He'd be proud, Addie finally says. Not just of the case, of who we became getting there. Josie nods, throat tight. I think he already knew who we'd become. That's probably why he trusted us with it in the first place.
They stay until the sun starts dropping low. Then walk back to the car together, shoulders brushing the way they used to. On a quiet afternoon weeks later, Addie stops by before heading back to her own district. She finds Josie behind the counter, sleeves rolled up, humming along to the radio. It's a small, ordinary sound, the kind neither of them heard much growing up.
Addie stands in the doorway a moment, just watching, letting it settle in. "You staying here for good? " she asks, watching Josie wipe down the counter. I think so, Josie says. This town needs someone to keep an eye on things.
Someone who won't run when it gets hard. Addie smiles. Something proud and a little sad in it. Dad would be proud of you. Of both of us, Josie corrects gently.
They sit together at the counter a while. Sisters finally at rest. Meg refills their cups without being asked the way she always does now. Dorothy waves from her booth. Tea steaming book open to a new page.
These days. The old man and his wife walk in a moment later. Cain tapping softly. They settle into their usual booth. Same order, same quiet conversation about nothing in particular.
Except today, the old man catches Josie's eye and gives her a small knowing nod. The same one he gave her that very first week. Before any of them knew where this would lead. Told you this town takes care of its own, he says. Eventually.
Anyway. Josie smiles, something warm settling behind her ribs. Eventually counts. Outside, a truck pulls up. Ryan dropping his sister off for her weekly slice of pie.
He waves through the window before driving off again. Steady now, present in ways he wasn't before. Chase walks by on the sidewalk a moment later. Fire department shirt still on from his shift. He doesn't come in, not yet.
But he slows just enough to glance through the window. Josie raises a hand in greeting. After a beat, he raises one back. Small gestures, slow rebuilding, the kind of repair that doesn't happen all at once. Frank finishes his coffee, sets a few dollars on the counter, same as every morning.
Before he leaves, he pauses by the framed badge and photographs one more time. "See you tomorrow, old friend, " he says quietly, then steps out into the afternoon light. Later that evening, the diner empties and Rosie flips the sign to closed. Josie stays a while longer, wiping down the counter slowly, in no hurry to leave. She thinks about the notebook still tucked in her bag, pages full of a journey that started long before she walked through this door.
She thinks about the letters she wrote and never sent, addressed to a sister who turned out closer than she ever let herself believe. She thinks about her father, about porch steps and quiet lessons, about a badge that traveled 9 years to finally come home to the right wall. Outside, the street lights flicker on one by one. The way they do every evening in Marlo Creek. Ordinary.