Chapter 60
MAGGIE
Idrop the eggs off at eight-thirty. Ruthie's down to her last dozen again, and instead of heading straight back I let her pour me a coffee and take the stool at the end of the counter. The morning feed's done, Sloane and Luis are holding the fort, and it's nice being able to take a short break.
I scroll through my phone while the coffee cools.
I've been bad at keeping up — the days run together when you're running a sanctuary and harboring a socialite — so I've got a backlog, and I skim messages and emails.
Then I open the sanctuary's Instagram account, because I love what Sloane's been posting lately.
There's one I hadn't seen of the goats getting their playground, footage Sloane must have dug out from the day Richard's apparatus arrived.
Set to some dramatic orchestral thing, there's a slow-motion of Derek launching himself off the bridge being built and missing the landing entirely.
It's captioned Derek (gymnast, self-taught) and it's got a hundred thousand views.
There's another of the emus running their ridiculous full-tilt lap of the paddock, captioned Monday energy.
There are so many comments. People who will never set foot in Duster, who couldn't find the Central Valley on a map, are writing paragraphs about Barbara's spa days and arguing about whether Gerald is rude or just an introvert.
The account is alive and funny and I’m smiling at my phone. Not only that, it's bringing in money, and it's all Sloane.
Then I scroll down to the tour video, the one with me in it.
I press play with the sound low and there I am, up the ladder, pretending not to notice the camera, and Sloane's doing her nature-documentary voice, and I watch myself turn around.
And I stop smiling, because — oh.
I look at her like I've forgotten anyone else exists.
That's the only way I can put it. The camera catches a few seconds of my face before I compose myself, and there's no hiding it.
I've been so careful in front of people.
I keep my distance when the volunteers are around, and I never let my eyes linger.
And here, in a video that thousands of people have watched, I'm looking at Sloane like I've never wanted anything more in my life.
It's so obvious. How is it not obvious to everyone who's seen it —
"She's good at that, isn't she?"
I jump so hard the coffee sloshes over my hand. Ruthie's right behind me, leaning over my shoulder to see the screen, having materialized silent as a cat.
"Ruthie. God. You scared me."
"Sorry, honey." She's not sorry. She nods at the phone. "Sloane. With the videos. The whole town's following along now. Doris checks it three times a day — she's worried about that one pig, the sad-looking one."
"Gerald."
"Gerald. Doris thinks he needs a companion."
"Don't worry about him, he's a happy pig. It's mostly just his face, and he prefers his own company."
"Oh, good. I'll let her know. Anyway, I mean it, Sloane's good at the video thing.
It's funny and sweet. She's got the whole valley rooting for a donkey.
" Ruthie shakes her head, marveling. "Who'd have thought.
Princess Pigpen, the toast of the internet once again, for all the right reasons this time. "
"She's got a real talent for it," I say, and lock my phone, casually, like I wasn't just staring at my own smitten face.
"I haven't seen her in here in an age, mind." Ruthie tucks her cloth into her apron. "Not since she came to help dig out the church, bless her. Used to be in every other night for her dinner, and now nothing. I was starting to think she'd gone off my cooking."
"Oh, no, it's nothing like that. She's been eating at mine, mostly," I say.
I feel the heat go up my neck, and hide behind my coffee.
"She left the window open in her motel room during the storm and the whole place was full of dust. It took Patty's cleaners days to sort it out so Sloane stayed at mine until it was clean," I say, leaving out the part that she's still there.
"We got into the habit of cooking together in the evenings, and now we're just keeping it going, I guess. "
"Might as well." Ruthie nods slowly. "No point two women eating alone if you enjoy each other's company." She narrows her eyes at me. "So you two have gone and become close, then. Friends?"
I manage a smile. "Yeah, something like that."
Ruthie nods. "I thought as much. I could see you two had become buddies on the day of the storm.
It's nice you've made a friend out of this whole business, Maggie.
It's not easy to meet new people." She raises a hand.
"Which reminds me, I was thinking. You know Hector, owns the auto shop on Main?
Tall fella, dark hair, mid-thirties, his mother goes to my church? "
"I know Hector."
"Of course. Well, Hector's been carrying a torch for Sloane since he laid eyes on her.
She was in here for dinner two weeks ago and he came in for his coffee, took one look at her, and hasn't shut up about her since.
He's asked me three different ways whether I thought she might say yes to a dinner.
He won't ask her himself. He's the bashful type, bless him.
" Ruthie tilts her head at me. "I told him I'd see what I could do.
I thought, since you two are close now, maybe you could put in a good word?
He's a real nice man, Maggie. Solid. Reliable. Owns his own business."
I take another sip of coffee to give myself a second. "Ruthie. I don't think Sloane's looking for that kind of thing right now."
"I know, I know, she told me the same. But she's been here weeks now and a man like Hector doesn't come around every day. He's the steady kind. The kind who'd come and pick her up properly and bring her flowers." Ruthie pats my hand. "Just mention him. That's all I'm asking. Won't you?"
I sigh. There isn't a good way to say no without raising Ruthie's eyebrow, so I stand and give her a smile. "I'll see what I can do," I say, just to get her off my back.