Page 33 of Show Me

I drive the screw in, step back, check the line. It’s straight. At least something is.

The box hasn’t moved. Of course it hasn’t. It’s not going to get up and walk itself out.

My teeth grind together as I squeeze the drill.

He didn’t say anything about my house. Didn’t ask where I lived. But in a town this small, you don’t have to. You only have to ask the right person. Or the wrong one.

“Ruby.”

I blink. “What?”

“You missed the mark.” Xavier taps the spot lightly.

I look down. I did. “Fixable.”

“Yeah.” He doesn’t say anything else. Doesn’t ask what I was thinking about. Doesn’t push. Which is almost worse. He knows what I’m thinking about. I wish he’d say that I’m worrying for nothing. But he remains silent.

I adjust the angle, reset, try again. The drill hums. The house creaks. And underneath it…. A sound. Soft. Low. Not the wind. Not the house settling. Something else. I freeze. “You hear that?”

Xavier’s already turned toward the back of the house. “Yeah.”

His posture shifts. Subtle. But not relaxed anymore. Tight. Alert. The sound comes again. A low grunt. Rustling. Movement. From the back. The laundry room.

My stomach drops for half a second…. Until it clicks. “Oh….”

But Xavier’s already moving. Fast. Too fast for something harmless.

“Stay here,” he says, low, controlled, but there’s something under it. Like he’s expecting someone. Like he’s already decided what he’s going to do about it. And it’s kind of hot even if it’s not necessary in this case.

I follow him anyway. Because of course I do. Soft grunts. Rustling straw. The low, contented hum I’ve heard since I was small enough to sit in a feed bucket and swing my legs.

“Xavier, wait. Let me get the door. It’s harmless. Not harmless exactly, but not sinister either.” I grasp his arm and push it open. “They’re here.”

Xavier pauses behind me. “Who’s here?”

I kneel, counting. One, two, three… eight. Delilah nudges one closer, grunting. “They’re beautiful.”

Samson stands off to the edge, massive and calm, while Delilah shifts in the straw. A cluster of tiny pink bodies presses against her belly, squeaking as they search for milk.

“Oh,” Xavier says behind me. “This is not what I expected.”

“Sorry, I should’ve warned you.”

Xavier leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, taking in the scene. “You do this alone?”

“Usually with my dad, but I’ve done it alone.”

One of the piglets squeals, and I guide it toward Delilah. The tiny body fits in my palm, warm and impossibly fragile.

His voice is softer when he asks, “What happens to them?”

“Sometimes I keep a few. Take them out to Dad’s farm. Sell the rest to people who want them as pets.”

“For what?”

I shrug as I count them again. Still eight. “Shoes. Feed. Vet bills.”

Not a lie. Just not the whole truth. Tuition. Books. Lab fees. I set the piglet down and wipe my hands on my jeans.