I take her hand and lace our fingers together. "Have you seen what you're wearing?"
She grins. "I wore it just for you."
"Mission accomplished." I let my eyes go down the length of her, then back up. "You show up in a short dress and rubber boots, I'm going to kiss you in the driveway. I don't make the rules." I chuckle. "And now I'll be useless all day."
"Good. That's what I like to hear." She squeezes my hand. "So I take it from your reaction you saw my post?"
"Uh-huh." I kiss her again, and then once more. "So you're officially out, huh?"
"If I wasn't, I am now. They're filming," Sloane murmurs against my mouth, not pulling away as camera shutters go off behind us. They're yelling at us, but it's all white noise.
"I know. Let them. This too shall pass, a wise woman told me."
Sloane shakes her head. "No," she says. "This won't pass. Ever."
There's a sudden burst of yelling from the end of the drive and we both turn.
Luis is standing by the gates with the long hose, aiming it at the three photographers, who are scrambling backwards trying to shield their cameras. One of them slips and goes down on one knee. Luis ups the pressure and keeps spraying.
"Stop it!" the one with the phone yells. "This is harassment!"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Luis says casually, without looking at him. "I'm just watering the weeds on the drive."
69
SLOANE
It's been seven days since I posted. I half expected to wake up the next morning and find I'd been digitally erased, or that my mother had hired a publicist and the publicist had hired a lawyer and the lawyer was suing the concept of honesty itself, but none of that happened. What happened was the video did half a million views in twenty-four hours and most of the comments were nice, and the sanctuary picked up a thousand new followers. The articles are out there, I haven't read them and I'm not going to.
And life has just continued. I've cleaned out the barn and fed the pigs every morning. Beyoncé stood on me again. Doris turned up with a tin of cookies for me, "for the helping with our church," and Ruthie has started referring to Maggie and me, in front of the breakfast regulars, as "the girls."
Today is bright and hot and I'm down by the pig pool with Maggie, both of us up to the elbows in muddy water scrubbing the algae off the sides. Glamorous work. Maggie's wearing an old navy tank top, and I'm in a pair of shorts and a bikini top since we're doing the 'wet work'.
Then a car slows down on the road and turns onto the drive. The engine is too smooth for it to be Luis, Gloria, or Dale, so we both straighten up and I raise my hand to my forehead to shield my eyes from the sun.
"Is that your dad's car?" Maggie asks, squinting.
"Yeah. I think so. Why is he —" I wipe my hands on my shorts, leaving brown streaks. "Okay," I mutter. "I think I'm about to get a mouthful for…" I sigh. "Whatever, I don't even care."
The car parks. My father gets out, and a moment later the passenger door opens and my mother follows.
My jaw drops as I watch her smooth her silk blouse. Mom doesn't leave LA unless there's a benefit gala or a flight to Aspen at the end of it. Weddings and funerals are negotiable, depending on who's hosting and how good the catering and accommodation are.
"Oh my god," Maggie says. "Sloane. They're going to hate me."
"What? No. Why?"
"For keeping you here." She pulls out her ponytail, finger-combs her hair, and ties it back again. "And is that your mom? Oh, God. She's going to take one look at me and —"
"You're not keeping me here. I practically begged you to let me stay," I interrupt her. "I'd have chained myself to a fence post."
"They don't know that. And she's going to hate me for turning their daughter gay," Maggie adds as we start walking.
I take her hand briefly and squeeze it once. "It'll be fine. I don't care what they think."
I sort of do. But not in the way I used to.
Mom puts her shades on and raises her hand to me. She glances around the yard, and I watch her register the pigs.
