Ginger's Heart (A Modern Fairytale, #3)(90)

Her mother opened the door and peeked into the room. “Baby? The kitchen door was unlocked so I let myself in.”

“Hey, Momma,” she said, her voice soft and flat.

Unlike Ginger, who’d woken up numb after Cain left her this morning, her mother had been crying when Ginger stopped by the manor house a few hours ago, and from the looks of it, she still hadn’t stopped. Pressing a tissue to her eyes, she shook her head sadly and sat down on Ginger’s bed. “I just . . . I just can’t get my head around it. It’s just so awwwwwwful.”

“Yes.” Ginger caught her mother’s eyes in the mirror, then looked away quickly.

“Where you goin’? To pay your respects?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Tried to call Sophie a while ago. Howard said she wasn’t takin’ calls. Poor thing. I just . . . I just want to be there for her.”

Much good you’d do, thought Ginger, cryin’ all over the place.

Ginger looked at her watch. “I better get goin’, Momma.”

“Want me to come with you?”

“No, ma’am,” she said, looking at her mother’s tired, bloodshot eyes. “You rest. I’ll go.”

Miz Magnolia nodded sadly. “You were supposed to be wearin’ white in a few weeks, not black today.”

Ginger flinched but refused to examine the feelings that had elicited the instinctive response. Instead she said, “I’ll be stayin’ here at Gran’s cottage for a while longer, if that’s okay.”

Her mother looked up, dabbing at fresh tears. “Can’t see why not. Won’t need it for weddin’ guests anymore.” She sniffed delicately, then got up and left Ginger’s room, her face slightly dazed.

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.