Page 108 of Josephine and Clay

“Thank you.” She leans closer. “You’re coming.”

“I’m tired.”

“You can be tired there.”

“I’m nauseous.”

“They have lemonade.”

“I have nothing to wear.”

Her smile widens in a way that fills me with dread. “I brought options.”

Of course she did.

“Penny—”

“No.” Her tone softens, but only slightly. “You’ve been living inside your own head for a week. Lists. Budgets. Worry. Repeat. You need one night where you remember you're a person and not just a crisis management system.”

My throat tightens before I can stop it. I look away first. “That’s not fair.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want to be around half the town.”

“Good news. Half the town already thinks you’re mysterious and slightly intimidating, so no one will bother you for long.”

“That’s not reassuring.”

“It should be.”

I close the cabinet with more force than necessary. “What if I don’t want to have fun?”

Penny’s expression changes. “Then don’t. Just stand next to me and judge everyone’s dancing.”

That does sound mildly appealing.

Still, I hesitate.

The barn dance.

The rodeo grounds.

Music, people, gossip, too much attention, too many chances for someone to notice I’m not drinking, or that my face goes pale every time fried food smells too strong, or that I keep touching my stomach when I’m not paying attention.

And Clay.

He might be there.

That thought arrives unwanted and fully formed.

Clay with his broken leg and his restless eyes. Clay who said he didn’t forget about me. Clay who makes casual feel like a lie I keep trying to tell myself.

But he might be alright again now. He may well have left town again—I mean, why would he tell me where he is?

I look around the clinic, at the polished counters, the labeled supplies, the files in their proper places. My controlled little world.

Then I look back at Penny.