“You can love something sooner than it exists. Even when it doesn’t exist anymore. And it’s okay if people don’t understand that. Fuck people,” Jay said.
Ginger remembered that Jay had embraced him. And he’d felt better that someone had understood, and given him the empathy he hadn’t received from Beau. Thanks to Jay, the last time Ginger had seen his unnamed son had been in the arms of his grandfather.
And what will I do now that you’re not here? Ginger bit the knuckle of his first finger. If it happens again, and I have to do it myself? I could barely take care of you.
Of everything Ginger had experienced as Jay’s apprentice and his partner, only two would haunt him for the rest of his life—the glimpse of his dead son’s head, and the act of putting Jay’s body back together. Just unzipping the black bag and seeing Jay awash with his own blood, unrecognizable from the bruising and lacerations on his face; it was all Ginger could do to pretend it wasn’t Jay.
You were so broken, Dad. You must’ve been in so much pain.
Ginger had to get up, although it was still hours to sunrise, and the business professional part of him didn’t need to take action until eleven. He slipped from bed quietly to avoid waking Beau and left the room.
I’m glad we came home. I didn’t want to stumble downstairs at four thirty to have a fit in front of Mom. I want to be alone.
It was the only time he’d have all day to crash and burn by himself. There’d be spare instances when he could reflect in the silence of his mind, but he couldn’t fall apart like he needed to. Jay had taught him it did no good to put up a strong front when you were torn inside. To help anyone else, you had to take care of yourself and be okay with you. In order to reach that solid foundation, he had to ready himself for the day.
Ginger planned on being at the funeral home first. He’d open the casket to check Jay’s body and make any necessary repairs.
Next, he’d hide a small white cardboard container near Jay’s shoulder beneath a casket insert flower arrangement. Beau was under the impression the box had been placed with her great aunt a year ago, but Ginger hadn’t felt right “shoving it in with whoever went next.”
Today, he’d retrieve the real box from the other containers of unclaimed ashes. It had a number on the outside. And on the spreadsheet that contained data for the boxes, there was also a number. He’d check it out like a library book or a piece of inventory. But he wouldn’t just mark the number off as if the ashes had been retrieved. He’d put a name on the line. A name he would then cross out.
Ginger moved down the stairs one at a time, his back to the wall as if he were a burglar. The stairs creaked if they were used normally, and he couldn’t imagine Beau was that deeply asleep.
I love you, but I have to be the pillar all day.
The family pillar had become his other position. The death was personal, but he was the mast they could lean upon. Whoever needed an embrace, a pep talk, or to vent. He was the glue. Wasn’t he the new patriarch? Luke could hardly care for himself.
Though I’m too young for that. Way too young.
But Ginger felt himself slipping into it. He’d always been Beau’s personal shoulder to cry on. Now Jackie needed him. Luke would also need him, though he fought it. They’d all be looking to Ginger for strength. Two days ago their perception of him had changed. And he felt like an asshole, but he was drained from their tears and problems. But they’d need him more than ever today. They would be at their most vulnerable. The pillar. It was easier when he wasn’t the main support—when Jay was beside him, carrying most of the weight.
He took his jacket and coat from the hooks by the door and slipped outside. He pulled the coat on as he walked to the white van in the driveway. Tossing the jacket over his shoulder, he put his hands to the ladder attached to the rear door and climbed onto the frost-covered roof. He deposited the jacket in a rumpled ball and lay down with his arms folded under his head.
Ginger stared at the stars and allowed himself to sink into the role he genuinely felt. He was a son who’d lost his father. His mentor. In many ways, his best friend.
Why’d you have to die, Dad? Why? He asked for the hundredth time. His eyes throbbed with tears, and he didn’t fight them. It’s just not fair!
