Silence.
"What do you mean? Your sentence ends, you come home. That's how it works."
"I know. I just—" I stand up, walk to the window, look out at the dusty lot and the rusted Toyota that's been on flat tires since I arrived. "There's some stuff I've started here with the sanctuary,” I add, keeping it vague. “And I want to see how it goes."
"Come on, Sloane." Sita’s voice goes up a notch. "Don't tell me you actually want to stay there longer than you need to. That’s crazy."
"I don't know what I want." I shake my head because it’s a lie and the truth at the same time. "I'm just not ready to come home yet. That's all I can tell you."
"This is about a person, isn't it?"
"What?"
"You've gone all weird and you 'don't know what's happening. There's a person. Is it that cop? The one who arrested you? Please tell me it's not the cop.”
"It's not the cop. There's no — I just need to figure some things out, okay? On my own. And then when my sentence is up, you and I will get together, properly, just the two of us, and I'll tell you everything. I promise. I miss you. I do."
There's a pause, and then she sighs. "Fine. No party. For now. But the second you're back I'm taking you to dinner and you're going to explain yourself."
"Deal."
"I love you, you absolute weirdo." She gasps. “Wait. You haven’t joined a cult, have you? That church you went to…”
"No, Sita. Not a cult. Not a cop. And listen, I have to go. Dad is trying to call me," I lie.
The phone rings again almost immediately and I assume it's Sita with one more thing, but it's Maggie and I'm grinning before I've even answered.
"Hey," I say. "Did your mom leave?"
"Just now. Drove off five minutes ago." There's a smile in her voice. "Listen — I'm calling about tomorrow. You can’t come in."
"What? Why?"
"Storm warning. There's a wind advisory up for tomorrow afternoon, and they're saying there's a real chance it kicks up a dust event — blowing dust, bad visibility. The buses won't run,and it’s not safe to pick you up in the morning in case it pulls in early. The I-5 in a dust storm is genuinely how people die out here. The pileups are awful and you can't see a thing. I've canceled the other volunteers too. I can manage one day on my own."
"Okay. Wow. A dust storm."
"Welcome to summer in the valley." Maggie hesitates. "Unless you want to come tonight, before it's even a risk. I could come get you now, but then you'd be stuck out here at the house, probably through tomorrow night, until it blows over and the roads are clear."
"Are you kidding?" I say. "I would so much rather be stuck with you than stay here. And besides—" I look at the window, the flat tan light going gold over the lot "—if there's actually a storm coming, you'll need the help, won't you?"
"I could definitely do with help," Maggie admits. "I was going to pretend I didn't, but yes. There's a lot to do right before it hits.” She pauses. "I'd want you here either way, though. The storm is a convenient excuse."
"You don't need an excuse. I'd come anyway," I say, grinning at the ceiling. “And I'm hoping the storm is a long one.”
52
MAGGIE
The sky's still blue over the farm when I come out with my coffee, but the windsock by the feed store is standing straight out, and the oak is moving in a way I don't love.
So it's coming after all. I was hoping it would track north like these sometimes do — a dirty horizon and a forecast that overpromised. But the gusts are coming harder now, kicking little spirals of dust up off the drive. This one means it.
Sloane comes out to stand beside me. She's wearing one of my T-shirts and holding a mug of the terrible coffee she made for us. We didn't sleep much and what sleep we got was tangled and too warm and I'd take it again tonight without thinking twice.
"Maybe twenty minutes," I say. "Then we'll get everyone locked up."
She follows my eyes to the horizon. "Why not now?"
