"He's cut her off so she's spending her weekend at the Dusty Rose."
My mother's other eyebrow goes up. Both eyebrows means she's surprised. "The Dusty Rose? That dump?"
"Yup. There's nowhere else around here so that's where she's been staying."
"Good lord." She shakes her head. "Well, respect to her father for finally teaching her what it's like to not have everything handed to her for once. After what she did she doesn't deserve to be comfortable."
"I know. But the money's been good. We were struggling before this, Mom. The feed costs, the vet bills, the repairs — it was all stacking up. And then she crashed into the barn and suddenly we have twenty thousand dollars in the account." I look at my coffee. "It's a blessing in disguise. I'd never tell her that, obviously."
"Obviously." My mother smiles. "The Lord works in mysterious ways. And sometimes He uses a Porsche." She tops up our coffees and settles back into her chair. "I had a call while I was in Portland," she says. "From Animal Control in Tulare County. They've got two emus."
I put down my mug and stare at her. "Emus."
"Yeah. A man was keeping them on his property outside Visalia. Neighbors complained about the noise — apparently they drum, did you know that? Anyway, the man's gone intoa care home and there's nobody to take them. Animal Control picked them up but they don't have the facilities for large birds. They've been calling around."
"And you think we should take them?"
"They're a bonded pair," my mother says. "Sisters, about four years old. Apparently they're docile with other animals but they don't like being separated."
"We've never had emus."
"We've never had a lot of things until we had them. Remember when you were little, when the alpaca arrived?"
"The alpaca spat on me every single day."
"And he turned out to be a sweetheart eventually. You were heartbroken when he passed." She taps the table. "Anyway, no one will take these emus and they need a home, Maggie. They've got nowhere else to go. Tulare said they'll cover the transport and the first month of feed costs."
I lean back and blow out my cheeks. "Where would we put them?"
"The back general paddock. It's large enough and the fencing is already six feet along the boundary. They'll be fine with the other animals and they can stay with the goats at night." Mom pulls a face. "They're called Thelma and Louise."
"That seems fitting. Two ladies on the run with nowhere to go." I laugh. "Well, I guess we'll add two emus to the mix then."
"Great," she says. "I'll tell Tulare you'll take them and I'll handle the paperwork." She shoots me a grin. "Now. Tell me about this date you went on."
"How do you know about the date?"
"Luis told me."
"Luis needs to stop talking."
"Luis has been talking since 1952. He's not going to stop now." She leans forward. "Second date? The dentist?"
"It's not going anywhere, Mom."
"Why not?"
"Because she spent half the evening asking about Princess Pigpen."
"Ouch." Mom waves her hand. "Next, then. Life's too short for someone who treats you like a stepping stone to something more interesting." She eases herself out of the chair. "Oven should be hot by now. Put the casserole in and let the volunteers know lunch is in thirty minutes. I'm going to do my rounds. I haven't seen my animals in two weeks and I don't want them to think I've abandoned them." She reaches into her bag and pulls out a paper bag. "I brought Hank some apples. He likes the pink ones."
"He's a donkey, Mom," I say. "He likes all apples."
"He likes the pink ones best. I can tell by the way he chews." Mom heads for the door. "Thirty minutes. Don't let it burn."
19
SLOANE
