37 | Gettin’ closure
CLEMENTINE
Beth’s kitchen is warm and loud—exactly as I remember it. There’s roast chicken in the oven, cornbread on the counter, and my Aunt Marg and Aunt Beth sitting shoulder-to-shoulder at the table, wine glasses in their hands, laughing way too hard at their own jokes.
Savannah’s perched on the counter beside the stove, swinging her legs. Grady and Jace are already halfway through the rolls, and Colt’s sitting across from me, looking far too calm for someone about to be fed to the wolves.
Beth leans forward, eyes glinting. “So, Colton McGraw. How’s it feel finally ropin’ in our Clementine after all these years?”
I groan. “Aunt Beth, please don’t start.”
Colt grins lazily, resting one arm along the back of my chair. “Feels pretty natural, ma’am. Been a long time comin’.”
Marg snorts. “That’s one way to put it. Boy’s been lookin’ at you like a man watchin’ pie cool on the windowsill since you were barely outta high school.”
I groan, dragging a hand down my face. “Is there anyone who didn’t know about us? I thought we were being sneaky.”
Grady lifts his beer, grinning. “Don’t worry, doll. Nobody knew—ya’ll were plenty subtle.”
Beth smacks him upside the head with an oven mitt. “Subtle? Please. Half the county saw y’all stumblin’ out from behind the hay barn at the Harvest Festival, tuckin’ y’all’s shirts back in. Y’all were about as sneaky as a rooster in church.”
Laughter erupts around us. My cheeks burn, and I bury my face in my hands. “I think I just died. Right here. Tell my daddy it was from shame.”
Colt leans in, his drawl low and lazy. “Ain’t nothin’ shameful ‘bout a good memory, darlin’.”
I peek at him through my fingers, glaring. “You’re supposed to be on my side, McGraw.”
His mouth curves into that slow, sinful smirk. “On your side, at your back, under you, between your legs—hell, I’ll be wherever you want me, sweetheart.”
Beth points her fork between us. “If y’all don’t tone down the flirtin’, I’m fetchin’ the hose.”
Colt leans closer, voice dropping low. “Don’t think the thought of gettin’ wet ever scared this girl off, did it, Tiny?”
My entire family howls. Marg fans herself with a napkin. “Oh, Lord—he’s quick,” she cackles. “That one’s trouble, Clem. You better keep him.”
“I’m trying,” I mutter, cheeks on fire. “You’re the ones making him second-guess his choices.”
“No one’s second-guessin’ anythin’, Tiny,” Colt says, pulling me into him. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”
Jace lifts his glass. “To Clem, for finally baggin’ the cowboy every girl in town’s been thirstin’ after since his balls dropped.”
“Alright, on that note—” Beth pulls the chicken out of the oven. “Let’s dig in.”
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“You’re droolin’ on my floor, girl.”
I turn, smirking at Beth. “You can’t really blame me, can you?” I point toward the yard, where Colton is splitting wood for the fire. Grady and Jace are bent over the pit, stacking logs into a pyre.
Beth follows my gaze, shaking her head. “You’re in deep, aren’t you?”
I sigh, taking a sip of wine. “I don’t know if I can ever come up.”
She smiles softly, then glances around the quiet kitchen. “Hey, Clem, let me ask you somethin’.”
I cock a brow. “Alright.”
“How serious are you about movin’ back here?”
“Completely serious.”
“What if things go south between you and your beau?”
I look at Colt again—watch him laugh with Grady and Jace, sleeves rolled, his forearms shiny in the soft glow of the string lights—and my heart swells. Then my eyes flick past him, out to the pastures where the cows huddle together, and warmth rolls through me at the memory of this afternoon.
I exhale. “I’d stay.”
Beth studies me for a long moment, then takes my wrist. “I have something for you.”
She leads me through the house and into her office, rummaging through a cabinet. When she turns back, she’s holding something behind her back.
“Your mama made me promise to hang onto this,” she says softly.
My breath catches. “What is it?”
Beth swallows and holds out a pink envelope.
My heart drops as I take it. My fingers trace the coarse paper, the careful, slightly slanted handwriting. ‘My Clementine.’
I have an envelope just like it at home—tucked between photo albums in my bookcase. Mom’s last letter—or so I thought.
Dad never talked about moving back to the city with her. Never talked about life after her in general. It wasn’t that he was in denial—we talked about her dying often—but he refused to think about what came next. She’d tell him to move on, to love again. He couldn’t bear to hear it.
Mom knew he’d leave after she died. She wrote it in the letter—that he never belonged in the country, that I’d have to find my footing if he moved me away.
She gave me permission to go. Told me it wasn’t cutting ties with her memory—it was finding myself. I held onto that thought on every hard night.
I look up at Beth, throat tight. “What is this, Aunt Beth?”
She raises both hands, feigning innocence. “Don’t shoot the messenger. There’s tissues on my desk. I’ll be outside.” She’s gone before I can stop her.
I stare down at the envelope, tracing the familiar loops of her handwriting once more. Then, with trembling fingers, I break the seal.
The paper inside is pristine, still carrying the faint scent of her perfume.
I take a deep breath and unfold it.
My Clementine,
If you’re reading this, it means life took you on a detour.
It means you packed up your heart and tried to build something new somewhere else—and maybe, for a little while, it worked.
But if you’ve found your way back home, then maybe that part of you that always belonged here finally called you back.
I just hope it didn’t hurt too much, sweetheart. Change always stings, even when it’s right.
A painful lump swells in my throat, and I blink hard to keep my vision from blurring.
Wherever you went, I hope it showed you who you are.
Or maybe who you aren’t. I can’t tell you where you’re meant to end up—I wish I could—but I do know this: you were made for big things, my girl.
But “big” doesn’t always mean “far.” Sometimes the biggest life you can live is the one that grows from your own front porch.
I furiously wipe at my eyes, smiling through my tears. She always saw right through me.
If you did come home, I hope you let yourself breathe here. Let the quiet heal you. Let love surprise you, the way it always does when we stop running from it.
And if there’s someone—someone who makes you feel seen, or vulnerable, or brave—don’t fight it. Don’t talk yourself out of joy just because it scares you. Love them. Let them love you back. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.
You are my sunshine, my laughter, my wild-hearted girl. And wherever you plant yourself, I’ll be among those stars you’re always staring at—staring right back, proud beyond words.
All my love,
Mama
I grab a tissue from the box on Aunt Beth’s desk and press it to my eyes, letting the tears fall until the ache in my throat softens, until I can breathe again. Then I straighten my shoulders, clutch the letter to my chest, and draw a steady breath.
“Big” doesn’t always mean “far.”
I tuck the letter into my purse in the hallway, then walk back outside—out to the yard, out to him. Straight into the arms of the man I love—the one who makes me feel seen, vulnerable, and brave.
And I let him love me back.
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It's nearly over!!! We're almost at the end, you guys ????