Page 83 of What Remains

The smell of fresh coffee pulled Josie from her sleep long before the sun had fully risen.

For one blissfully disorienting second, she couldn't remember where she was. All she knew was the room's warmth, the heavy quilt, and the steady heartbeat rising and falling beneath her cheek. Then, memories flooded back: the ranch, her parents, the barn, Mark, Seth. The whole tangled weight of it settled over her, yet somehow, wrapped in the heat of another body, it pressed a little less heavily this morning.

She lifted her head, careful not to disturb him.

Seth still slept, one arm draped loosely around her waist. The permanent crease between his brows had smoothed, his jaw unclenched. The careful way he usually held himself—always slightly coiled, as if ready to move—had vanished, leaving someone she almost didn't recognize. She couldn't remember the last time she'd watched someone sleep without seeing them braced for gunfire.

They had both risen in the night for their watch shifts, slipping out into the cold, dark one after the other, rifles in hand, breath fogging the air. And both times, when watch ended, they had returned not to careful distance, but to each other, sliding beneath the quilt and into waiting arms as if there had never been any other place to return to.

Carefully, she slipped from the bed, trying not to disturb him. His hand instinctively reached for the empty space she left behind, searching for a moment before settling back onto the mattress. A small smile touched her lips. She gathered her clothes, dressed quietly, and eased the bedroom door shut behind her.

The farmhouse sat still and hushed, only the soft crackle of the woodstove and the distant whistle of wind breaking the silence. As she descended the stairs, the rich smell of coffee grew stronger, and she found Liz at the stove, pouring steam into two chipped mugs.

Without turning, her sister spoke. "I was wondering when you'd come down." A pause, then, without a trace of a smile: "You always were terrible at sneaking around."

A nervous laugh escaped Josie. "I guess some things never change."

Liz finally turned, and their eyes met across the kitchen. For a long moment neither sister spoke. Then Liz simply held out one of the mugs, and Josie accepted it with both hands, grateful for something warm to hold.

"I'm sorry," she said, the words spilling out before she even understood why.

Liz frowned. "For what?"

Josie stared down into her coffee. "I don't know." She let out a short, bitter laugh. "I just feel like I should be."

Silence settled between them until Liz leaned back against the counter. "You spent the night with him." Not a question—just the truth, laid gently on the table.

Josie's shoulders sagged. "Yeah."

"Do you regret it?"

The answer came almost before the question finished: "No." Then, after a pause, her voice cracked under the weight of it. "I just... I don't know what that says about me." Tears welled in her eyes. "I loved Mark. I still love him. I always will." She pressed both palms flat against her mug, as if needing to feel something solid. "I never thought I'd let another man touch me," the words barely a whisper. "And now I'm terrified that means I didn't love him enough."

Liz crossed the kitchen without a word. She set her own mug down and gently took her sister's hands. "Look at me."

Reluctantly, Josie lifted her eyes.

"Do you remember what Mom used to say after Grandma died?"

Josie shook her head.

A sad smile touched Liz's lips. "I do." She squeezed her sister's hands. "She said grief isn't something you get over. It's something you learn to carry."

Fresh tears slipped down Josie's cheeks, and Liz pressed on, her voice soft but certain. "You aren't carrying Mark any less today than you were yesterday."

"It doesn't feel that way."

"I know." She reached up and brushed a tear from Josie's cheek with her thumb, the same way she had when they were girls. "But him dying doesn't mean you have to die, too."

Josie looked away. "It feels wrong. Like I'm betraying him."

Liz let out a slow breath. "You know what I think?"

Josie swallowed hard. "What?"

"I think if Mark loved you the way you always said he did..." Tears of her own welled, but she managed a smile. "...then he'd hate watching you spend the rest of your life alone because of him."

Josie covered her mouth as emotion surged through her, too big to hold back. "I don't even know what this is," she said, her voice muffled. "I met Seth a week ago."