Louise startles. She takes two fast steps forward and produces the strangest sound I have ever heard. A deep, thudding, underground sort of noise — thump, thump, thump — that vibrates through the air.
"The drumming," Maggie says quietly. "I can see how that was disturbing to their old neighbors."
The second emu appears. Thelma. She comes out quicker than her sister, maybe because she doesn't want to be left behind, and she walks straight up beside Louise and stops, and the two of them stand in the middle of the paddock, looking at us.
And then they suddenly start running, their ridiculous legs moving underneath them so fast that they blur. They do a full circuit of the paddock in what can't be more than ten seconds. Past the chairs, past the goats who look seriously confused, past Hank, who has backed up against the fence with his ears flat against his head.
Louise stares directly at me, and Thelma stares at Maggie. We all sit very still.
"What do we do?" I whisper.
"Nothing. We just sit here and let them get used to us."
Louise takes a step closer. Then another, her feet lifting high with each step like she's paranoid about mud.
"She's coming over."
"She's curious. Don't move."
My heart is hammering in my chest. "Maggie, I'm scared."
"Don't move, Sloane."
Louise keeps coming. She stops about three feet from my chair and lowers her head. Her beak comes toward my hair. I hold my breath and close my eyes while she touches the top of my head with the tip of her beak. Twice. Then she lifts her head back up, looks at me for another long moment, and turns around.
And she poops. On my leg. A thick, dark, wet stream of it, running down my shin and into my sneaker.
I make a sound that isn't a word. It isn't even really a scream.
Don is quietly laughing and Maggie has her hand over her mouth. Her shoulders are shaking and her eyes are watering and she's not even trying to hide it.
Louise walks away as if she hasn't done anything at all and Thelma joins her. They wander over to the far side of the paddock and start investigating the pool.
I stand up. The poop is warm and I can't say anything because there are no words available to me right now.
"Well," Maggie says, still trying not to laugh out loud. "She's marked you. That's an honor in some cultures."
It's running and I can feel every inch of it. I've never wanted to be out of my own body as much as I do in this moment. "Maggie, this really isn't funny."
Maggie pats my arm. "Okay. Okay, I'm sorry. I'll hose it off and you can shower in the house. I've got clean towels in the bathroom and I'll find you something to wear home."
22
MAGGIE
Don finishes his soda a few minutes after Sloane disappears into the house, and says he'd better get on the road.
The emus settled faster than I thought they would. They did a second, slower lap of the paddock and then went to the pool and stood looking at it for a while before Thelma put a foot in. Within ten minutes they were both in it. I stand at the fence for a bit, watching them, and Hank comes over and stands next to me. He's not nervous anymore, which is a relief.
I pick up the sneaker Sloane left on the porch and take it to the outside tap. I rinse it with the hose and leave it upside down on the porch railing to dry.
The shower is still running when I go inside. Sloane's been complaining about the water pressure in the motel so I imagine this is a novelty.
I feel like showering and changing myself, but I still have some work to do. I go upstairs and when I reach the landing, the bathroom door opens and Sloane steps out. She's in a towel, holding it closed at the front with one hand. Her wet hair is hanging over one shoulder.
"Oh." I stop. "Sorry. I have bigger towels. I didn't realize you'd taken that one. There are bath sheets in the cupboard on the left."
"It's okay, it's fine." She shifts her weight and hunches forward a little, gathering the towel to protect her modesty. "I took a bit of a liberty. I used your shampoo and washed my hair while I was in there. I couldn't help myself."