It wasn’t fair for anyone, but he called on Jay, on God, on whoever was listening, to hear that it was specifically not fair to him. Ginger had never known either of his biological parents. He’d been raised by his grandmother, who’d been well-intentioned but too old to parent a child. From a young age, he’d had to be responsible for himself, and by the time he was a teenager, he’d taken to caring for her.
She’d needed all his time. To the extent that he had almost left high school. They’d had no one but each other and lived shrouded in secrecy because social security checks only went so far. There’d been a constant fear that if the conditions in which they lived were noticed, the authorities would remove Ginger. And they’d shut his grandmother in a nursing home. She hadn’t been the best caregiver, but he’d loved her and hadn’t wanted to be taken away. When he turned eighteen, he’d felt somewhat secure for the first time.
But one day, he’d returned from school to find the apartment door broken in. Instead of his grandmother, the landlord had been there. The man reported that paramedics had been called, and she’d been taken to the emergency room. He drove Ginger to the hospital, where he’d learned that the medical crew hadn’t been able to revive her.
“Where is she?” He’d asked the doctor who’d given him the news.
How will it work? Ginger had worried. He couldn’t make it without her. Literally. Emotion aside, he couldn’t financially support himself. He had no place to go. How would he finish school? And what would happen to his grandmother now?
“She’s downstairs.”
“What will you do with her?” What did people do? He’d seen funerals on television. He’d read about them. But that was all he knew.
“We can’t do anything more, son,” the doctor said.
“But what am I going to do with her? I don’t know what to do.” Ginger had felt like a baby for crying, but he hadn’t been able to help it.
“We’ve called someone. Wait here.”
Since his options hadn’t been numerous, and the hospital was heated and safe, he sank into the chair behind him. He’d bent over to his knees and cried.
Shortly, the plastic chair creaked beside him, and a hand had touched his shoulder. It’d been nice of the doctor to sit with him and wait. He wasn’t sure what they were waiting for, but he must have other patients to see. Live patients. But when he’d looked over, it hadn’t been the doctor.
The stranger wore a suit with a white button-up shirt and black tie. He gave the impression of being inviting and solicitous—like comforting a crying young man was of no inconvenience. He’d pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, but Ginger had been reluctant to accept it.
“Go ahead. I have plenty.”
He’d taken the handkerchief and pressed it to his nose, inhaling deeply. It’d been the cleanest smelling thing he could ever remember.
“My wife uses lavender fabric softener.” The man had shrugged when seconds of silence had gone by with Ginger holding the fabric to his face. “I wouldn’t know the first thing about it. I just pay the bills.”
“Who are you?” He’d asked from behind the handkerchief.
“I’m the man who’s going to take care of your grandmother.”
“What does that mean? Take care of her?”
“I was advised it means whatever you would like it to. You’re the person responsible for her. Is that true?”
“Yes.” His voice had cracked. “We only had each other.”
“I’m very sorry to hear that.” The stranger’s eyes were kind, and he’d given an understanding nod. “You have no one else?”
“No.”
“Do you have anywhere to go?”
Ginger thought of the squalid apartment with the damaged
door. It was being gutted as they spoke. The landlord wasn’t a fool.
“No.”
“Don’t worry. It’ll be okay.” He’d squeezed his shoulder and stood. “Let’s see after your grandmother first, and then we’ll take care of you.” He took a couple of steps near the door. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?” Ginger lowered and folded the handkerchief. He’d placed it in his pocket as he’d followed.
“To the morgue. Are you afraid?”
He had been. He’d always been afraid of many things. Of not having a place to live. Of starving. Of being sick and not being able to afford medicine. Of being taken away from his grandmother. Scared was his first reaction.
But Ginger had met the stranger’s eyes again, and his fear ebbed. “No. I’m not afraid.”
Ginger could still feel Jay’s arm around his shoulders leading him down the hospital hallway, and it made him cry harder as he lay on the van’s roof.
I had absolutely nothing. You took me under your wing. You gave me so much, but you never made me feel I was indebted to you. That’s why it’s not fair. I never had anything. It was all taken away from me!
