“You might be getting a little spoiled,” she said.
“And you’re not?” he asked, an evil little gleam in his eye.
Matt couldn’t remember ever feeling this way. He was a little embarrassed by that, though he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to know the difference between a good thing and the real thing. There was no question that when he was deciding to marry Natalie his life had seemed good. If she wasn’t having some wedding meltdown or issue with having Sunday dinner with his family, he was feeling pretty damn satisfied.
But Ginger took that to a whole new level. Just being herself, she made him feel like the richest man on earth. He had never before felt this secure with a woman; he never felt even a second of doubt. He’d heard those ridiculous love songs about being willing to die for someone and he always found himself thinking, I’d be willing to give up a few things—bowling, shaving, driving a truck, cutting my hair. But die for someone? A little extreme...
But here in his arms was a woman he would do anything for. Would he leave the farm for Ginger? He just might, except she wouldn’t ask him to. If he was wrong about her he was going to retire to a mountaintop and live a completely celibate life, but if there was one thing that seemed real it was what Ginger said to him. She liked his farm. She loved him. And when someone loves you, they let you know your happiness is paramount to them. He’d never had that before.
They had a few blissful weeks together that brought them to July; long phone conversations at night, long weekends filled with plenty of time in each other’s arms and also enjoyable time with Thunder Point friends. And with his sister.
“I have to admit, I never saw this coming,” Peyton said to him. “My brother, Mad Matt, all soft and cuddly.”
“I told you if you’d just get out of my way, I knew what I was doing,” he said.
“Except, did you? Know what you were doing?”
“Not really, but fortunately Ginger did.”
“Really? And are you a man to be led around by the nose?” Peyton teased.
“Yes. I am.”
There was a moment of doubt and worry in the middle of July when Ginger became a little quiet. It was sudden. He was getting ready to go back to the farm when she seemed very tired, a little down in the dumps. He wasn’t used to seeing her eyes downcast. She wasn’t as talkative on the phone that night or the next night; she didn’t seem to have much to say. She complained of having a headache and being tired.
“I thought I drove away the headaches,” he teased.
“It’s very unusual for me and it’ll pass. Thanks for understanding.”
Of course Matt didn’t understand at all. But he just kept telling her he loved her. He didn’t know what else to do.
* * *
Al Michel climbed the back stairs to Ginger’s little apartment and tapped on the door. When she answered, it was obvious she’d been crying. “Hi,” he said. “Got a minute?”
“Is it important?” she asked.
“It is. I think it’s important. Could I just have a few minutes?”
“Is Ray Anne all right?”
“She’s excellent, but I wanted to talk to you,” Al said. “I won’t take too much of your time.”
“Okay, I guess,” she said, opening the door. “I’m a little under the weather, though.”
“Sure you are, honey,” he said. “Let’s just sit down in there.”
She shrugged and let him follow her to the sofa, where they sat.
“I know what tomorrow is,” Al said.
Immediately, tears began to run down Ginger’s cheeks. “Ray Anne told you,” she murmured.
“Sort of. She told me a long time ago but it’s possible she doesn’t even remember. I remembered. I stopped by the shop late today and you’d already left, not feeling so good, Grace said. And she mentioned you were taking tomorrow off. She didn’t think you were real sick, though.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” she said.
“What you’re feeling, it’s okay,” Al said. “I’ve felt it myself. Felt it deep. Do you have a plan for how you’re going to spend the day tomorrow?”
“Driving,” she said, letting a slightly embarrassed laugh squeak through the tears.
“I figured as much. How about I take you?”
“You?” she asked, shocked.
“I have experience with this. Ray told you, I’m sure. I lost a son to SIDS. We think it was SIDS—it was a real long time ago. Doctors know a lot more about it now. I was a young husband, only about twenty. Just a kid. I didn’t go to his grave on the anniversary of his death. I went on his birthday every year. Every summer for over thirty years. You and me—we have some things in common.”
“I don’t know anyone else who lost a baby to SIDS,” she said.
“There aren’t that many, thank God. My wife and I didn’t stay together. She went on to have a good marriage and a couple of healthy kids. It took me a long time to give up going to that grave in absolute agony every year.”
“Can you still feel him?” she asked, fresh tears escaping.
“Not anymore, honey. For a long time I could feel him against my shoulder, his little head lying against me right here,” he said, demonstrating by positioning his hands. “I finally let the kid rest. I know you’re going to do what you have to do, Ginger. I hope there’s some way I can help. And I hope you don’t dedicate as many years to grief as I did. Remembering is good. Agonizing is useless.”
“It’s the first year,” she said, sniffing.
“Let me take you so you don’t have to drive. I can manage not to talk. I won’t ask questions.”
She shook her head. “I just want to have a day alone to remember, that’s all.”
“You can talk about it if you want to, you know.”
She gave her head a little shake.
“You can talk to Matt. He seems a real good man. And I can tell, he cares about you.”
“I just don’t want to put this on Matt.”
“Aw, he’s a big tough guy, he can handle it...”
“I want it to be mine,” she said. “Do you understand that?”
He laughed a little, a small laugh that said he knew exactly. “Ginger, I left my wife—I couldn’t even talk to her and it was her baby. Sweetheart, I know you’re in pain right now. I just hope you don’t do that to yourself. Don’t waste the years like I did. Remember him sweetly. Let him rest. Go forward and have his brothers and sisters.”
