Chapter 42
MAGGIE
Ihand Sloane a beer and she takes a long drink, then wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. I sit down next to her on the porch bench.
"So," I say.
"So."
I've had all weekend and all day to think about what to say but now that she's just dropped another bomb on me, words fail me. I'd been so sure she'd come back from LA with regrets about Friday.
"I meant what I said out there," I finally say. "About it being a line. You're only here because you have to be, and I'm the one who signs off that you've done your time. It's immoral."
"I know that."
She's looking at me the way she looked at me on Friday, and for a second I lose the thread of my own argument entirely. She's beautiful. It's an inconvenient, undeniable fact. "Do you?"
"I'm not a child, Maggie. I know what your signature means. I'm just telling you that knowing that hasn't made the slightest bit of difference to how I feel."
I look at my hands as I can't answer her honestly.
Sloane is quiet. Then, carefully: "Can I ask you something?"
"Go on."
"When you kissed me." She picks at the label on her beer bottle and peels a corner of it. "Was that — I keep going over it. Was that just the moment for you? Or was it — It feels like more."
"It wasn't the moment," I admit. "I've been having a word with myself for a while. But even if you weren't under my supervision, your life is so vastly different from mine that it would be pointless. Not to mention that you've probably never been with a woman." I pause. "Have you?"
"No." Sloane turns the bottle in her hands.
For once she doesn't have a quick answer ready.
"I've never even thought about it. Not once, in twenty-eight years.
I dated men because that's what I did, the same way I went to the right parties and wore the right clothes — because it didn't occur to me there was another option.
" She looks up. "And then I got here, and I started watching you do the most ordinary things, and I —" She stops.
Her cheeks have gone pink. "Look, I understand what you're saying, but I've been having these feelings for a while too, and I'm seriously questioning the straight part.
My mother would say it's a phase, but I don't think it is.
" She shifts toward me and her knee touches mine.
"I'm not going to tell you what you are," I say, looking down at her leg. "If you say you're attracted to me, I believe you." I hesitate. "But I don't want to be your experiment. I'm not built for being someone's interesting summer."
"Ouch." She winces. "Is that what you think this is?"
"I'm sorry but it's sensible to assume." I realize I've stopped breathing in any normal rhythm. "You're going back to LA after you've done your time and we'll never see each other again. That's a fact."
"A fact." She sits back, and there's an edge in her voice now. "You've decided how this ends and you haven't even let it start. That's not fair, Maggie."
"I'm just being realistic."
"No. You looked at me on day one and you decided exactly who I was.
Spoiled. Useless. Lazy. And you were right — I was all of those things.
But you've spent five weeks watching me change and you still won't let me be anything other than the woman who's going to fly home and break your heart.
You're so sure I'm going to disappoint you that you'd rather not have any of it but isn't it incredibly rare to find a connection like this with someone?
Wouldn't it be a waste if we didn't at least explore it? "
I open my mouth and nothing comes out.
"Look, I don't know what happens after. But I know I've never wanted someone more than I want you. I've also never respected someone more." Her fingers brush my jaw and stay there. "That's all I've got. I know it's not enough but it's true."
I turn my face into her hand and close my eyes.
It's the smallest movement, but it's a decision.
When I open them again, she leans in and brushes her lips against mine.
It's slow and certain and my hand comes up to the side of her neck while her fingers curl into the front of my shirt.
The sound she makes against my mouth undoes whatever was left of my resolve.
I kiss her back and stop thinking about the piece of paper with my signature on it, about LA, about helicopters, about every sensible thing, and I let it be what it is.
My hand slides from her neck into her hair and she leans into me, her body softening. Tilting my head, I kiss her slowly and deeply, and the longer it goes on the less careful either of us is.
She shifts, swinging one leg over mine, and then she's in my lap, straddling me, her knees pressed against my hips and her hands sliding up into my hair. The beer bottle goes over somewhere by my foot while my hands move to her waist, under the hem of her T-shirt. She shivers when I trace her back.
"I want you," she breathes against my mouth, and I kiss her harder.
I feel her smile against my lips — pleased, a little disbelieving, like she can't quite grasp what's happening. I can't believe it either. Last month I wanted this woman gone. Now she's in my lap and I'm so turned on the porch could catch fire and I wouldn't ask her to stop.
She pulls back just far enough to look at me, both hands framing my face, her thumbs at my cheekbones. Her pupils are blown wide and her mouth is swollen as she opens it to say something —
And then I hear tires on gravel.
"Get up," I say.
"What —"
"Get up, get up there's a car coming."
Sloane is off my lap and on her feet faster than I've ever seen her move. I'm up too, yanking my T-shirt straight, dragging a hand through my hair where hers just was, and Sloane has gone the color of a tomato and is staring at me with her hand pressed to her mouth.
The car that rolls up is Ruthie's old Buick, and when the door opens she climbs out in her diner apron. Great. First a helicopter, now Ruthie's Buick. The universe clearly doesn't want me kissing Sloane Archer.
"Maggie, honey, sorry to drop by unannounced but I tried to call you."
I pat my pocket and find it empty. "Sorry, Ruthie. I left my phone charging in the kitchen."
Ruthie fans herself as she walks up to the porch.
"The wholesaler's delivery guy called — flat tire somewhere, says he won't make it tonight, which means I've got a breakfast rush tomorrow and not enough eggs.
I was wondering if you could spare me some more.
" She stops at the bottom of the steps and spots Sloane, scarlet and flustered.
"Sloane! Well, there you are. We missed you at church on Sunday, honey.
" She climbs the steps. "Though I hear you had your reasons — it's all over the internet that you were out in LA, at one of those fancy clubs.
Living it up, by the sound of it." She pauses for breath, which is the only thing that ever stops Ruthie.
"And who was that fella you threw your drink at?
My niece showed me the video. Your ex, was it?
Tyler something? Oh, he had a face like a smacked —" She stops herself.
"Well. He deserved it, I'm sure. I said as much to Doris — I said, our Sloane wouldn't throw a drink at a man without good reason.
Not a girl who reads her Bible in the diner. "
"Yes," Sloane manages. "He — yes. He deserved it." Her cheeks are still flaming, and she's gripping the back of the bench like she might fall over without it.
She needs rescuing, so I step in.
"I'm not sure how many eggs I've got left, to be honest, Ruthie. Sloane's father took a few home this morning." I glance at Sloane. "But there's a couple of dozen in the fridge. Sloane, would you go and check the chicken coop for me in case there are more?"
"Of course," Sloane says, with desperate gratitude. "Yes. Eggs. I'll go find some more eggs."
When Sloane heads off, I turn to Ruthie. "Can I get you a drink, Ruthie? You look warm." I'm hoping she'll say no but I don't want to be rude.
"Oh, I'd love a glass of ice water." Ruthie lowers herself onto the bench with a contented sigh — onto the exact spot where Sloane was sitting in my lap ninety seconds ago. "Larry's holding the fort while I'm out, so I'm in no rush at all."
"Good. Make yourself comfortable." I force a smile. Ruthie isn't going anywhere.