He stopped thinking and just felt the anger. The ache from having a piece of himself ripped out. He hadn’t been this upset when his grandmother had died, or when the baby had been born dead. But they hadn’t been part of him as Jay had. He’d never idolized them. He hadn’t been able to rely on them, to trust them. After years of support, kindness, and love Jay had worked himself into Ginger’s soul. It was as if he’d always been there. Jay had taught him to be the man he was.
But now he was gone. And there were no words to express Ginger’s sorrow.
“But you still have Beau, Ging.” He held an arm over his eyes and pretended it was Jay speaking to him. “You need to pull yourself together to take care of her. And there’s the baby. You have to be as good a father to it as I was to you.”
“Yes,” he said aloud. No one else was there to hear anyway.
“And you’re a good son. You did everything I asked. I know it was hard for you to call Tom since it would upset Beau. But you did it because you’re a good son.”
“I should’ve done more. I shouldn’t have let you go alone. It would’ve been different if I’d been with you.”
Ginger waited for the voice in his head to respond, but it didn’t. Jay had never been one for the “it should’ve been me” diatribe. That wasn’t what Ginger was thinking though. He didn’t want to die in place of Jay. No one should die at all.
“I mean, maybe I could’ve done something.” He bunched his hand into a fist. “I’m sorry, Dad, but Luke is useless. If I’d been there, I would’ve done more. He couldn’t even pull his head out of his ass to apologize to you when you were dying in the parking lot.”
He saw behind his closed eyelids the image of Jay’s bloody, torn face when he’d unzipped the black bag. His brain oozing from the back of his skull like a pink slug.
“And he had to know you were dying with those injuries! What did he do? Did he tell you he loved you? Did he hold your hand? Did he comfort you? He was the worst possible person to be there!” Ginger’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I would’ve done all those things. I would’ve tried to save you. I might’ve been able to save you.”
“I did not want to be saved.”
The voice returned from nowhere, and he pulled his coat tighter around himself. He wasn’t sure if his grief had fueled it, like all the other consoling statements he wanted to hear from Jay. He wouldn’t have wanted Jay to say that he didn’t—
Something stiff brushed across his arm. He jumped, and his forehead bumped into a plastic broom.
“Goddamn it!” He thrust the broom away and rubbed his forehead. The adrenaline from the scare released as he leaned over the van’s side. He saw the broom wielder’s curious face in the light that had begun to fleck across the sky.
“Are you Snoopy now? You sleep on top of cars?” Beau poked his arm with the broom again.
“Snoopy sleeps on top of his doghouse. Why would he sleep on top of a car?”
“Why would he sleep on top of his doghouse? Why would a man with a perfectly good bed sleep on top of a car in the middle of February? Aside from it being freezing, isn’t it slick up there with the frost? You’ll fall and break your neck.”
“It doesn’t increase my level of safety to be startled by a broom across the face.” Ginger took the bristled end and pulled it free of her hands. “Or to be continuously jabbed with one.”
“How else should I get your attention? I’m not climbing up there.” Beau folded her arms. “I needed to poke you awake before you threw yourself off. You’re lucky we don’t have neighbors close by. Come down and give me my broom.”
He tossed the broom and jacket he’d been using as a pillow to the driveway. The bristles prodded him as he descended the ladder. When he was on the ground, he faced her and found the broom at his chest. He raised both hands in surrender.
“Good. Now get in the house.” Beau’s eyes twinkled, and she motioned to the open door with her weapon. She removed it to let him turn and then put it to his back again, nudging him forward. “March. Double time.”
“Are you holding me hostage?”
“I wake up to find you’ve disappeared. After a frantic search, I find you on the van roof half sleeping, half talking to yourself. How do I know you haven’t gone off the deep end, hmm? Have you finally cracked? Do I need to put you in a padded room?”
“I’m fine.”
