The screen shows a photo of Sloane on her knees in our yard in her black cocktail dress with Beyoncé standing on her back. Luis is reaching toward the goat, mid-shoo. The headline above the image reads PRINCESS PIGPEN'S COMMUNITY SERVICE: DOWN IN THE DIRT.
"There's more," Mom says. "Scroll."
I scroll. The next picture is one of Sloane walking across the yard pushing a wheelbarrow. The angle is from the road, taken with a long lens. She didn't know the photographer was there. The caption underneath says SOCIALITE GETS HER HANDS DIRTY.
The next one is from the diner. Sloane in the booth by the window, looking agitated. There's also one of Sloane on the bus. A grainy phone shot from a few rows down. She's looking out the window, her chin on her hand. The still is captioned PRINCESS PIGPEN'S FIRST BUS RIDE.
There's one of her at The Watering Hole, looking upset. I keep scrolling. There are countless memes and there's a lot of the word karma.
Someone's posted a picture of the diner — Ruthie's, taken from across Main Street — with text overlay.Heard from a reliable source in Duster, CA that Princess Pigpen has found God. Apparently she's been reading the BIBLE in the diner. LMAO. The transformation arc is real, folks.A reply underneath says,with respect, no the fuck she hasn't.
I make a sound that I disguise as a cough and think about Ruthie. Of course she told everyone that Sloane was reading the Bible. Ruthie's not a malicious woman. She probably meant well but she can't keep anything to herself and now Sloane's little white lie has escalated into a full-blown redemption story.
"I'm glad our donations are up but I'm not sure how I feel about drinking to Sloane's humiliation," I say, handing the phone back to Mom.
"Nonsense," Mom says, putting it away. "If Sloane Archer hadn't driven through our fence, we would still be one bad summer away from turning animals away. So at the risk of being inappropriate…" She lifts her glass. "To Sloane."
Dale snorts and Luis lifts his glass with a grimace.
"I actually like her," Luis says.
"You do?" Mom regards him with suspicion.
"Yeah. She's a good worker, that one. Slow at first but she's got faster. She doesn't complain. Yesterday she did the goat shed by herself before I'd even finished my coffee."
Dale nods. "I didn't think she had it in her, honestly. From the way the press made her out. She's not what I expected and I kind of like her too." He turns to me and stares.
"What?"
"You haven't said anything," Dale says.
"You haven't asked me anything."
"Well." Dale shrugs. "What do you think of her?"
I take a sip of wine to give myself a second. "I think Luis is right. She works and she's friendly." I push a piece of carrot around my plate. "There's more to her than I thought there was."
27
SLOANE
The motel phone rings and I ignore it.
I'm lying on the bed in my hot pants and a crop top, on top of the covers, with the curtains closed and the air conditioner off. The air conditioner makes so much noise that I'd rather sweat than listen to it, so the room is something close to ninety degrees and the only thing keeping me functional is a glass of warm tap water on the bedside table and the determination not to leave this room.
I haven't been to the diner since Friday morning. I've been surviving on the supplies I got from the supermarket in Cawley yesterday — bread, peanut butter, a tub of hummus, baby carrots, some apples, and a box of cookies I told myself were for emergencies and which I have already eaten half of. I bought instant coffee for the tiny travel kettle Patty keeps behind the desk and is willing to lend out for a hospitality fee of two dollars.
The reason for the lockdown is Ruthie, who I need to avoid until Sunday service is over.
The phone rings again and I pick up, just in case it's Officer Reeves.
"You've got a visitor," Patty says. "Ruthie from the diner."
My stomach drops and I feel a fine prickle of sweat across my back. There's a brief, blinding moment where I consider hanging up and pretending I never answered. But then I would spend the next six weeks living with the awkwardness and I need to eat at that damn diner.
"Okay," I say. "Send her to my room please."
She hangs up and I look at myself. There's no version of this in which I'm presentable in the next sixty seconds, so I throw on the pair of pajama bottoms Irina packed and run my hands through my hair, just before the knock comes.
