son indulgently, then flicked her eyes to a despondent Ginger. “Magnolia, your Ginger here arrived at my house last Monday in the sweetest little violet outfit.”

Ginger’s mother cut her eyes to her daughter with disapproval. “You did not wear your scruffs to Miz Sophie’s house!”

“Scrubs, Momma,” said Ginger quietly, by rote.

“Tsk! My God, I don’t understand this fascination with bedpans and old people. It’s just so unpleasant, daughter.”

“It’s your life, not theirs,” Ginger said in a broken, faraway voice.

Woodman kicked her lightly under the table with his good foot, warning her not to engage. It would only make it worse.

“You say somethin’, miss?” asked Miz Magnolia, finishing her third glass of Chablis and nailing her daughter with narrowed eyes. “You say somethin’ to the momma who pays for your SUV, let you lives in her cottage rent free, pays for your schoolin’, and doles out your generous allowance?”

“No, ma’am.”

She turned to her friend. “Sophie, you think our grandbabies will look more Woodman or McHuid?”

Woodman gave his mother a pleading look, which she ignored.

“A fair mix of both, I hope.”

“Don’t you hog my grandbabies, Sophie, you hear?”

“Why, Magnolia, I believe you’re worried I’ll be more popular.”

When neither Woodman nor Ginger engaged in their deeply embarrassing silliness, it lost its fun, and Miz Magnolia asked his mother if she’d heard about the latest scandal involving the Methodist pastor and Mrs. McGaskell from the choir.

“Let’s get out of here,” said Woodman softly, and Ginger, whose face had been set in misery since the meal started, looked up at him with tears in her eyes and nodded gratefully.

“Gin and I are goin’ for a walk,” he said, clutching the table to stand up on his good leg as Ginger retrieved his crutches from the corner of the room and brought them to him.

“What a fine idea,” said Miz Magnolia. “But just neckin’, you hear?”

“Jesus, Momma!” yelled Ginger in the first show of spirit Woodman had seen all night.

“Don’t you dare cuss at me, daughter!”

Ginger huffed loudly, biting back whatever smart-ass comment was on the tip of her tongue, then turned and beelined out of the room, leaving Woodman to hobble behind. He found her sitting outside on the porch swing, arms crossed over her chest, eyes brimming with tears, looking a combination of dismal and furious.

“You’d think it wouldn’t be so much fun for them after ten years,” she said.

Woodman chuckled at her pique. “They were worse’n usual today.”

“They treat us like Daddy’s horses. Go breed us some grandbabies, daughter! It’s disgustin’.”

“Aw, come on, now. They’ve always been a little silly about us.”

“It’s just a big game for them—who we love, who we want.”

Who do you love, Gin? Who do you want?

Maneuvering himself as best he could, he plopped down beside her on the swing, and she moved a little to the left to give him some room.

Before their mothers had made tonight’s supper the most embarrassing on record, he’d noticed how quiet and distracted Ginger seemed. She barely said a word during dinner, and Woodman’s mind had segued easily to the awkward ending of his conversation with Cain on Thursday afternoon, when he’d left on his motorcycle in such a hurry after Woodman brought up Ginger.

He remembered the way Ginger used to look at Cain when they were kids, like he turned on the stars every night, and suddenly Woodman had a strong suspicion that something had happened between them this week. Something complicated. Something that was pulling them both away from him and hurtling them toward each other.

“Ginger,” he started.

“I’m nobody’s puppet, Woodman,” she said, turning to look at him.

“I know that,” he said gently. “You’ve always had a mind of your own, darlin’.”

She took a deep breath and sighed. “Even if you want to control people, you can’t. Our hearts make decisions that our heads don’t even approve. We can barely control ourselves. And nothin’—nothin’ on earth—ever works out the exact way you want it to.”