Chapter 24
MAGGIE
The bell over the door rings as I come in and Larry the fry cook lifts a hand without looking up from the grill. I've got two flats of eggs balanced one on top of the other — three dozen in each, brown and white mixed. Ruthie buys what she can use.
Ruthie clears a space on the counter. "About time. I'm down to my last six."
"I had a chicken go broody and stop laying," I say. "You might have to top off with an order from the wholesaler."
"That's okay, this will do." Ruthie hands the eggs to Larry and takes the receipt I scribbled out in the truck. "Coffee?"
"Please."
She pours me a cup and slides it across the counter. Her eyes flick toward the booth by the window. "Look who's in tonight."
I follow her gaze. The window booth, back to the room. Dark hair pulled into a loose knot.
"She's reading Genesis. Don't ask me how she got there but I'm not going to argue with it."
"Genesis?" I ask. "Is that one of those post-apocalyptic novels?"
Ruthie laughs. "Oh, Maggie. No, honey. The Bible. She's reading the Bible."
Sloane, who has clearly overheard our conversation, glances over her shoulder. Her eyes meet mine and a flush rises up her neck.
"For relaxation," Ruthie adds, beaming. "Her words."
I pick up my coffee and walk over. "Hi."
Sloane smiles. "Hi."
"Mind if I sit?"
She gestures to the bench opposite. "Of course not."
I slide in across from her. Ruthie has followed me over and is hovering at the end of the booth with the coffee pot tucked into the crook of her elbow.
"So," I say. "Genesis."
Sloane's eyes widen. "I just — I've actually finished my chapter for the night."
I narrow my eyes at her. "I don't believe you."
"Show her," Ruthie says.
Sloane looks at Ruthie like she's betrayed her. "I don't think I need to —"
"Show her, honey. She doesn't believe you."
Sloane's hand goes to her purse and to my surprise, she really does lift out the Bible. She's about to put it back when I reach across the table and take it from her. It's almost a reflex — Sloane Archer the party girl reading scripture is too bizarre to take at face value.
"Don't," she whispers. "Seriously, don't."
I open it, fully expecting Genesis. Instead, I get this:
"You don't get to tell me how to run my barrels," Tessa said. Her hand was still on Grace's wrist. "You don't get to tell me anything."
I keep reading, because I'm so confused that I don't immediately understand what I'm looking at.
There's a header at the top of the right-hand page in a small italic typeface that reads A Taste of Her.
There's a Tessa and there's a Grace and that can only mean one thing.
Cawley library doesn't hold that many sapphic titles and I've read them all.
"Oh." I close the book, study the sleeve cover with HOLY BIBLE in gold across the front, and try very hard to keep a straight face.
Then I look at Sloane and hand her back the book. She's gone the color of a tomato.
"Yeah," I say. "Genesis. I do love that book. I've read it too."
Sloane blinks.
"You have?" Her voice comes out small.
"Mhm. A while ago. It was good. I should pick it up again."
The color deepens even more in her cheeks and I can see her swallow.
"You too, Maggie?" Ruthie's still standing at the end of the booth with the coffee pot. "Well," she says, "isn't that lovely. I'm always saying the Lord brings people together."
"He does," I say, without looking away from Sloane.
I don't quite know what I'm feeling as this is the last thing I expected.
Why on earth would she read a sapphic romance?
Is she closeted or simply curious? I take a sip of my coffee, look out the window and think, at speed, about what to say next.
The wrong thing will close her up so I decide humour might be the way to go.
"Behold," I say, "a woman in a vineyard."
Sloane shoots a quick look at Ruthie before turning back to me. "What?"
"From Genesis. Famous bit. Noah plants a vineyard after the flood. Or is it Lot? I always forget. And lo, the two women did look upon each other across the barrels."
"Well, you've lost me there," Ruthie says. "Honestly, Maggie, for a woman who only sets foot in our church for weddings and funerals you've got a remarkable memory of the Bible." She waddles off to the next booth.
Sloane waits until she's gone and lets out a strange sound. She puts both hands over her face and her shoulders shake. I can't tell, for a couple of seconds, whether she's laughing or crying but then she drops her hands and lifts her face with a quiet, helpless laugh.
"Oh my god. This is so embarrassing," she says through chuckles.
"And the woman from New York said unto her, thou knowest nothing of these barrels —"
Sloane is laughing out loud now. "Maggie, stop, I will literally die." She wipes under her eyes with the heel of her thumb. "It's… It's not what you think."
"You don't owe me an explanation," I say. "And I'm sorry. I shouldn't have grabbed the book out of your hands. Although I will say, the dust jacket was inspired. Fifteen-year-old me would have killed for that idea."
"Seriously, Maggie. I'm not — I mean —"
I drink the last of my coffee, then lean in slightly and lower my voice. "Say no more. Your secret is safe with me and if you ever want to talk, you know where to find me." I slide out of the booth, give her shoulder the briefest squeeze on the way past, and head for the door.