18. Josephine #3
There’s a strange kind of gravity around them. The sort of family that notices when someone’s missing from the table. The sort that probably survives things together.
I don’t know what to do with families like that.
“No,” she says immediately. “No, Josie. They wouldn’t hate you.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know enough.”
“I barely know them. Clay barely knows me.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“It means something.” My tone drops. “This isn’t a small thing, Penny. It’s not a misunderstanding or a rumor or one of Clara’s matchmaking schemes. It’s two babies. His babies. Their family.”
Penny’s hand tightens around her cup.
I force myself to breathe. “I can handle them being angry,” I say, though I’m not sure that’s true. “I can handle judgment. What I can’t handle is needing them to be kind and finding out they aren’t.”
Penny says, “That sounds like the kind of thing a person says when she’s used to people disappointing her.”
I look away.
The band shifts into a slower song. Couples adjust, laughter softening as the rhythm changes.
“I’m not trying to be dramatic,” I say.
“I know.”
“I just need to be smart.”
“You are smart.”
“I need to be prepared.”
“You're prepared.”
“I need to be able to do this alone.”
Penny doesn’t answer right away. When I look back at her, her face is gentler than I can bear.
“What?” I ask.
“I think you can,” she says. “I just don’t think you should have to.”
My throat tightens.
That's exactly the sort of sentence that should be banned in public places.
Before I can respond, Jessie Alvarez appears with two plates stacked with chili and cornbread. “Penny Tucker, if you don’t come help me convince Mayor Ruth that the band should play something faster, I’m going to start a rebellion.”
Penny glances at me.
I wave her off. “Go.”
“You sure?”
“I’m not helpless.”
“I know. That’s never been the concern.”
I give her a look.
She kisses the air beside my cheek dramatically and lets Jessie drag her toward the cluster near the band.
For the first time all evening, I’m alone.
Not completely. Buckhorn surrounds me on all sides, bright and loud and alive. But Penny’s absence leaves space for my thoughts to creep back in.
I move toward the edge of the barn, near a post wrapped with string lights, and stand where I can watch without being watched too closely.
A little girl runs past with a cookie in each hand.
Earl Haskins announces something no one listens to.
Clara scolds a man for taking a second slice of pie before everyone’s had firsts.
Boone lifts Wyatt easily when he trips over his own boots, steadying him with one hand.
Rose says something that makes Boone smile down at her like the entire room faded away.
My hand settles briefly over my stomach before I catch myself and let it fall again.
I can’t do this.
I can’t stand here building imaginary futures out of fiddle music and string lights and one man who still has no idea he’s going to be a father.
The thought steals my breath.
I see a future rooted in a place I only meant to live in quietly. I see children who belong to more than just me. I see family tables, ranch dust, porch steps, birthdays, holidays, people who show up whether invited or not.
And then I see Clay leaving again. Truck taillights. Silence. A phone with no answer.
And then fear slips in anyway. Because I don’t know what Clay wants. I only know that we insisted on casual because he’s not usually in town.
The vision collapses.
No.
This is why control matters. This is why I cannot build anything on maybes and almosts and the way a man looks at me when the rest of the world goes quiet.
I take another sip of lemonade, even though it's gone warm.
Penny returns flushed and triumphant. “I've successfully influenced the musical direction of this event. Want to dance?”
“No.”
She smirks. “Want to pretend we’re too sophisticated for dancing while secretly judging everyone?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent.”
So that’s what we do.
For fifteen minutes, I almost forget. Enough that I laugh when Earl tries to clap on beat and fails. Enough that I eat two more bites of pie. Enough that Penny spins herself in a circle and nearly collides with Mayor Ruth’s clipboard.
Enough that my shoulders start to loosen.
Maybe Penny was right. Maybe one night doesn’t have to mean anything. Maybe I can be frightened and still stand under warm lights listening to fiddle music. Maybe I can be pregnant and uncertain without turning into someone unrecognizable to myself.
Then the energy shifts.
I feel it before I understand it.
A ripple near the entrance. A few heads turning. Boone looking up. Nash breaking into a grin. Maggie McCoy, seated near the side with Clara, straightening slightly.
Penny goes still beside me. “Oh.”
My heart already knows.
I turn.
And in walks Clay.
He comes through the wide barn entrance on crutches, cast visible, dark hair slightly messy, jaw set like every step costs him and he’ll die before admitting it.
Nash is beside him, saying something with a grin, while Dallas follows close enough to help but far enough to let Clay pretend he doesn’t need it.
Clay looks tired and annoyed and unfairly beautiful all at once.