Full ride nearly. What happened? My mom got sick. Real sick. Somebody had to stay, so I stayed.
Gave up the scholarship. Never really talked about it. Josie is quiet for a second. Do you regret it? Some days me admits.
Most days, no. She's better now, mostly. But I watch this town sometimes and wonder what I gave up for it, whether it deserves what I gave. It sounds like you gave it out of love, Josie says gently. Not because the town earned it.
Meg looks at her, something loosening in her shoulders. Nobody's ever put it that way before. That doesn't make it not true, Josie says. Meg laughs short and surprised. You're a strange one, Mallister.
You have no idea, Josie says. And for once, there's a real smile in it. Across the diner, Frank watches the two of them talking. He doesn't hear the words. He doesn't need to.
He's watched enough people over the years to read a room. Whatever passed between those two just now, it mattered. He thinks about his own daughter, grown now, living three states away. Wonders when he last had a conversation that honest with anyone. Maybe that's the real reason he keeps coming back to this counter.
Not just the coffee, not just the habit. Somewhere in this diner, people still say true things to each other. That's rarer than it used to be. He knows that better than most. That evening, after a close, Rosie lingers longer than usual.
Wiping down a counter that's already clean. My mother used to say something, she tells Josie. Not quite looking at her. She used to say this diner wasn't really about the food. Food's just the excuse people use to sit somewhere warm.
Josie leans against the counter listening. She built this place with nothing. Rosie goes on. No money, no help, just stubbornness and a good pie recipe. Worked 18-hour days for years.
Never once let anybody see her cry. Sounds like she was strong. Josie says she was tired. Rosie says with a small tired laugh. Strong and tired aren't always different things.
Sometimes strong just means you keep showing up. Anyway, Josie is quiet for a moment. My father used to say that, too. Rosie looks up, careful not to push too hard. Yeah.
He said the measure of a person isn't whether they get knocked down. Everybody gets knocked down eventually. It's whether they get back up quiet and keep doing right without needing anyone to see it. Rosie studies her for a long moment. Your father sounds like he was a good man.