"I guess," Sloane says. She hesitates, then looks up at Mom again. "You've built something really special here. You must be very proud of it."
"I am," Mom says. "Though it's Maggie who runs it now." She shoots me a warm smile. "I'm proud of her, mostly. If she hadn't taken over from me, all these animals would have lost their freedom all over again. She gave up a lot to keep this going." She turns back to Sloane. "Anyway. I'm glad it hasn't been too miserable for you."
Cassie, who has been quietly demolishing a second doughnut, pipes up. "Penny takes carrots from her hand now. Penny doesn't do that with anyone except you, me, and Maggie."
"That's true," I say.
"Penny bit a vet once," Cassie tells Sloane. "On the arm. He had to get a tetanus shot."
Mom's eyebrows go up a fraction. She knows exactly what it means for Penny to take food from a stranger. She's known that horse longer than I have.
"And she does a great job with the pigs," Dale adds, brushing crumbs off his shirt. "Mucks out, hauls feed, the lot. Doesn't complain. I've worked alongside a lot of volunteers, Gloria, and half of them quit when they find out how heavy a hay bale is." He shrugs. "She's a hard worker, that one."
Sloane has gone pink and stares into her coffee.
Mom doesn't say anything to that but I watch her take it in. Dale, who doesn't hand out praise and Cassie, who loves those horses more than she loves people. My mother trusts their judgement.
The coffee winds down. Dale heaves himself up to get back to the roof, Cassie drifts off to the horses, and Sloane stands and gathers the mugs onto the tray and carries them inside.
The moment she's through the door, Mom turns to me.
"Well?" I say. "Go on. You've got a face full of things you're not saying."
She finishes the last bite of her doughnut before she answers. "She's not what I expected," she admits. "I came here ready to dislike her and she's made it difficult. And the animals like her." A pause. "Which is why I'm worried, Maggie. It would be a great deal easier if she were awful."
"Why is that?"
"Because she'd leave when her time is up and you'd be glad to see the back of her. I don't want her to break your heart."
45
SLOANE
The picnic table behind the Dusty Rose has a wobble in one leg and a carved heart with initials in the surface. It's where I've ended up with a packet of crackers, a pack of sliced cheddar, and a book I've read the same paragraph of four times.
Gloria stayed all afternoon. She'd brought her laptop to go over the accounts, and in between she did the rounds of the animals. When the work was done she needed Maggie to walk through whatever it is they walk through with spreadsheets. There was no reason for me to hang around, so I caught the bus back, stopped at the store because I wasn't hungry enough for the diner, and now here I am, watching the light go flat and orange over the field.
I'm not as engaged in the book as I was before. Now that I've stumbled into the real deal, the fantasy feels thin, like watching a cooking show after you've eaten the meal. Or maybe my mind is just too full of Maggie to process anything else.
I put the book face-down on the table, allowing myself to think about her instead. I've never wanted anyone like this, and it isn't just physical, though God knows that's there too, vividly,right now. It's that I want to be near her. I want to hear what she thinks about things and I want to make her laugh.
My phone pings on the table. Normally I'd leave it. Then I see the name — Maggie — and grab it.
Hey… I keep thinking about last night. And then today there were people here from the second you arrived. I feel like I haven't had a minute alone with you. Mom only just left.
Yeah. I keep thinking about it too. Your mom seems nice, by the way,I reply.
Took her a while to admit it, but I think she likes you too.Maggie ends the message with a smiley face.
Maggie's still typing. The dots appear, disappear, appear again. Then another message comes in.
I was wondering if you'd like to stay for dinner tomorrow after work.
My stomach swoops. It's not just dinner and we both know it. The thought arrives and brings a dozen flashes with it: Maggie's mouth on mine, her hands under my shirt, the things we didn't get to finish. I picture her without the T-shirt. I picture a lot of things and my face goes hot.
I'd love that.I hesitate, then type another message before I can talk myself out of it.Can I shower there after work? I always feel disgusting by the end of the day. Or is that weird?
Of course. Bring a change of clothes. And I promise to find you a bigger towel this time. :)
