Page 113 of What Remains

Then he turned his wheel west.

The road back was a mirror of the one that led him away, but now every landmark felt like a promise. He pressed the accelerator down and didn't look back.

Chapter 27

Almost

Previous morning

The rumble of the two SUVs faded, swallowed by the trees until only the whisper of wind remained. Josie stood on the porch long after they had disappeared, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. She watched the snow drift over their tracks, slowly erasing the last proof they'd been there, a empty silence settling in its place.

She hadn't cried hugging Jay goodbye. She'd found a smile for Cara's last embrace and even managed a wave as Beast vanished. She had held it all together.

A small hand slipped into hers.

"Mommy?" Layla looked up with impossibly bright blue eyes. "They'll come visit, right?"

Josie's smile felt stiff, but she forced it for her daughter. "I hope so, sweetheart."

Layla nodded, accepting the answer with a simple faith Josie couldn't remember ever having, one still untouched by loss.

The screen door creaked. Liz stepped onto the porch with two empty coffee mugs, her gaze following Josie's down the empty road. "He's a survivor, Jo. If anyone can make it, he can."

Josie's gaze remained on the empty road. “Still doesn’t change the fact he’s gone, But I know, I really do.”

"You don't sound convinced."

Josie's gaze lingered on the empty road until the silence felt too heavy. Then she quietly knelt in front of her daughter. "Hey, Bug? Can Aunt Liz keep you busy for a little while?"

Layla tilted her head, studying her mother's face with unsettling perception. "Are you sad?"

The innocent question struck a crack through her composure; for a second, she couldn't draw a breath to answer.

"A little."

Without another word, the little girl threw her arms around her mother's neck. Josie held on tightly, breathing in the familiar scent of shampoo and woodsmoke, letting it steady her.

"I love you," Layla whispered into her mother's coat.

"I love you too."

She held her for another long moment, then kissed the top of her head. "I need a minute by myself, Bug. Can you go help Aunt Liz feed the goats out in the pasture for me?"

Layla looked between the two sisters, clearly sensing something she couldn't name. She gave a reluctant nod. "Okay."

She skipped toward Liz, who reached down and took her hand with a conspiratorial glance toward the barnyard. "I think those goats are plotting something."

Layla gasped. "They're escaping again?"

"I have a feeling."

The little girl hurried off, her laughter a fragile sound in the vast quiet. Josie waited until it faded completely before turning from the house. She didn't decide where to go; the barn pulled her forward. Each step was a memory: the old tractor where she'd skinned her knee, the fence post worn smooth by her father's hands as he watched horses come in from pasture.

The barn door groaned softly as she pushed it open. Warm air, scented with hay, leather, and horses, wrapped around her, and the familiar smell coiled in her chest, a sudden, sharp ache.

Home. After everything, it still smelled exactly the same.

She closed the door behind her. Horses lifted their heads from their hay, nickering low in recognition. One stretched its nose toward her, searching her pockets for treats. She scratched its forehead absently before wandering deeper into the barn, past every board, every beam, every rusted nail she'd memorized over a lifetime.