No matter how many homes she’d lived in, or what had happened in them, she’d never known such unconditional love. “I’ve never done anything impulsive in my life,” she said. “From the time I was a little girl, I learned not to get close to my foster parents or to the children in the homes where I lived. I knew I wouldn’t be in one place long, so why make friends? The social workers tagged me as RAD—reactive attachment disorder. Most kids with that problem act out. I just withdrew into myself. When I was old enough, I got some books at the library so I could understand why I didn’t want to be close to people. I made an effort to fit in more in my last foster home, and with Lucas. Neither worked out so well, but since I’ve come here, I’ve”—she paused and took a deep breath—“well, I’ve felt myself coming out of living inside myself, and I’ve learned to trust y’all and Sloan. I wasn’t a bit offended when y’all said that yesterday. I was dreading telling you I was moving out, because for the first time in my life, it mattered to me what someone thought.”

“Oh, honey.” Betsy hugged her again. “We all love you so much, and you can always trust us, and you can always come to us with any problems, or just to talk.”

“Words can’t describe what’s in my heart right now.” Ginger saw a movement out the window in her peripheral vision and whipped around to see the mail lady bringing two boxes across the yard. “They’re here.”

“Well, darlin’, let’s go bring them inside.” Kate pushed back her chair. “If you want to think about putting them in Cottonwood Cemetery, it’s all right. You don’t have to make the decision right now.”

“I’d like to get them buried as soon as possible. They deserve to be either scattered or put into the ground, but I sure thank y’all for giving me plots.” Ginger followed her to the door.

“Well, then, we’ll do it at dusk tonight.” Kate opened the door and took the boxes from the lady.

“I ain’t never delivered anything with ‘Cremated Remains’ on the side,” the lady said.

“It’s my parents,” Ginger told her.

“Well, it’s my first.” She laid a few pieces of mail on the top box. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Laura Johnston. I saw you at church on Easter.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Ginger said.

“How’s Edith this mornin’?” Connie asked. “I heard she had a spell at church yesterday mornin’.”

“Aunt Edith is at home this morning. We aren’t sure what happened, but when she woke up last evening, she was starving. Dr. Emerson said the only time he’d ever seen such a thing was when someone had gotten high on drugs, but we all know that Aunt Edith is a teetotaler. She won’t even take a sip of champagne at a wedding. I’ll tell her you asked about her. Sorry about the argument. I don’t know what got into her.” Laura turned around and hurried back to the mail truck.

“Good Lord, is everyone in town kin to each other?” Ginger asked.

“Just about.” Kate set the two boxes on the credenza.

Ginger laid a hand on each box. “I expected them to be bigger.”

“So did I,” Kate said.

“Are you going to bury them in those boxes or take them out?” Betsy asked.

“I hadn’t thought that far.” Ginger tore the tape from one box and opened it to find a plastic bag full of gray ashes and an envelope with a death certificate inside. “This is my father. He died from a gunshot wound to the heart and was dead on arrival at the hospital. Should I put them in the ground inside the plastic bag or dump them out? What do y’all think?”

“I’d leave them in the bag,” Betsy said. “I bet we can find something in the attic to use as urns or little coffins to put them in. That’d probably bring you more closure than just dropping a plastic bag in the ground.”

“Can we go up there and look now?” Ginger asked.

“We sure can,” Kate told her. “I’m remembering a metal box that Mama said Grandmother kept her egg money in. It even has a latch on it.”

“I didn’t get around to cleaning the attic last fall, so it’s going to be dusty.” Connie was apologetic.

“Don’t know why you clean it anyway. No one ever goes up there but you,” Kate fussed as she led the way up the stairs.

Ginger followed behind them. She’d expected an emotional roller coaster when she finally got the remains, maybe tears or anger or something. She’d cried over Betsy’s story, so surely she should feel something looking at her parents’ ashes, but she hadn’t felt anything. Maybe when they buried them that evening, it would be different. As she climbed the second set of steps up into a pristinely organized attic, all she could think was that she was sure glad Sloan’s house didn’t have stairs.

The sun hung in the western sky like one of the big orange Nerf balls Sloan had played with as a kid when they gathered around the two shallow graves in the cemetery that evening. Ginger kneeled down and placed a cedar box in the first hole, then moved over to put a metal one in the second one.

