“Are we even related?” Ray Anne asked her. She lifted a dingy pair of granny panties and let them dangle from one finger. “Do we share any DNA at all?”

Ginger shrugged. “Just wasn’t a priority, Ray. Why bother?”

Ray Anne sat on the edge of the bed and took one of Ginger’s hands. “I’ll tell you why we bother. Because there are things you can do to try to get beyond devastating pain. They might be small, stupid things, but they actually help a little. Things like fixing yourself up so you look better than you feel. Getting out helps—you have to live in this world. Work helps. Meaningful work, if possible, and that’s something different for everyone, but keeping busy instead of lying in bed and making constant love to the hurt—that can help. Tell me something—are you taking anything?”

“Like what?”

“Like tranquilizers or antidepressants or anything?”

“Not anymore,” she said. “They weren’t working. And I kept thinking about swallowing the whole bottle.”

Ray Anne gasped. “Jesus,” she muttered. She wondered if she should hide all pills from Aspirin to hormones. And sharp objects. She stiffened her spine resolutely. “All right, I have to run a quick errand I put off while waiting for you to get here so you wouldn’t find me gone when you arrived. I want you to put away your clothes in this chest and the closet. Then put the empty suitcase in the closet. Do that before you lie down. From what your daddy tells me, you’ve perfected napping and I’m willing to bet you’re all caught up on sleep. I’ll be back in fifteen or twenty minutes.”

“All right,” Ginger said, standing.

When Ginger hung her coat in the closet, Ray Anne noticed her jeans were sagging off her flat butt and her tennis shoes were beat-up. The girl was a complete mess. Her attire and body language were such a put off, holding back any well-intentioned person, it was as if she longed to go it alone and wallow in grief.

“Do you have my cell number?” Ray Anne asked.

“Probably,” she said.

“Where’s your phone?”

“I don’t know. Probably in my purse. It’s turned off.”

“Why is it turned off?”

Ginger flashed her an angry look. “Because no one’s going to call me! And there’s no one I want to talk to!”

“Is that so?” Ray Anne asked without flinching. “Well, your father and I were trying to reach you to see if you’d had a problem on your drive and we went straight to voice mail, worrying us even more. Now, I can understand if you’re avoiding calls, but is it either fair or kind to ignore people who love you and are concerned about you? If you want to do this to yourself forever, I don’t suppose anyone can convince you otherwise, but your parents suffered a painful loss, as well, and I don’t think they can deal with another one. I’m going to call them and tell them you arrived safely. Meanwhile, please turn on your phone. Charge it. Whatever. I’ll be back in twenty.”

Ray Anne, who never walked anywhere and was always seen in her little BMW, walked down the street, down the hill and into Carrie’s deli. Carrie and Rawley appeared to be cleaning up. Customer traffic was usually at its lowest in midafternoon, heaviest for lunch and dinner. When Ray Anne walked in, Rawley automatically disappeared into the kitchen in the back of the deli.

“Well, hello,” Carrie said.

“Call Lou and cancel dinner. Ginger just arrived and she’s not fit to go out.”

“Is she sick?” Carrie asked.

“She’s horribly depressed. She can barely speak. The only thing more depressing than her personality right now is her wardrobe. Apparently it feels better to dress in poorly fitting rags. It’s like sackcloth and ashes.” She shook her head in misery. “I should have listened to myself. I can’t help with this. She is way outside of my experience. I don’t know what to do with her.” She took a breath. “Can I please have a to-go dinner? Since we’re not able to go out?”

“Sure. Now tell me what happened.”

Ray Anne explained about Ginger’s gaunt appearance, horrible clothing, turned-off phone and so on. “I was already very sad for her and about the baby. Of course I held that baby—he was a perfect baby! But it’s been months and one look at her and you’d think it happened this morning. She’s in terrible pain. Just terrible.”

“She’ll have to work through it, Ray. Everyone’s grief time is different. Maybe you can get her into some kind of counseling or something.”

“We’ll look at that,” she said. “First, I have to clean her up and feed her.”

Carrie stood back from the deli case. Feeding people was her specialty. “What’s your pleasure?”

“Something with carbs. And a big salad for me. God knows, I don’t need fattening up. If my ass gets any bigger I won’t be able to stay up on these heels.”

Carrie laughed. “The chicken enchiladas are pretty irresistible. And I have some chips, salsa and guacamole.”

“Perfect. And a salad. I can eat a little Mexican food and plenty of salad and she can eat a lot of chips and enchiladas and a little salad. And listen. Would you ask Lou about counselors?”

“I can do better,” Carrie said. “When Ashley was on that downward spiral a couple of years ago, Lou found Gina a great counselor for Ashley. She specialized in young adults, but she might know someone to recommend for Ginger. Would you like me to ask Gina to give her a call?”

“Please,” Ray Anne said. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to convince Ginger to go, but really—something has to be done to move forward. I don’t know what else to do. And her daddy is right—she hasn’t gotten any better.”

“What have you done so far?” Carrie asked as she dished dinner into containers.

“Not much. I told her she couldn’t take a nap until her clothes were unpacked and she’d better turn on her phone or else. And...” She looked down somewhat shyly.

“I bought some lotions and stuff for her bathroom. I always feel better if I’m a little nice to myself. Baby steps,” Ray Anne said.

Carrie smiled. “Just do what comes naturally to you, Ray. You’re not a professional grief counselor but you know a lot about managing your own grief. And you’re very sympathetic.”