Chapter 26
MAGGIE
Icarry the casserole dish out and set it in the middle of the table on the trivet I made in seventh-grade shop class — a square of varnished pine with my initials burned into the corner.
Mom follows behind me with the bowl of couscous in one hand and a salad in a wooden bowl tucked under her other arm.
Luis stands up but he knows better than to offer to take anything from her. He just clears space on the table.
"Moroccan vegetable casserole. Or Tagine, as they call it," Mom says, setting her things down. "And couscous. And a salad with tomatoes from my garden."
Dale takes his cap off and puts it on the bench beside him. "Smells great, Mrs. Dawson."
"Thank you, Dale." She goes back into the kitchen and comes out a minute later with a bottle of wine and four glasses.
"What's that?" I ask.
"That, Margaret, is a bottle of wine."
"I can see it's a bottle of wine. I mean what's it for? You never bring wine."
Mom smiles and takes a seat opposite me. "We're having a little celebration."
"What are we celebrating?" Luis asks.
Mom fishes a bottle opener out of her jeans pocket and works the cork out. "We are celebrating," she says, "the fact that I went over the books this morning and Dawson's Sanctuary is no longer struggling."
I frown. "What?"
Mom nods, her smile widening. "We're not just not-broke.
We are, by our standards, very comfortable.
The donations account has had its best two months in the sanctuary's history and the trend is still climbing.
I had a look at our outgoings against the projected income — feed, vet, repairs, the new costs for the emus — and we are good for the next two years even if not another dollar comes in. "
"Two years?"
"Two years." She pours wine into Luis's glass first, then Dale's, then mine, then her own. "To the sanctuary," she says when our glasses meet in the middle.
"Gloria, that's amazing but how?" Dale asks. "I mean — what changed?"
"Sloane Archer," I say when everything starts to make sense.
"Yeah," Mom agrees. "The crash, the publicity, the whole thing. It started the day after the accident — the donations went up, sharply, and they haven't stopped. Once something goes viral, people find you."
There's a small, slightly stunned silence. Dale dishes himself a portion of casserole.
"Look at this," Mom says. "I did a little research." She pulls her phone from her purse.
The screen shows a photo of Sloane on her knees in our yard in her black cocktail dress with Beyoncé standing on her back. Luis is reaching toward the goat, mid-shoo. The headline above the image reads PRINCESS PIGPEN'S COMMUNITY SERVICE: DOWN IN THE DIRT.
"There's more," Mom says. "Scroll."
I scroll. The next picture is one of Sloane walking across the yard pushing a wheelbarrow. The angle is from the road, taken with a long lens. She didn't know the photographer was there. The caption underneath says SOCIALITE GETS HER HANDS DIRTY.
The next one is from the diner. Sloane in the booth by the window, looking agitated. There's also one of Sloane on the bus. A grainy phone shot from a few rows down. She's looking out the window, her chin on her hand. The still is captioned PRINCESS PIGPEN'S FIRST BUS RIDE.
There's one of her at The Watering Hole, looking upset. I keep scrolling. There are countless memes and there's a lot of the word karma.
Someone's posted a picture of the diner — Ruthie's, taken from across Main Street — with text overlay.
Heard from a reliable source in Duster, CA that Princess Pigpen has found God.
Apparently she's been reading the BIBLE in the diner.
LMAO. The transformation arc is real, folks.
A reply underneath says, with respect, no the fuck she hasn't.
I make a sound that I disguise as a cough and think about Ruthie.
Of course she told everyone that Sloane was reading the Bible.
Ruthie's not a malicious woman. She probably meant well but she can't keep anything to herself and now Sloane's little white lie has escalated into a full-blown redemption story.
"I'm glad our donations are up but I'm not sure how I feel about drinking to Sloane's humiliation," I say, handing the phone back to Mom.
"Nonsense," Mom says, putting it away. "If Sloane Archer hadn't driven through our fence, we would still be one bad summer away from turning animals away. So at the risk of being inappropriate…" She lifts her glass. "To Sloane."
Dale snorts and Luis lifts his glass with a grimace.
"I actually like her," Luis says.
"You do?" Mom regards him with suspicion.
"Yeah. She's a good worker, that one. Slow at first but she's got faster. She doesn't complain. Yesterday she did the goat shed by herself before I'd even finished my coffee."
Dale nods. "I didn't think she had it in her, honestly. From the way the press made her out. She's not what I expected and I kind of like her too." He turns to me and stares.
"What?"
"You haven't said anything," Dale says.
"You haven't asked me anything."
"Well." Dale shrugs. "What do you think of her?"
I take a sip of wine to give myself a second. "I think Luis is right. She works and she's friendly." I push a piece of carrot around my plate. "There's more to her than I thought there was."