But Ginger worried as he crossed the threshold. Not that he’d “gone off the deep end.” The house was frigid. He hadn’t left the door open; she had. And for it to be this cold inside, how long had she been out? What had she heard?
The door closed, and the broom fell to the floor. As he turned, she stood on her tiptoes, brushing the sides of his face with her chilly hands.
“You can’t blame yourself for this, Ginger. Any of it.”
He felt the pressure around his eyes that meant the tear stores had been replenished. His hands shook when she took one and led him to the couch.
“And you don’t know what he did for Dad, baby.” Beau sat next to him.
“Do you?”
“Yes.” She drew her feet up on the couch and ran her hand through his hair. “Luke held his head in his lap. He stayed right with him.” Ginger’s temple was numb, and he barely felt her kiss it. “Dad didn’t go alone.”
“He really was right there? He stayed with him?”
“Yes, he did.” Her voice came near his ear. “I know he’s a silly boy, Ging, and he does things that don’t make sense. But he loved Dad. And that was all Dad felt when he went. I promise.”
To his shame, a few tears escaped before he was able to bottle the emotion. The time to transform had come. He was still unnerved by the voice he’d heard on the van’s roof, but knowing that Luke hadn’t stayed in the car made him feel better. Someone had held Jay’s head in their lap and been with him. Even if it hadn’t been Ginger, that Jay hadn’t been alone was good.
“That’s enough.” He coughed, and Beau raised her head from his shoulder. “I’m okay. I need to get moving.”
Ginger left the room. He cracked his knuckles as he went and envisioned sliding on the black suit coat—that skin of the business professional.
“If you need to talk, Ginger. If you have a problem, you can come to me.”
He was halfway up the stairs by the time she said this, and he chose not to reply. Neither the professional nor the pillar needed consolation. The grieving son? Potentially. But Ginger didn’t plan on releasing him again anytime soon.
Chapter Nine
Ginger wondered how much Luke had been drinking over the past twelve hours. Something was off when he dropped by later that morning to check on his mother-in-law.
He’d just finished offering to drive Jackie over to the funeral home before he picked up Beau, instead of waiting for Luke to straggle out of bed last minute.<
br />
“Speak of the devil,” Jackie interrupted Ginger. He’d been across the room refilling her coffee, and he looked over to see Luke slouch against the doorjamb. “Good morning, sleepyhead. I’m amazed you’re awake. And that you’re dressed. You’ve been industrious this morning.”
“I’ve been up for hours. We need to talk.”
Luke slumped into Ginger’s chair. He was dressed, but his hair was uncombed, and his tie hung loose and askew. Ginger saw a spot on the white collar of Luke’s partially unbuttoned shirt. And he wore a pair of sunglasses.
To hide the red eyes, or because it’s too bright in here? Ginger scowled. How was it anything but disrespectful to be hungover and/or drunk on the day of his father’s funeral? Or did Luke think he was being funny and looking cool? He looked like he’d stumbled out of a bar. Jackie wouldn’t allow him to leave the house that way.
“‘We need to talk?’” Jackie repeated, and he saw from the lines around her lips that she was trying not to laugh. “That sounds serious.”
“Are you breaking up with her?” Ginger returned to the table and placed the cup before her.
“Let me guess. It’s not me, it’s you?” Jackie snickered. “You need some space?”
Luke flipped up the sunglasses and glared at Ginger.
“What’s he doing here, Mom?”
Generally, Luke’s aggression was more subdued in front of Jackie or Jay, and the malicious stares were thrown in private. However, Ginger knew he may be overly sensitive in his current state of mind. It’d already been a highly emotional day, and it wasn’t past noon yet.
Though Ginger had promised himself he wouldn’t become upset when he was alone with Jay’s body that morning, he hadn’t been able to contain it. He’d placed the white box in the casket, concealed it with the flower arrangement, and had lost all composure. After pulling into the driveway of his in-laws’ house, he’d crashed again.
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