“You?” Lou asked. “Terrified? I didn’t know anything scared you.”

“This does. Her daddy called me—he said she was still in a world of hurt. I knew she wasn’t getting better. She’s been so depressed she can’t work and can hardly get out of bed, lost a ton of weight and is so pitiful she can’t talk to anyone for five minutes before she just has to go someplace to be alone. She’s still in terrible pain.”

“How sad,” Carrie said. “Are you going to try to cheer her up?”

“Oh, Lord, what do I know about that kind of grief?” Ray Anne said. “If her daddy hadn’t asked me, begged me really, I never would’ve signed up for this. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do!”

“Has she had counseling?” Lou asked.

“Yes, they’ve tried that. She even took antidepressants for a while. And I know there was some grief group at the church or something. That didn’t go well, either.”

“We can look around here for a counselor or grief group. Wouldn’t hurt to try again,” Lou said.

“I thought she was your niece,” Gina said.

“She’s like a niece. Dickie’s like a brother. He and Sue had two little boys then along came Gingersnap and I was in heaven! A pretty little thing who could have fun spending the night at my house—we’d curl our hair, paint our nails, cream our faces, shave our legs...we shaved when she was a little older. We watched musicals and Disney shows together, dressed up, went shopping. I drove to Portland to help her pick out a prom dress, and I helped her stage her wedding—I was the official bridal assistant. Got way under Sue’s skin, I’ll tell you that, but my little Gingersnap was so happy!”

“She’s married?”

“No,” Ray Anne said. “No, her marriage only lasted a couple of years and was falling apart right as she realized she was pregnant and her husband, the bastard, didn’t even try to give it a chance to help raise his own baby. So Ginger did it on her own. At the end of her pregnancy she moved home with her mom and dad. They’d fixed up the upstairs for her so she and the baby had rooms of their own and she could save some money. She worked right up till she started labor. Four months later her little baby boy died in his sleep.”

“What did your cousin ask you to do for her?” Gina asked.

“Nothing,” Ray Anne said with a helpless shrug. “He said the change might help, but he didn’t ask anything specific of me. I think they’re worn-out, that’s what I think. It was Dickie and Sue’s loss, too. They have other grandchildren, but this little one lived with them—their baby’s baby. And I suppose the others can’t get any attention because everyone is busy grieving.” She rested her head in her hand. “I’ll be useless. I’ll probably just sit around and cry with the poor thing.”

“For an hour or so, maybe,” Carrie said. “Then you’ll be done with that.”

“Listen, I don’t have any natural parenting skills. None. God knew what he was doing when I didn’t get to have children.”

“You’d have been an ideal parent,” Lou said. “God’s mistake.”

“Me? Oh, believe me, I know nothing about being a parent and even less about what I can do to help my poor little Ginger while she goes through this terrible time. This is the worst idea Dickie has ever had, and he’s had some real stinkers.”

“No, this is perfect,” Lou said.

“She’s right,” Carrie agreed. “Won’t be so easy on you, but then when our youngsters hurt, it’s awful. Worse for us, I think. But of all the people I know...yes, you’re the one to do it.”

“How can you say that?” Ray Anne demanded.

“I know about some of your tough times,” Carrie said. “I’ve seen you through a few of them since you came to Thunder Point. Money trouble, broken hearts, struggles... There were a couple of times that were pretty awful. You had a mean son-of-a-bitch husband stalk you and you had to run and hide. You had a good friend die—what was her name?”

“Marisa Dunaway,” Ray Anne said, and tears instantly sparkled in her eyes. “She was a good friend for twenty years and the Big C took her, but not until it kicked her ass, made her so sick and weak she was begging to die. Horrible. Horrible.”

“And your parents died when you were little more than a girl,” Lou reminded her as if she needed reminding. She was twenty-two and her parents, both in their late fifties, died so close together, both of cancer. That had been forty years ago. Cancer treatment had come a long way since then, but still, it had taken her best friend ten years ago. “That was a dark time for you. We weren’t friends then,” she added. “I wasn’t there for you.”

“I didn’t even know you then. You’ve been through a lot since I’ve known you,” Carrie said. “But you never indulged self-pity. You grieved hard, but never felt sorry for yourself.”

“Ginger has a right to feel sorry for herself,” Ray Anne said.

“This isn’t about rights,” Lou chimed in. “You had a right to self-pity, too. But you’re a survivor. And you’re a damn good role model. Your cousin is doing a smart thing, sending his daughter to you.”

Ray Anne looked at Lou in surprise. “I didn’t think you liked me enough to say something like that,” she said.

“It’s those shoes I never understood,” Lou said. “And you did steal all my boyfriends until I started keeping them secret from you. But I always admired your strength. You’re a woman on your own, alone, except for a couple of girlfriends and your recent boyfriend, but we don’t count on boyfriends. Women alone have to be smart, strong and durable. We don’t bruise easy. And we can’t waste time and energy feeling sorry for ourselves. We might want to collapse, but we don’t. Probably no one would pick us up!”

“You, too,” Ray Anne said. “When Mac’s wife left him—”

“Ach!” Lou barked. “Alone with three little kids—the smallest nine months old! Practically no money, two low-paying jobs and his only relative was me. I was a full-time teacher. I don’t know how we got through it. And he was a mess! A pathetic, broken mess. Talk about self-pity! Sometimes when you have someone to lead, it’s easier to be strong.”

“What am I going to do?” Ray Anne asked.

“Be yourself,” Gina said, smiling. “Be your wonderful, loving, strong self. Let her talk, push her a little bit, like my mother pushed me when I was a sixteen-year-old mother with no one but her. Get her a little counseling help, bring her around your friends, prop her up with example. Let her see we don’t give up, we work. Sure we cry, sometimes scream, but we take it one day at a time and make every day a little better than the one we just left behind. You’re really one of the best people for the job, I know it.”

“I had no idea you all thought that way about me.”

“Pfft. The only thing I feel sorry for you about is that you just can’t dress yourself properly. You should be in double knits and wedgies like the rest of us over-sixty broads,” Lou said.

“Don’t listen to her,” Carrie said. “The best part about you is you’re unique. As long as you don’t make me dress like a cocktail waitress I won’t make you dress like a gray-haired grandmother.”