Chapter 68
MAGGIE
There are three of them at the end of the drive when I come out with my coffee.
Two with the long lenses, one with just a phone, parked on the public road where I can't do anything about them.
They perk up when the door opens and then deflate when they see it's only me — Maggie Dawson, sanctuary owner, of no interest to anyone.
They take pictures anyway, but I'm not the one they're here for. They want Sloane.
I kind of expected them to be here. It's Sloane's last official day and they want to get the prime shots of her moment of freedom. They'll bake until they give up. If they're stubborn enough to wait until her workday is over, they'll go hungry because Ruthie won't serve them.
I sit down on the porch step with my mug and drink my coffee.
If they want a boring photo of me they can have one.
A woman in a feed-store cap drinking coffee on her own steps is about as far from a story as it can get.
Let them point their lenses. The most scandalous thing I'm going to do is go and muck out a barn.
It's strange being watched, knowing this is a Tuesday for them and a violation for me.
This is what Sloane's life was like for the majority of her time here.
And I spent one bad moment at Ruthie's and a handful of sleepless nights feeling sorry for myself, like I was the one carrying something heavy.
My phone buzzes against the step. Mom.
Open Sloane's Instagram. Now. And then, a second later: I mean it Maggie. Now.
I frown, grab my phone from my back pocket and open it, expecting more damage — some new article, some fresh thing to brace against. But it's a video, recorded by Sloane. Her face fills the screen and my stomach does a flip. I'd kiss her right through the phone if I could.
I press play and watch Sloane Archer tell the entire internet the truth. I'm crying before she gets to Hank, and then I watch it again.
Luis's truck pulls in off the road. He parks and walks over, taking in the photographers at the end of the drive. By the time he reaches me he's frowning.
"You okay, Maggie?"
I sniff and wipe at my eyes. "Yeah."
He glances back down the drive. "I know it's a public road, but if you want me to have a word with them, I can. Or I can take the hose out and give them a good shower."
I laugh and shake my head. "Don't bother. They'll just come back. They're here for Sloane." He narrows his eyes as he regards me. I forgot I'd been crying. "Good tears," I say. "Don't worry about me."
He nods. "Damn it. It's her last day, I forgot. I should have known they'd be here. I could have left earlier and picked her up from the motel."
"It's all right, Luis. I think Sloane will be fine too. She can handle herself."
The bus comes and pulls in at the stop by the end of the drive, and the doors fold open. Sloane steps down, and the photographers see her too.
Everything after happens in a blur. The three photographers converge on Sloane, lenses up, calling her name, "Sloane!
Sloane, over here! Any comment on the video?
Are you heading back to LA today?" My old fear flickers — that this is the thing that breaks her, the ambush, the cameras — but she walks through them calmly like they're not even there.
Luis takes one look at the situation and rushes back.
He plants himself between Sloane and the photographers, blocking their view until they're on the drive.
Sloane pats his arm and falls into step beside him instead, then puts an arm around him.
It's such a sweet sight that I choke up all over again.
I'm on my feet and walk up the drive toward her, my heart beating fast. The cameras can do whatever they want, there's nothing left to hide from them.
She sees me coming and her face breaks into a smile. I smile back. The drive is a long one but it's never felt as long as it does now, with her at the bottom of it in her ridiculous little black cocktail dress and rubber boots. She looks so cute I'm about to burst.
Sloane picks up her pace and so do I, and then she's almost running the last steps until we meet in the middle.
I take her face in both my hands and wrap my arms around her neck and kiss her because I really, really want to and I've stopped caring about anything and everything.
She makes a surprised sound against my mouth and then she's kissing me back, both arms around me.
I pull her closer until there's no space left between us, and she squeezes me back, tight, and we both start laughing.
I rest my forehead against hers. We're a little out of breath.
"Wow," Sloane says, quietly. "What was that for?"
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."