Ginger's Heart (a modern fairytale) (29 page)

“Pl-l-lease,” he murmured through the wetness.

“No!” Cain cried, clutching his cousin closer, leaning down to press his forehead to Woodman’s and willing every ounce of strength in his body into his cousin’s.
Stay with me. Stay with me. Oh God, stay with me.
“No! I ain’t promisin’ nothin’! Don’t you fuckin’ leave me, Josiah! You’re goin’ home to Ginger. You’re gonna be—”

“P-promise,” said Woodman, his voice less than a whisper, his lungs failing as his deep green eyes swam with tears.

“Yes!” he wailed, pressing his cheek to Woodman’s, their tears mixing where their skin touched. “I fuckin’ promise! Josiah, I promise.” He sobbed, clenching his eyes shut, his voice breaking. “I promise.”

And then, as if given permission to finally let go, whatever breath was left in Josiah Asher Woodman’s lungs escaped in a peaceful sigh, and he lay, limp and lost, in his cousin’s arms, sightless staring up at the sky.

Cain lurched up to a sitting position, and a gurgled scream rose from the depths of his being as he put his hands on Woodman’s shoulders and shook his cousin. “NO! FUCK, JOSIAH! No! No! Don’t you go. Don’t you leave me alone! No! You hang on. You fuckin’ hang on. Josiah! Josiiiiiiiiah . . . ”

His cousin’s name became a wail, a sobbed lullaby, a lament, and a terrible plea for something—for some
one
—who was already gone.

***

Woodman’s body was placed in the back of the ambulance, and Cain stood in his bunker coat and pants, blinking in shock as he watched it drive away into the night. He watched until the red headlights were pinpoints in the darkness, until they finally disappeared.

Fred Atkins had called Aunt Sophie and Uncle Howard to meet Woodman at the hospital. He hadn’t told them that their son was dead. That was news, apparently, that they’d receive upon arrival at All Saints. Cain ran a hand through his hair as he fully recognized the nightmare they were about to walk into.

Fred and Scott had encouraged Cain to head to the hospital in the ambulance with Woodman to be with his grieving aunt and uncle, but there was someone else who needed to be told about what had happened, and she deserved to hear it directly from him, not from some well-meaning firefighter she’d known for the past couple of years. Whatever choices she’d made that Cain disdained, she had made Woodman happy. Telling Ginger fell to him.

He heard footsteps behind him and turned to see Scott Hayes approaching.

“Cain,” he said softly, his face a mask of sorrow, “I’m so goddamned sorry.” Cain clenched his jaw to keep his tears at bay and nodded. “Fred asked if I’d stop by Ginger’s place and—”

“No,” said Cain. “I’ll tell her.”

“You sure?”

He nodded again. “Yeah. I, uh, I’ve known her forever. It should come from me.”

Scott’s eyes were heavy, and his face was covered in soot, a reminder that the last moments Cain had had with Woodman he owed, in part, to Scott’s bravery.

“You were the only one who followed me in,” said Cain. “Thanks for that. I owe you.”

“Maybe this ain’t the right time but . . . ” Scott shrugged. “I love my wife. I don’t kid myself that I was her first, but I love that woman. I know which ones treated her like shit and which ones didn’t. You never bragged about her, never talked dirty about her behind her back, never made her feel like trash. That meant a lot to her. And she means a lot to me. So you’re welcome, but you don’t owe me nothin’.” He paused, swiping at his eyes. “Huge fuckin’ loss, your cousin. Wish I’d gotten there sooner.”

“Me too,” said Cain, choking back tears.

Scott reached in his pocket and held out the keys to his official AVFD SUV. “I’ll get a ride with one of the guys. You go set with Ginger a spell. Won’t be easy.”

“I don’t . . . I don’t know how to tell her . . . ”

Cain swallowed over the lump in his throat. He had no idea what to say, no idea what to tell her, how to look into the eyes of someone he’d known his entire life and say the words,
Woodman’s gone
. He could barely
think
them, let alone
say
them.

He cleared his throat, using his thumb and forefinger to rub his burning eyes, feeling helpless and horrified and sick with grief.

Scott put his hand on Cain’s shoulder. “The words’ll come.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, staring down at the ground. “Thanks, Scott.”

Without looking back, he strode away, toward Scott’s truck, and let the tears fall freely as he drove from Laurel Ridge Farm to Woodman’s house, where he assumed he’d find Ginger. As he was driving, his mother called, her own voice thick with tears.

“Cain, it can’t be true!”

“Momma,” he sobbed. “I didn’t get there in time.”

“Oh, baby. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Cain. The doctor at the hospital had to give Sophie a sedative. Howard just called. I’ll be there tonight. Jim’s drivin’ me down. We’ll be at Sophie’s. Come and meet me over there in an hour or so.”

He nodded. “Yeah. I got somethin’ to do first.”

“Cain . . . don’t go drinkin’.”

“No, Momma,” he said. “Nothin’ like that. I’ll, uh, I’ll see you over at Aunt Sophie’s later.” Before she could say anything else, he hung up the phone, wiping his eyes and concentrating on the road.

