The line goes dead. Helpful as ever.
I pull on shorts and a T-shirt and check my face in the mirror. If it's Officer Reeves making an unannounced visit, I should at least look presentable.
The glass door is propped open. Patty is behind the counter doing her crossword and there's a woman standing in front of the desk. Somehow I know she doesn't belong here and my brain takes a moment to catch up with my eyes.
I stop in the doorway and blink. She’s short and chubby with a bleached ponytail and a familiar tote bag at her feet. "Irina?"
She smiles. "Hi, honey."
Something breaks inside me. I cross the reception in three steps and throw my arms around her, holding on tight. She smells like the laundry detergent she uses and the scent feels so familiar and safe that I choke up.
"Oh my god," I say into her shoulder. "You have no idea how happy I am to see you. Did Dad send you? He said he wouldn't, and anyway it wouldn't be fair to make you drive all the way out to —"
"Your father doesn't know I'm here," Irina says. She pulls back, holds me at arm's length and assesses me the way she used to look at me when I came home from school and she could tell from my face whether the day had been good or bad. She rubs my arm. "I just came to check on you." She pauses. "You look good."
I laugh because I know for a fact I do not look good.
"Irina. I look like a farmhand."
"You look healthy. There's color in your cheeks."
I smile. "Did you really drive four hours just to check on me?"
"And to bring you some clothes." She pulls her phone out of her purse, scrolls and holds it up for me to see. "My daughter sent me this and I couldn't ignore it."
It's a screenshot from some gossip site — one of those entertainment pages that recycle celebrity news. The photo is me, on my knees in the dirt, in my black cocktail dress, with Beyoncé the goat standing on my back. Luis is next to me, mid-reach, trying to shoo Beyoncé off. The headline reads: PRINCESS PIGPEN'S COMMUNITY SERVICE: DOWN IN THE DIRT.
The picture is beyond bizarre. "Great." I sigh. "I don't even want to know what else is circulating."
"I'll be honest, I was a little shocked when I saw it," Irina says. "I don't know what I was expecting when I packed for you.I suppose I thought they'd have you doing filing or answering phones. Something indoors."
"I wish," I say. "There's no reception desk. And there's definitely no filing involved. It's a farm, Irina. I shovel pig manure, haul hay bales and put up fence posts."
She regards me with concern and maybe a little bit of respect. "Well, I brought you some more suitable clothes. Come on. Let's go to my car."
Irina drives an old Honda Civic. She opens the trunk and pulls out a suitcase with a broken zipper that's been taped shut.
"You don't own much that would be useful here," she says, setting it on the ground. "So my daughter said you could borrow some of her things. Shorts, T-shirts, tank tops, a few pairs of what my daughter calls hot pants, and some crop tops." She shrugs. "Because it's warm and she said you might want to wear something that doesn't give you farmer's tan lines."
Then she walks to the passenger's side and pulls a cap and a pair of oversized shades from the seat. "And these," she says, "so maybe it's harder for them to get a picture of your face. Also my daughter's idea. She's smart."
I look at the suitcase, the cap, and the sunglasses. The practical, thoughtful, unglamorous kindness of all of it makes my eyes sting.
"Thank you," I say. "Thank you, thank you, thank you. You have no idea how amazing this is. I've been washing my clothes with shampoo until the sanctuary owner let me use her washing machine."
Irina's eyebrows lift. "Oh dear." She takes my hand and squeezes it. "Well, I have something else that might cheer you up." She reaches into the back seat and pulls out a cooler bag. "Go on. Open it."
Inside, nestled in ice packs, are three big trays of sushi and a bottle of my favorite Chablis. I can't help it. I burst into tears.Full, ugly, shaking crying that comes from somewhere deep and doesn't stop.
Irina puts her arms around me, holds me and rubs my back. She did it once when I was fifteen and heartbroken over a boy.
"I can't believe you did this," I say when I can speak. "That's so thoughtful. I'll pay you back, obviously. As soon as I'm out of here. For the gas and the sushi and —"
Irina waves a hand. "Absolutely not. I've worked for your parents most of my life and you are like family to me. And I thought — what would Sloane really miss out there? What would make her feel like herself again, even just for a little while?"
"You know me so well." I wipe my face and take a breath, looking up at the sky, which is starting to turn pink at the edges. "It's been such a long drive for you. Will you let me book you a room for the night? The motel is incredibly basic, but at least you won't have to drive back in the dark."
"No, no. I need to get back tonight. I have a dentist appointment first thing tomorrow."
