Page 138 of Josephine and Clay

“And you won’t regret hiring me?”

His expression changes. The softness deepens, becoming almost paternal, and I wish it didn’t make my eyes sting again.

“Josephine,” he says quietly, “you’re not a problem I’m waiting to be inconvenienced by.”

The room blurs. I look away fast. “Thank you.”

“You and these babies have a place here. At this clinic. In this town.”

My hand goes instinctively to my abdomen.

I nod because words are unsafe. Then I gather my things. My bag. My notebook. The emergency kit I always carry. My water bottle.

Dr. Harris walks me to the front. “Text me when you’re home.”

“I’m not a child.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Then I step outside before I cry again.

The July heat hits gently, warm and dry, carrying the smell of dust from Main Street and a sweetness from Buttercup Bakery. Buckhorn moves around me in its usual small town rhythm. A truck rumbles past. Two women outside the feed store pause mid-conversation and look in my direction with casual curiosity.

I lower my head and walk.

Home. That’s the plan.

Drink water, eat actual food, rest, and make no major life decisions.

I make it half a block before I hear my name. “Dr. Wright?”

I stop.

Tessa McCoy stands outside Rusty Mug Cafe, one hand on the handle of a stroller, the other lifting in a tentative wave. Baby Hailey sleeps inside beneath a pale yellow blanket, impossibly tiny and peaceful.

My stomach does a strange flip.

“Tessa,” I say, then immediately wonder if using her first name is too familiar.

She smiles like it isn’t. “Hi. I thought that was you.”

“Yes. Hi.”

Excellent. Very eloquent.

Her gaze flicks over my face. “Are you alright?”

I consider lying.

I’m good at lying when the lie is small and useful. I’m fine. I’m tired. Everything is manageable. No, I’ve not been crying in an exam room like a Victorian widow with access to disinfectant wipes.

But Tessa’s voice is gentle. She has Hailey with her. She looks at me without suspicion. That combination is apparently lethal.

“I’m…” I stop. “I’m having a day.”

Her expression softens. “Do you want to sit for a minute?”

“No, I shouldn’t⁠—”