His body ached, but his heart, oh God, his heart felt like someone had taken a club and smashed the shit out of it. It felt battered and raw, bloody and broken. His lungs were still congested too, but he had no interest in seeing a doctor. He’d be okay in a few days.

Turning down Main Street, he held the steering wheel with an iron grip at a red light.

What the fuck are you goin’ to say? How are you goin’ to tell her this?

“Fuck!” he yelled, his eyes burning with more unshed tears. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he screamed, banging his hands on the wheel and sobbing like a baby.

The car behind him beeped its horn, and Cain bellowed, “
Fuck you
!” before stepping on the gas and driving the rest of the way to Woodman’s place. He’d seen the little house on Main Street earlier today, on his way to the BBQ—the BBQ where Woodman had been laughing about stupid stories from the Navy, excitedly confiding that he was cleared for duty. Alive. So fucking alive, and now . . .

He stopped in front of his cousin’s house and cut the engine, using the backs of his hands to wipe away the wetness on his cheeks. He didn’t bother looking in the mirror. He was covered in ash and soot. His eyes would be bloodshot, his face streaked with tears. She’d know. She’d know, almost at once, that something was very, very wrong.

“Fuck,” he whispered, opening the car door and stepping onto the curb. He slammed the door behind him and opened the little white picket gate, thinking,
Woodman sure keeps this place neat.
Then thinking,
kept
. And another sharp wave of sorrow took his breath away.

Suddenly the front door opened, and Ginger stood in the doorway, a smile on her face. “Woodman, you’re back alrea—wait.” Her eyes dropped to his filthy gear, her expression very troubled but not quite frightened when she met his eyes again. “Cain?”

It hurt like fuck, but he held her gaze as he walked toward her, his feet heavy, booted in cement made of such heavy fucking sorrow, he had no idea how he kept moving forward.

“Princess,” he said softly.

“Cain?” she asked, a wild edge creeping into her voice as her eyes widened.

“Oh God, Gin,” he sobbed as he reached the porch. He climbed the first step and stood before her.

She gasped, her hand fluttering up to rest over her heart. “C-Cain? What happened?”

“I’m so fuckin’ sorry, darlin’.”

“For what?
For what?
” she asked, her voice ratcheting up with panic. “What?
What, Cain?
” she asked, shrieking a little now. Her breathing became choppy and shallow, her chest jerking with every breath. “
What happened
?”

Cain shook his head and felt his face collapse as the tears started to fall. “I was too late.”

She lurched at him, nailing his chest with her fists, and he fell backward onto the walkway, grabbing for her arms and pulling her with him.

“NO!” she wailed, beating his chest. “NO! NO! NO!”

He pulled her against him. Hard enough to trap her hands. “He got caught under a beam. Couldn’t . . . couldn’t get him out in time.”

“
Nooooo
!” she sobbed, keening as she uncurled her fists to cover her face. “No no no no. This isn’t happening. No.” Then, suddenly, she wiped away the tears, lifted her chin, and looked up at Cain, her face determined. “He’s goin’ to be okay. There are such good doctors here, Cain. He’s goin’ to be fine. I know it. We’re just goin’ to drive over to the hospital and—”

“Ginger!” he yelled, shaking her by the shoulders until she stopped talking. “He’s already
gone
! He’s gone, darlin’.”

She froze, staring up at him for a moment, her face contorted in disbelief and anguish. Her eyes fluttered, then rolled back in her head as her body swayed, then fell limp and heavy against his chest.

“Princess,” he whimpered, the pain in his heart doubling as he watched hers break.

As gently as he could, he lifted her into his arms and carried her inside.

~ Ginger ~

My eyes burn
, she thought, blinking them tentatively as the early-morning light flooded her room.
And my head hurts.

Sliding one hand over the sheets, she felt for Woodman, but he wasn’t there.

And the sheets were cold.

She opened one eye and looked at his pillow, plump and full.

And then—like an avalanche of horror—her memories from last night returned.
Cain. Cain had come to tell her—

“No!” she screamed, sitting bolt upright in her bed.

“What?” yelled Cain, from the chair in the corner of her bedroom. He jerked into a sitting position, rubbed his eyes, and looked around the room, on high alert. He was still in the sooty, filthy clothes he was wearing last night, when he came to tell her the terrible, sickening news that Woodman had . . . that Woodman was . . .

“Woodman . . .,” she whispered, her eyes filling with more useless tears, her hands twisting the sheet in her hands.

Cain closed his eyes as if hearing his cousin’s name was almost too painful to bear. He clenched his jaw and leaned forward, raking his hands through the stubble of his hair.

“Oh God,” she said softly. “Oh my God. It’s not true.”

“I wish to Christ it wasn’t, but it is,” he said, his voice low and beaten.

The well of tears burst, streaking down her cheeks, wetting the sheet she still clutched in her hands.

“Cain,” she murmured, his name a supplication, a plea.
Cain . . . help. Cain . . . hold me. Cain . . . fix this. Cain . . . take this pain away.

“I have to get goin’,” he said, covering his mouth as a coughing fit made him reach for the arm of the chair. Finally he stood up, pulled a phone from his back pocket, and ran his finger over the screen.

