Page 212 of Josephine and Clay

“I’m okay, Mama,” he says.

Maggie pulls back far enough to grip his face between her hands. “You’re not okay. You’re pale, exhausted, limping worse than when you left, and you look as if you’ve been sleeping in a ditch with men who think whiskey is a vegetable.”

Boone shuts the door behind us. “That’s oddly specific.”

“I raised four boys. Nothing I say is oddly specific.”

Rose touches my elbow and gives me a small, encouraging smile before setting her bag on a chair.

Maggie’s gaze shifts to me. Suddenly, I’m certain she knows everything. Maybe mothers develop that ability after enough years of raising sons who make irresponsible choices and then wander home expecting nobody to notice.

Her expression softens, but she doesn’t ask. “Josephine, sit down before you fall down.”

“I’m fine.”

All four McCoys turn and look at me.

Even Clay, who should know better by now.

I sigh. “That phrase has really lost power recently.”

Rose pulls out a chair. “Completely ruined. Tragic, honestly.”

I sit because my body is no longer accepting arguments from my personality.

Maggie moves around the kitchen with brisk purpose, reheating stew, slicing bread, filling glasses with water, and muttering under her breath about stubborn boys and long drives. Boone takes Clay’s bag without asking. Clay starts to object, but Boone lifts one eyebrow, and Clay decides survival matters more than pride.

For a little while, everything becomes strangely ordinary.

Bowls are set on the table. Rose steals half of Boone’s bread after insisting she wasn’t hungry. Maggie fusses at Clay until he eats three bites, then fusses at me until I eat four. Boone leans against the counter, pretending not to watch his youngest brother as if Clay might vanish again if nobody keeps him in sight.

Every few minutes, his eyes find mine across the table, and each time they do, the same quiet promise waits there.

I’m here.

I’m still here.

I want to believe it so badly it scares me.

Eventually, Maggie orders everyone to bed with the authority of a woman who could command weather if she felt strongly enough. Rose hugs me before she and Boone head toward their place, and Boone stops beside Clay long enough to put a hand on his shoulder.

“Tomorrow,” Boone says.

Clay nods. “Yeah.”

“Don’t make me chase you again.”

Clay’s mouth curves faintly. “I'd say you enjoyed every minute of it, but Rose is still within throwing distance.”

“She is,” Rose calls from the doorway.

Boone points at him. “Tomorrow.”

After they leave, the house settles into the sort of quiet that comes after too much emotion has passed through it. Maggie disappears down the hall, but not before giving Clay a look that says their conversation is far from over.

Clay waits until her bedroom door closes before he lets out a long breath.

“You want to go outside?” he asks me.