Ginger's Heart (A Modern Fairytale, #3)(99)

“They did a nice job.”

She didn’t answer, just stared out the window.

“It was good that you went.”

Still nothing. No reaction.

“I been meanin’ to ask,” he said, an edge creeping into his voice. “How’s your gran doin’?”

“Haven’t been out much.” She looked over at him, her eyes flashing.

“She’s old, Ginger.”

“What do you know about my gran? Besides, it’s none of your business where I go and what I—”

He pulled the truck over to the side of the road, and the brakes screeched as he stopped in a cloud of dust and swirling fall leaves.

He cut his eyes to her, trying to keep his voice level but failing. “You know what, Gin? I understand that you’re hurtin’. I’m hurtin’ too. But Woodman would be ashamed of the way you’re behavin’, and that’s the truth. Refusin’ to see his grave honored? Not visitin’ your gran? Lyin’ around all day in your pajamas? Not showerin’? Not takin’ care of yourself?”

“Oh, I’m sorry I’m not keepin’ myself to your high standards of feminine—”

“This has nothin’ to do with me. I could give a shit whether or not you deck yourself out to the nines every day, princess. This has to do with honorin’ his memory by livin’ your life with dignity. By bein’ the woman he loved even though he’s gone. That woman was spunky and strong. She was gorgeous and smart, sweet and carin’. Even when people thought she was breakable, she proved to all of them—to this whole goddamned town—that she wasn’t.”

Her nostrils flared, which was the only indication she’d heard him since she still stared out the windshield, expressionless. Finally he huffed out a long breath. “And you know what else? If that Ginger shows up—the one who my cousin loved so f*ckin’ hard, the lionhearted l’il gal who didn’t let a broken heart keep her down—maybe let me know, huh? Because I’d surely like to see her again.”

He put the car in drive, burning rubber as he pulled away from the shoulder, and neither of them said a word until they reached her cottage. As soon as the truck came to a stop, she reached for the door, but Cain grabbed the hand closest to him and held it and squeezed it gently, trying to soften the blow of his words, trying to let her know that they came from a place of caring.

But she nailed him with furious eyes and jerked her hand away. “Don’t you touch me.”

Aw, Christ, he thought, shaking his head in frustration. Fine. Have it your way.

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Go see your grandmother, for f*ck’s sake. She don’t have forever.”

“Screw you,” spat Ginger, hopping down from the truck and slamming the door behind her.





Chapter 25


The next day, instead of sleeping until noon, Ginger woke up early, took a shower, blow-dried her hair, and changed into clean clothes. Then she climbed into the SUV she hadn’t used in over five weeks and drove to the Silver Springs Care Center to see her grandmother.

As she drove there, she promised herself that this decision had nothing to do with Cain’s pep talk yesterday, though her heart knew a lie when it heard one. His words had hurt her, made her feel self-pitying and weak, and he was right: Gran didn’t have forever, and Ginger had neglected her.

She stopped by a florist on her way over, picking up a peace offering of pink roses, but found when she entered Gran’s room that she’d been beaten to the punch. On her grandmother’s dresser and bedside table were vases of fresh wildflowers, cheering her room with their vibrant fall colors.

She shrugged. Daddy must have come by recently.

She set the roses on the blanket at the foot of Gran’s bed and pressed her lips to her grandmother’s forehead. It was smooth and warm, and Ginger inhaled deeply, the scent of marshmallows and coconut filling her with comfort.

“G-Gin?” Gran whispered, waking up slowly. “That . . . you, d-darlin’?”

“It’s me, Gran,” she said, sniffling as she wiped a tear away.

Her grandmother looked more frail since the last time she’d seen her, after Woodman’s funeral, and Ginger had a sudden burst of gratitude toward Cain, for his harsh words, which had challenged her to get up, get dressed, and go see her gran.

“D-doll baby,” said her grandmother, “it’s b-been . . . an . . . age.”

“I know, Gran. I’m so sorry,” she said, wiping away a tear. “I think I lost my way for a while there.”

“Are you . . . f-findin’ it . . . again?”

She managed a small smile as she sniffled again. “I think so. I hope so.”

“Isn’t easy . . . losing s-someone . . . you l-loved.”

He’s just away. He’s just away. He’s just away.

She clenched her jaw. “I’m not ready to . . . to talk about him, Gran. Not yet.”

“If you . . . d-don’t, you’re g-gonna . . . c-c-collapse under . . . the w-w-weight . . . of your s-sorrow.”

Ginger stood up and plucked the bouquet of flowers from Gran’s blanket, fixing a bright smile on her face. “I brought you flowers, but it looks like someone else had the same idea. Daddy stop by recently?”