“You’re sick,” she said between sobs.

“I’ll be okay.” He squinted down at his phone, scrolling through messages and wincing at whatever he was reading. “I shouldn’t have fallen asleep. I have to go see my aunt . . .”

“Cain,” she said, looking up at him.
Don’t go.
The words sat on the tip of her tongue, drenched in sorrow, desperate for the comfort of his arms around her. Just for a little while. Just for a few minutes. They shared so many common memories, so much unique history. No one else on earth had loved Josiah Woodman like they did. No one else could share the sort of sorrow they could share with each other. And yet—

“What?” His voice was soft and dull. He was looking down at her, his face unreadable. But their conversation at the BBQ yesterday came rushing back, and she reached for her comforter, pulling it closer.
He deserves better than you.

“Thank you for stayin’.”

He took a breath, staring at her intently, like he was gathering himself to say something, but then he hefted himself from the chair and nodded. He flicked another glance to his phone before looking back up at her. “Wright Funeral Home. Today at three o’clock. You should be there.”

Funeral home.

“Oh my God,” she said, sobs rising up from within her as she leaned forward to rest her forehead on her hands.

She heard him move toward her, felt his palm land on her hair and rest there. “He loved you more than life, Gin. You made him happy.”

“W-Woodman,” she whispered, remembering his last words to her.
I love you. And I’m sorry.

She’d never doubted his love for her. Never. Not once in her whole life.

But her heavy heart descended into perdition as she realized that, while he’d given her his whole heart, he’d never gotten more than a part of hers. He’d said that was okay. He’d always assured her that he would only take what she was willing to give. But Cain was right: he’d deserved more. He’d deserved better. And now he was gone.

Part of her blamed Cain because the reason she couldn’t give her whole heart to Woodman was that such a big portion of it—rejected though it had been—had always belonged to Cain. And maybe it didn’t make sense, but it made her feel angry toward Cain because, if he hadn’t played with her, led her on, and eventually broken her heart, maybe she would have eventually been able to give it to Woodman.

She shrugged Cain’s hand away, looking up at him with swimming eyes. “Please go.”

Cain lifted his hand slowly, his expression swiftly changing from soft to hurt to cold. He nodded, taking a step away from her bed and wiping his hand on his dirty yellow fireman pants. “See you at three.”

Ginger grabbed Woodman’s pillow, rolled into a tight ball, and clutched it tightly to her chest as she cried until, mercifully, she fell back to sleep.

***

A soft knock at her bedroom door made Ginger turn from the dressing table mirror as she fastened the double string of pearls around her neck. “Come in.”

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.

“
FUCK YOU
!” she screamed, her eyes fiercely shiny with tears that didn’t fall. “Are you tellin’ me what
she
deserves?
I
didn’t deserve to have my son
die
at twenty-four years old!” Her face was red and her voice trembled as she raised a shaking finger and pointed it at Cain. “You could have saved him! Why didn’t you save him?”

“He wasn’t supposed to be in there!” said Cain. “I didn’t even know. I tried to find him, but . . . ”

“But you
didn’t.
You didn’t save him, because you are a bad seed, Cain Wolfram. You are a selfish, self-servin’ troublemaker, and I don’t
want
you here!
No one
wants
you here.”

“Sophie,” sobbed Sarah, shaking her head and reaching for her sister’s hand.

“Don’t you touch me, Sarah!” She turned on Cain again, standing up and flattening her hands on the table, shrugging away Mr. Woodman’s attempts to help her sit back down. “
No one
asked you here!”

“Wrong,” he said, his voice ragged and profoundly broken, but crystal clear. “
Josiah
. . .” He paused as a wheezing sound released from his throat, which spurred on a coughing fit. When he spoke again, his voice was softer. “
Josiah
asked me here. I came home because of him.”

“Well,” sobbed Miz Sophie, as a tenacious tear finally escaped and snaked its way down her miserable face, “I wish you’d
never
come home! I wish you’d stayed away!”

Cain didn’t speak. He lowered his head and stared at the table. Without thinking, Ginger unclasped her hands in her lap, slid one of hers to one of his, took it gently from his thigh, and weaved their fingers together. She looked up at Miz Sophie, feeling profoundly sorry for her, and for Cain, and for all of them at that miserable table, suffering so terribly.
Something dreadful has happened
, buzzed her mind, but she took a deep breath and turned off the noise. She wasn’t on the stage. She was in the audience watching. Only watching.

“It. Should. Have. Been.
You
!” screamed Miz Sophie, banging her fists on the table to enunciate each word. “It should have been
you
!
Not
Josiah.
You, Cain
! Always up to no good. Not half the man my son was.
You
should have died in that fire. Not my baby.” She sobbed, her whole body shuddering as she collapsed into her chair and leaned forward to lay her cheek on the table, wailing with a sort of desperate, keening anguish that made tears slip down Ginger’s cheeks. “My
baby
. Oh God! Oh God, my baby. My boy . . .”

Ginger leaned to her left, her lips close to Cain’s ear. “Come on.”