"I'll be," she says finally. "Isn't that something." She takes a delicate sip of her water. "You know, it's a wonderful thing, a man with means who likes to give back. A real Christian impulse, whether he knows it or not. We've been raising for that church roof going on seven years now. Some men, when they have a little extra and a good cause put in front of them, they just feel called to help." She lets it hang in the air. "I'm only saying."
Maggie catches my eye and there's a whole conversation in it — can you believe this, and don't you dare laugh, and underneath both of those, something flirtatious that makes me clench my thighs together.
Eventually Ruthie plants both hands on her knees and pushes herself up off the bench with a groan. "Right. That's me. If I sit here any longer I won't get up at all, and Larry'llhave burned the place down by now." She gathers the egg boxes against her hip. "You ready, honey?" she asks me.
I'm not ready. I would happily stay on this porch until the sun comes up. But Maggie doesn't say anything — doesn't offer a reason for me to stay, and I understand that she's leaving it to me. The smart thing, the safe thing, is to go, so I go.
I reach under the table for my purse and stand. "Ready." I turn before I leave. "Thanks for the beer, Maggie. It was very…" The word I want isn't one I can say in front of Ruthie. "…nice. Thank you."
Maggie's mouth twitches like she's fighting a smile. "Anytime. I'll see you tomorrow, Sloane."
44
MAGGIE
Itake my mother into the pig barn to find Sloane, who's almost done with the morning muck-out. Sloane looks up when she hears us, sets the pitchfork against the wall, and walks over, wiping her hands on her shorts.
"Hi. You must be Gloria," she says, offering her hand. "It's a real pleasure to finally meet you."
Mom shakes it. "Likewise." The smile she gives doesn't quite warm up. "And please thank your father from me. The pool and the goat business — very generous. The animals are thoroughly spoiled now."
"He'll be glad to hear it."
"Mm." Mom looks her over, then lifts the box in her other hand. "I've brought doughnuts. We're having coffee on the porch — come and join us?"
We head back across the yard, and Mom waves at Cassie, who's down by the horses, and at Dale, who's been patching the feed store roof all morning. "Cassie! Dale! Doughnuts!" Both of them down tools and start toward the house.
Sloane falls into step beside me. "You okay?" I ask quietly. We haven't had thirty seconds alone since last night, and from the way the day is panning out, we're not about to any time soon.
"Yeah." She wipes her hands on her shorts again. "I'm just — your mom hates me, doesn't she?"
"She doesn't hate you." I keep my voice low. "Give her time. She came with doughnuts. That's practically a hug from Gloria Dawson."
The pigs come trotting in from various directions and crowd around Mom in a snuffling, jostling huddle, snouts going straight for the doughnut box.
"No, no. Not for you." Mom lifts the box up out of range without breaking stride. "These are people doughnuts. You'll get a carrot later, greedy things, same as always."
Barbara, undeterred, leans her full weight against Mom's leg while she walks and gazes up at her with total devotion.
"Yes, yes, I missed you too," Mom says, scratching the top of Barbara's head.
We settle on the porch — Mom and Sloane in the chairs, Cassie and Dale on the bench, me on the step. I pour the coffee and pass the mugs round, and the doughnut box does a lap and comes back lighter. For a few minutes it's easy: Dale tells Mom about the feed store roof, and Cassie talks about San Diego and how much she'd missed the horses.
Then Mom turns to Sloane.
"So," she says, dusting sugar off her fingers. "How are you finding the work?"
"Honestly?" Sloane says. "Hard. Harder than anything I've ever done. The first week I cried in the shower most nights and I wasn't sure I'd last but now I kind of enjoy coming here." She turns the coffee mug in her hands. "I know it's meant to be a punishment, and I deserved one. But it hasn't felt like punishment for a while now. And I never said sorry to you — forthe fence, the animals, all of it. I should have stopped that night and I didn't. So. I'm sorry, Gloria. Truly."
Mom regards her over the rim of her mug. "Dolly was on the highway when Maggie found her," she says. "If a truck had come around that bend —" She stops herself and sets the mug down. "But it didn't. And she's in that new pool of yours right now, happy as anything. So." She looks at Sloane, and the edge has gone out of her voice. "Apology accepted. You can spend the rest of your time here making it up to her in carrots."
Sloane exhales, and a little of the tension goes out of her shoulders. "I can do that."
"I don't doubt it." Mom breaks off a corner of doughnut. "And when your two months are up? What then?"
Sloane gives Mom a nervous smile. "I don't know yet. I've been thinking about it a lot, and the honest answer is I don't have a plan." She glances at the yard. "Everything's always been handed to me, so I've never really had to figure out what I want. But I know I don't want to go back to how things were before. That's about as far as I've got."
"Well." Mom takes a sip of her coffee. "It's a start, I suppose."
