Chapter 17
SLOANE
I'm standing in front of the bathroom mirror, hair wet, trying to decide between Ruthie's diner and crackers and cheese when the phone on my bedside table rings.
I pick it up. "Hello?"
"Someone here to see you," Patty, the receptionist, says, in her usual tone of maximum indifference.
"Who?"
"Didn't ask."
The line goes dead. Helpful as ever.
I pull on shorts and a T-shirt and check my face in the mirror. If it's Officer Reeves making an unannounced visit, I should at least look presentable.
The glass door is propped open. Patty is behind the counter doing her crossword and there's a woman standing in front of the desk. Somehow I know she doesn't belong here and my brain takes a moment to catch up with my eyes.
I stop in the doorway and blink. She’s short and chubby with a bleached ponytail and a familiar tote bag at her feet. "Irina?"
She smiles. "Hi, honey."
Something breaks inside me. I cross the reception in three steps and throw my arms around her, holding on tight. She smells like the laundry detergent she uses and the scent feels so familiar and safe that I choke up.
"Oh my god," I say into her shoulder. "You have no idea how happy I am to see you. Did Dad send you? He said he wouldn't, and anyway it wouldn't be fair to make you drive all the way out to —"
"Your father doesn't know I'm here," Irina says.
She pulls back, holds me at arm's length and assesses me the way she used to look at me when I came home from school and she could tell from my face whether the day had been good or bad.
She rubs my arm. "I just came to check on you. " She pauses. "You look good."
I laugh because I know for a fact I do not look good.
"Irina. I look like a farmhand."
"You look healthy. There's color in your cheeks."
I smile. "Did you really drive four hours just to check on me?"
"And to bring you some clothes." She pulls her phone out of her purse, scrolls and holds it up for me to see. "My daughter sent me this and I couldn't ignore it."
It's a screenshot from some gossip site — one of those entertainment pages that recycle celebrity news.
The photo is me, on my knees in the dirt, in my black cocktail dress, with Beyoncé the goat standing on my back.
Luis is next to me, mid-reach, trying to shoo Beyoncé off.
The headline reads: PRINCESS PIGPEN'S COMMUNITY SERVICE: DOWN IN THE DIRT.
The picture is beyond bizarre. "Great." I sigh. "I don't even want to know what else is circulating."
"I'll be honest, I was a little shocked when I saw it," Irina says. "I don't know what I was expecting when I packed for you. I suppose I thought they'd have you doing filing or answering phones. Something indoors."
"I wish," I say. "There's no reception desk. And there's definitely no filing involved. It's a farm, Irina. I shovel pig manure, haul hay bales and put up fence posts."
She regards me with concern and maybe a little bit of respect. "Well, I brought you some more suitable clothes. Come on. Let's go to my car."
Irina drives an old Honda Civic. She opens the trunk and pulls out a suitcase with a broken zipper that's been taped shut.
"You don't own much that would be useful here," she says, setting it on the ground.
"So my daughter said you could borrow some of her things.
Shorts, T-shirts, tank tops, a few pairs of what my daughter calls hot pants, and some crop tops.
" She shrugs. "Because it's warm and she said you might want to wear something that doesn't give you farmer's tan lines. "
Then she walks to the passenger's side and pulls a cap and a pair of oversized shades from the seat. "And these," she says, "so maybe it's harder for them to get a picture of your face. Also my daughter's idea. She's smart."
I look at the suitcase, the cap, and the sunglasses. The practical, thoughtful, unglamorous kindness of all of it makes my eyes sting.
"Thank you," I say. "Thank you, thank you, thank you. You have no idea how amazing this is. I've been washing my clothes with shampoo until the sanctuary owner let me use her washing machine."
Irina's eyebrows lift. "Oh dear." She takes my hand and squeezes it. "Well, I have something else that might cheer you up." She reaches into the back seat and pulls out a cooler bag. "Go on. Open it."
Inside, nestled in ice packs, are three big trays of sushi and a bottle of my favorite Chablis. I can't help it. I burst into tears. Full, ugly, shaking crying that comes from somewhere deep and doesn't stop.
Irina puts her arms around me, holds me and rubs my back. She did it once when I was fifteen and heartbroken over a boy.
"I can't believe you did this," I say when I can speak. "That's so thoughtful. I'll pay you back, obviously. As soon as I'm out of here. For the gas and the sushi and —"
Irina waves a hand. "Absolutely not. I've worked for your parents most of my life and you are like family to me. And I thought — what would Sloane really miss out there? What would make her feel like herself again, even just for a little while?"
"You know me so well." I wipe my face and take a breath, looking up at the sky, which is starting to turn pink at the edges. "It's been such a long drive for you. Will you let me book you a room for the night? The motel is incredibly basic, but at least you won't have to drive back in the dark."
"No, no. I need to get back tonight. I have a dentist appointment first thing tomorrow."
"Then will you at least stay and have dinner with me?
" I hold up the cooler. "This is way too much for me alone.
I don't have a dining table but there are tables with benches behind the motel and I've got plastic cups for the wine.
" I shoot her a pleading look. "Please? You need to rest before you head back anyway. "
Irina considers this. "Okay. Sure. But I'm driving, so no wine for me. And you go easy on it too. You're here for a reason."
I almost say something defensive, but I swallow my words. She's right. "Trust me, I'll make this bottle last."
"Good girl."
I grab two plastic cups and a bottle of water for Irina from my room and we carry the cooler and the suitcase around the back of the motel.
There's a concrete patio area with two picnic tables, and beyond it nothing but dry grass and flat farmland.
It's not Matsuhisa but right now, it's so much better.
Irina sits across from me and we eat and talk about normal things.
The kind of things I used to tune out and now absorb like water in dry ground.
Her daughter's new boyfriend, who Irina doesn't trust as he's involved with cryptocurrency.
Her husband Viktor's back, which has been acting up since he helped their neighbor move a sofa.
Her wisdom tooth that's coming out tomorrow, and her fear of dentists.
I tell her about my week from hell and the simple things I miss here — good coffee, a decent pillow, nice sheets.
"What would you miss?" I ask her. "If you were stuck here for two months."
She thinks about it with her eyes narrowed and her head tilted slightly to one side. "My children. Viktor. Home-cooked food, especially fresh bread." She takes a sip of water. "Like you, I'd also miss good, strong coffee. And my bed. Not because it's fancy — it's not. But it's mine. You know?"
It occurs to me, somewhere between the yellowtail and the salmon, that I've never done this before.
Sat down and had a meal with Irina. We've never eaten together.
She's cooked for us, served us, cleared our plates, loaded the dishwasher while we moved to the living room for coffee.
She's been in every room of our house but always in motion, always on the other side of an invisible line.
She was just Irina and she was always there.
When I moved out I missed her but I never thought of inviting her over to my home for a coffee or dinner.
I took her for granted the same way I took everything for granted — the clean towels, the stocked fridge, the someone always being there to pick up after me. And now she's here and that makes me feel both grateful and ashamed.
I've barely been holding myself together this week.
The early mornings, the work, the heat, the loneliness, the phone calls that leave me feeling worse, the nights in that room with the fridge.
I've managed but managing isn't the same as being okay, and sitting here with someone who drove four hours just because she was worried about me, not because she's being paid to — that's the first time since I got here that I don't feel completely alone.