“And you’re not?” he asked, an evil little gleam in his eye.
Matt couldn’t remember ever feeling this way. He was a little embarrassed by that, though he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to know the difference between a good thing and the real thing. There was no question that when he was deciding to marry Natalie his life had seemed good. If she wasn’t having some wedding meltdown or issue with having Sunday dinner with his family, he was feeling pretty damn satisfied.
But Ginger took that to a whole new level. Just being herself, she made him feel like the richest man on earth. He had never before felt this secure with a woman; he never felt even a second of doubt. He’d heard those ridiculous love songs about being willing to die for someone and he always found himself thinking, I’d be willing to give up a few things—bowling, shaving, driving a truck, cutting my hair. But die for someone? A little extreme...
But here in his arms was a woman he would do anything for. Would he leave the farm for Ginger? He just might, except she wouldn’t ask him to. If he was wrong about her he was going to retire to a mountaintop and live a completely celibate life, but if there was one thing that seemed real it was what Ginger said to him. She liked his farm. She loved him. And when someone loves you, they let you know your happiness is paramount to them. He’d never had that before.
They had a few blissful weeks together that brought them to July; long phone conversations at night, long weekends filled with plenty of time in each other’s arms and also enjoyable time with Thunder Point friends. And with his sister.
“I have to admit, I never saw this coming,” Peyton said to him. “My brother, Mad Matt, all soft and cuddly.”
“I told you if you’d just get out of my way, I knew what I was doing,” he said.
“Except, did you? Know what you were doing?”
“Not really, but fortunately Ginger did.”
“Really? And are you a man to be led around by the nose?” Peyton teased.
“Yes. I am.”
There was a moment of doubt and worry in the middle of July when Ginger became a little quiet. It was sudden. He was getting ready to go back to the farm when she seemed very tired, a little down in the dumps. He wasn’t used to seeing her eyes downcast. She wasn’t as talkative on the phone that night or the next night; she didn’t seem to have much to say. She complained of having a headache and being tired.
“I thought I drove away the headaches,” he teased.
“It’s very unusual for me and it’ll pass. Thanks for understanding.”
Of course Matt didn’t understand at all. But he just kept telling her he loved her. He didn’t know what else to do.
* * *
Al Michel climbed the back stairs to Ginger’s little apartment and tapped on the door. When she answered, it was obvious she’d been crying. “Hi,” he said. “Got a minute?”
“Is it important?” she asked.
“It is. I think it’s important. Could I just have a few minutes?”
“Is Ray Anne all right?”
“She’s excellent, but I wanted to talk to you,” Al said. “I won’t take too much of your time.”
“Okay, I guess,” she said, opening the door. “I’m a little under the weather, though.”
“Sure you are, honey,” he said. “Let’s just sit down in there.”
She shrugged and let him follow her to the sofa, where they sat.
“I know what tomorrow is,” Al said.
Immediately, tears began to run down Ginger’s cheeks. “Ray Anne told you,” she murmured.
“Sort of. She told me a long time ago but it’s possible she doesn’t even remember. I remembered. I stopped by the shop late today and you’d already left, not feeling so good, Grace said. And she mentioned you were taking tomorrow off. She didn’t think you were real sick, though.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” she said.
“What you’re feeling, it’s okay,” Al said. “I’ve felt it myself. Felt it deep. Do you have a plan for how you’re going to spend the day tomorrow?”
“Driving,” she said, letting a slightly embarrassed laugh squeak through the tears.
“I figured as much. How about I take you?”
“You?” she asked, shocked.
“I have experience with this. Ray told you, I’m sure. I lost a son to SIDS. We think it was SIDS—it was a real long time ago. Doctors know a lot more about it now. I was a young husband, only about twenty. Just a kid. I didn’t go to his grave on the anniversary of his death. I went on his birthday every year. Every summer for over thirty years. You and me—we have some things in common.”
“I don’t know anyone else who lost a baby to SIDS,” she said.
“There aren’t that many, thank God. My wife and I didn’t stay together. She went on to have a good marriage and a couple of healthy kids. It took me a long time to give up going to that grave in absolute agony every year.”
“Can you still feel him?” she asked, fresh tears escaping.
“Not anymore, honey. For a long time I could feel him against my shoulder, his little head lying against me right here,” he said, demonstrating by positioning his hands. “I finally let the kid rest. I know you’re going to do what you have to do, Ginger. I hope there’s some way I can help. And I hope you don’t dedicate as many years to grief as I did. Remembering is good. Agonizing is useless.”
“It’s the first year,” she said, sniffing.
“Let me take you so you don’t have to drive. I can manage not to talk. I won’t ask questions.”
She shook her head. “I just want to have a day alone to remember, that’s all.”
“You can talk about it if you want to, you know.”
She gave her head a little shake.
“You can talk to Matt. He seems a real good man. And I can tell, he cares about you.”
“I just don’t want to put this on Matt.”
“Aw, he’s a big tough guy, he can handle it...”
“I want it to be mine,” she said. “Do you understand that?”
He laughed a little, a small laugh that said he knew exactly. “Ginger, I left my wife—I couldn’t even talk to her and it was her baby. Sweetheart, I know you’re in pain right now. I just hope you don’t do that to yourself. Don’t waste the years like I did. Remember him sweetly. Let him rest. Go forward and have his brothers and sisters.”
