Page 131 of Josephine and Clay

I snort. “That’s your answer?”

“It’s the truth.”

“It’s very vague.”

She wraps both hands around her mug. “I worked hard. Got qualified. Applied wherever I could. Dr. Harris needed help. Buckhorn was hiring.”

“That’s still a vague answer.”

Her mouth curves faintly. “What do you want me to say?”

“Everything.”

That stills her.

I don’t know why I say it like that.

Maybe because I can tell there's more. Maybe because everything about her makes me believe there’s more underneath, packed carefully away where no one can make a mess of it.

She looks out the window.

Main Street moves slowly beyond the glass. Trucks parked along the curb. A woman pushing a stroller. Old Virgil Tucker talking to a man outside the feed store.

“I wanted a place that could be mine,” she says finally.

“Wasn’t where you grew up?”

“No.”

“Where was that?”

She hesitates. “Outside Boise. Not small like this. Not big either.”

“You got family there?”

Her fingers trace the handle of her mug. “Technically.”

I understand that answer more than I want to.

“Technically,” I repeat.

She lifts one shoulder. “We aren’t close.”

“Why?”

She looks at me then. “You ask a lot of questions for someone who avoids answering them.”

Fair hit.

I lean back. “Maybe I’m changing.”

“Are you?”

“I don’t know,” I admit cautiously.

“I don’t either,” she says.

About herself, I think.