Page 213 of Josephine and Clay

I glance toward his brace. “Can you?”

“I can make it to the porch, Doc.”

“I’m not that kind of doctor.”

“You’re the closest thing I’ve got right now, and you’re too mean enough to be effective.”

“That might be the nicest insult anyone’s ever given me.”

He smiles, but there’s exhaustion underneath it, and when he reaches for his crutch, I stand with him.

The porch is warm and dry, carrying the smell of dust, hay, and summer grass. Crickets sing from somewhere near the fence line. Beyond the yard, the pastures stretch dark and wide beneath a sky crowded with stars.

Clay lowers himself onto the porch swing with a careful grimace.

I sit beside him, close enough that our shoulders almost touch. Then Clay looks down at my stomach. “Do you have a picture?”

I blink. “Of what?”

“Them.” He clears his throat, suddenly self-conscious. “The twins. From the ultrasound.”

“Oh,” I say, then immediately hate how small my voice gets. “Yes. I have one.”

I reach for my phone with fingers that aren’t quite steady, open the photo, and hand it to him.

Clay takes it carefully, as if the phone itself has become fragile.

The screen lights his face while he studies the grainy black and white image. His brow furrows with intense concentration.

I wait.

He studies the image long enough for nerves to start working their way in.

Then he says, “I’m gonna be honest with you.”

“That’s ominous.”

“They look a little strange.”

A laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it.

Clay glances over, alarmed. “What? They do.”

“They’re sixteen weeks old.”

“I’m not blaming them. I’m just saying nobody warned me babies start out looking this mysterious.”

“They’re not mysterious. They’re developing.”

He looks back at the screen, and his expression changes again, humor fading into wonder so slowly it steals my breath.

“That one’s turned sideways?”

I lean closer and point. “That’s Baby A.”

“Baby A,” he repeats, the words carrying an almost disbelieving care.

“And that’s Baby B.”