Chapter 39
SLOANE
It's just past seven on Monday morning when Dad turns the Mercedes onto Maggie's drive. She walks up to the car in shorts and a T-shirt, narrowing her eyes at the strange car with tinted windows. She's not expecting me yet, and she's certainly not expecting him.
I haven't seen Maggie since I climbed into the helicopter, and the sight of her stops me for a second. My stomach does a slow turn and all I can think of is that kiss.
My father parks and gets out in his navy polo and chinos.
"Morning," I say, getting out on the passenger's side. Maggie's eyes find mine over the roof of the car. It's only a second, but my whole body remembers Friday and I have to look away before my father sees how thrown I am.
Maggie's eyes go from my father to me and back. "Good morning. I wasn't expecting —"
"Two of us, I know. This is my father, Richard. Dad — Maggie Dawson."
My father puts out his hand and Maggie wipes hers on her jeans before she shakes it. "Mr. Archer."
"Richard, please. It's a pleasure to meet you. Sloane has spoken about you a great deal on our drive here."
A great deal. Did I really talk about her that much? I run back through the drive — the four hours of it — and realize I did. Maggie said this, Maggie does that. I like saying her name out loud.
Maggie raises an eyebrow at me, briefly. "All flattering, I hope?"
"Very," he says, giving Maggie one of his rare smiles.
Why is he being so nice? He seemed interested in hearing about Maggie so I just carried on and on about her like she was the most interesting person in my life.
I even told him about slipping into the mud pool — leaving out the part where Maggie landed on top of me and we kissed — and he laughed out loud.
Somewhere around Bakersfield he'd suggested we stop and find a gift for the sanctuary, and when we found the biggest livestock puddling pool in the place he didn't even glance at the price.
I told him and Mom I was done with my friends and the press and the whole circus, and he didn't lecture me. He just looked pleased and happily agreed to drive me back to Duster.
"I'm glad." Maggie chuckles. "And you're early. Did you drive through the night?"
"No," Dad says. "We stayed at the motel last night as we wanted to run some errands on our way here and it was late by the time we got to Duster."
"The motel?" Maggie winces. "Oh, my. How was that?"
Dad shrugs, sliding his hands into his pockets.
"It was an experience. I now understand why my daughter has been requesting a coffee machine for five weeks.
And I thought there was a piece of construction equipment running outside my window but it turned out to be Sloane's fridge in the room next door.
Sloane mentioned the noise but I assumed she was dramatizing. "
Maggie laughs. "Can I make you both a coffee? You must be desperate."
"That would be very welcome. Honestly, that's part of why we're early," Dad says. "But first — we've got something in the trunk for you. Let me get it out before I sit down."
He turns to the back of the Mercedes, pops the trunk and pulls out a huge cardboard box marked LARGE LIVESTOCK BATHING POOL — LOW-SIDED VARIANT. I open the back door and pull a twenty-pound sack of Pink Lady apples from the back seat.
Maggie gasps. "Oh my! Is that for me?"
"Yeah. I thought the pigs might enjoy it," I say, my cheeks coloring. "I figured a proper bath might be easier than topping up the wallow every day and they're more likely to get in with the low-sided ones."
A beat passes between us and Maggie's cheeks go pink. "Right," she says. "Yes. Less slipping. That would be — yes. Thank you so much, that's very generous. And Hank will be so happy with the apples."
"You're very welcome." Dad sets the box down on the gravel, oblivious. "The very least we could do." He looks up. "Maggie, may I be straightforward?"
"Please."
"I don't know what you've done to my daughter but I'll tell you this — when Sloane came home late on Friday night looking visibly distressed, I was expecting a tantrum about needing access to her finances.
But instead she just asked me to drive her back here.
She's never shown interest in much beyond money and partying, so believe me, I'm very grateful. "
"Come on, Dad. I wasn't that bad."
He shoots me a questioning look and I feel my face go hot again. I hate that he's laying out my entire character to Maggie, like I'm a kid who's finally brought home a decent report card.
"Sloane," he says. "I have watched you commit to precisely nothing in your life.
This is the first thing you haven't tried to get out of and I'm — well — I'm proud of you.
" He drops his gaze to his shoes as he says the last part, then busies himself straightening the box that doesn't need straightening.
I don't know what to do or say. I can't remember the last time my father said he was proud of me. I'm not sure he ever has.
"Thank you," I mumble, and stare at the gravel because looking at either of them feels like too much.
Maggie watches the awkward exchange and, sensing we both need rescuing, claps her hands together.
"Well, Mr. Arch — Richard. Let me make you that cup of coffee.
Leave all this here, we'll sort it out later.
" She nods toward the sack of apples. "Why don't you take one of those for Hank on the way?
" She turns to me. "Sloane, go with him. Hank will be less wary with you there."