Sloan extended both hands to help her up. She took them and stood to her feet, her belly throwing a wide shadow over both graves.

“My senior year in high school, we studied some poetry by Rod McKuen. A poem of his spoke to me so much. I can’t quote it, but one of the lines in the poem about his father said that he envied the other children for their fathers because he never knew his. That has stuck in my head and made me wonder, if I’d known my parents, would I be a different person today, or was Fate or God or Destiny doing what was best for me even though the journey from birth to this moment hasn’t been easy?”

Sloan swallowed twice to get rid of the lump in his throat. Ginger was definitely, beyond a doubt, an old soul, as his granny used to say of people who were wise beyond their years.

“I should feel pain today, but I don’t. I feel happiness that I get to bury my parents and that I’ll know where they are finally laid to rest. I feel good that my child will have at least this much of her grandparents close by, but what I feel most is relief. It’s like, by doing this, I can finally put the past behind me and move on to the future. Thank all of you for being here with me today. Let me play a song on this new phone to finish off this service.” She touched her phone and Sarah McLachlan’s voice filled the cemetery with “Angel.”

The words seemed so fitting to the situation that Sloan wondered if it had been written for a couple of folks just like Ginger’s parents. A single tear traveled down Ginger’s face when the lyrics said that in the arms of an angel maybe they would find some comfort. Sloan draped an arm around her and pulled her close.

“That was beautiful,” he said.

“It was all I had, and the song seemed to be the right one.” She sniffled. “I wish I would have known them, but if I had, I wouldn’t be where I am today, and for the first time in my life, I really like my place in the universe,” she said.

“Me too,” Sloan said.

A soft breeze sent the scent of nearby honeysuckle floating across the whole cemetery. Sloan picked up the shovel that the gravediggers had left behind and filled in both graves. Then he stuck a marker that had the names and dates of birth and death in the place where the headstones would be set eventually.

Using the back of the shovel blade, Sloan patted the earth down as much as possible, then leaned the shovel against a big pecan tree that shaded all the graves in the plot. “I’ll plant some grass seed on here later this week and keep it watered until it takes root.”

“We should’ve brought flowers,” Betsy moaned. “Mama’s had pretty flowers on her grave ever since she passed away.”

“We can do that when the headstones get here,” Ginger said.

Kate went over to Belle’s grave and laid a hand on the tombstone. “Sloan, the cemetery sure looks nice since you’ve taken it over.”

“Are you ready to go home now?” Betsy asked.

“Y’all go on without me,” Ginger told them. “I think I’ll stay for a little while.”

“I’ll be glad to bring her home when she’s ready,” Sloan offered.

“All right, then,” Kate said. “We’ll leave the door unlocked in case you get home after we’re already in bed.”

“Thanks.” Ginger waved as the three went to the car.

Sloan tucked her hand in his and together they walked across the cemetery, through the gate, crossed the yard to his house, and climbed the steps. “Want a glass of tea or a bottle of cold water?”

“Water would be good.” She dropped his hand and sat down in one of the two old red rocking chairs on the porch. “I can see myself rocking the baby out here in the evenings.”

“I hate to ask you to get up, but I’ve got something I want you show you,” Sloan said. “We can come back out here after you see it.”

He held out a hand. “Need some help?”

She tucked her hand into his, and he pulled her up. “I’ll be glad when Dumbo gets here. It’s gettin’ harder and harder to get up and down.”

“Hey, now, be careful.” He smiled. “You might mark that sweet little girl by calling her that and she’ll have big ears.”

“I don’t believe all that superstitious mumbo-jumbo,” Ginger said.

Sloan led her through the small living room, down the hall, and into his granny’s old bedroom. “I brought this out of the barn and cleaned it up. My grandfather slept in it when he was a baby and then my dad and me. I thought if we could put the new little girl in it, then . . .” He didn’t get the rest of the sentence out before Ginger let go of his hand and grabbed him in a tight hug.

“Oh. My. Goodness.” She pulled his face down to hers and kissed his cheeks, his eyelids, and his chin. Then she let go of him, went straight toward the bed, and put a hand on it. “It’s beautiful, Sloan. I never dreamed that I’d have something like this for her.”