3. Lucy
3
LUCY
H e’s worse than I remember.
Court’s big, fancy office has a private bathroom, so I lock myself inside it with Matilda. He’s being condescending, and he and his assistant Devin are deciding my life for me, looking up Airbnbs and pet friendly hotels.
When they discussed the possibility of pretending Matilda is a dog on the reservations, I left them to come in here. Who do they think Matilda is, Scooby-Do? Are they going to dress her like a baby and stick her in a carriage?
That’s not a bad idea, actually.
I’m glad to have a moment alone. It’s been a long journey on the road, with heat and dirt and days and nights in trucks.
I’m grateful for every helpful person who got me to New York, but I’m so so tired. It’s as though all my energy got used up, and now I’m sitting on a rug in a black-tiled bathroom with nothing left to run on.
There is much to do. I lift an empty soap dish by the faucet, inspect it for cleanliness, wash and dry it anyway, then fill it with feed for Matilda.
While she’s busy with that, I remove the diaper, flush the contents, and swiftly wash it out with my goat milk soap. I clean up Matilda with it, rinse the cloth again, and hang it alongside the bamboo fleece diaper liner on a towel rack.
Everything in here is pristine. Before Matilda can do anything on the expensive-looking rug, I quickly pull out my spare diaper and liner and cover her again.
She’s finished the feed. I don’t dare let her drink from the toilet. I’m sure all manner of horrible chemicals are used to clean it.
I search under the sink and find the best thing, an industrial-sized bucket.
It’s probably also been used with chemicals, so I set to scrubbing it with scalding water and my natural soap. My hands turn red, but I can’t compromise with Matilda.
When it seems safe, I fill the bucket with fresh, cool water and let her drink as long as she wants. Then I wash it again and kneel next to her.
“Time to get that milk out of you, sweet girl.”
She’s filled to bursting, so once the smooth, creamy milk starts flowing, it’s an easy job. She closes her eyes, no doubt relieved to be clean and fed and emptied.
At last, it’s done.
The bucket is half full, but I don’t know what to do with the milk. I set it on the counter by the sink.
I’m so tired. So tired. Matilda is, too. Goats don’t need as much sleep as humans, but it’s been a long haul for both of us. She stays standing, which tells me she’s nervous, even in our private space, but her eyes drift closed.
I sit cross-legged next to her. I should go out to the office again. See what they’ve figured out for me. I hate being at their mercy, but I’m at the end of my rope.
Court seems to think he’ll be rid of me after the birth, but I know my history. He was one noteworthy night in a long, uneventful period of my life.
Matilda must decide that this place is okay, as she kneels to lie on the rug.
I rest my head on her fuzzy belly. She smells good, like natural soap and fresh milk.
I’ll just take a minute to gather my thoughts…
BAM BAM BAM.
I startle awake at a pounding on the bathroom door.
“Lucy? LUCY? Are you okay?”
Court sounds worried. Or frustrated. Maybe mad. I don’t know.
I sit up. I really was tired.
“Hold on,” I say.
It feels way too hard to haul myself up, so I crawl to the door, unlatch it, and swing it open.
He bends down in front of me. “My God, did you fall? Are you injured?”
I push my sweaty hair out of my face. “No. I fell asleep.”
Court glances around the bathroom. “Is that milk by my sink?”
Of course it is. Why must he keep pointing out the obvious? “Would you like it? I have no way to store it currently.” I feel more awake and grab the doorframe to heave myself up.
“Jesus Christ,” Court says, reaching for my waist. “Let me help.”
I’m glad he does, because the big movement of standing after sleeping causes the lightning cramps to flash through my midsection. I bend over, breathing through the pain.
“Is it time?” Court asks.
I hold up a finger. “No.” I let out a long, slow breath. “It’s the strain on the round ligaments around my belly. It’s why I had to quit yoga. Why I came here.”
He still has an arm around me, strong and tight. The fabric of his suit is soft and scented like clean linen. I feel protected for a moment. It’s been a long time since I didn’t have to stand solely on my own two feet.
Court and I didn’t have much time together, but I remember it clearly. Impassioned. Furtive. Intense. I thought about it in the nights afterward, wondering if we should have stayed in touch.
But then I recalled his gruffness. The ease with which he took off from the room. There hadn’t been any laughter or fun between us. Court was all business. Good business. He made sure all the deeds were checked off, like a task list. But it was still business.
When I found out I was pregnant, April took to her phone, searching up Court and the Pickle family and New York based on the scant details we had.
She determined he was a scoundrel based on the pictures of him with other women. And he never smiled. “No good for our baby,” she said then. “We don’t need him.” Summer agreed.
We had a plan. We would trade night shifts. Hand sew clothes. Make pottery and take walks in the woods. Homeschool, for sure. Teach the baby to garden and to love all living things.
But their lives moved on. I don’t hear from them. I probably would. We’ve been friends since high school. But I don’t have a phone or a computer or even an address.
My yurt is situated in the woods on the property of one of my yoga students, a middle-aged woman with a lot of land. I pay her in goat cheese. Sometimes I babysit her chickens. She lets me have eggs, too.
That feels far away in New York. Court’s arm is gentle, possibly kinder than our first encounter. Surely there’s more to him than what I saw then, or what we could glean online.
I realize I made a mistake thinking I should do this without him. The baby is his, too.
“Should I call an ambulance?” Devin asks. He’s shorter and less built than Court, but he’s smartly dressed in a shiny blue suit. His round glasses make him seem friendlier, but I’m not sure yet. He wants to lie about Matilda.
“I’m okay,” I say. “It’s a big baby in a small space.”
Court leads me to a sofa. “Let’s sit you down.”
I do, but the softness of the cushion bends me too far, which sets off the cramps again. I gasp and clutch my belly.
“I’d feel better calling an ambulance,” Devin says.
“Please don’t,” I get out. “I’ll be okay if I can stretch out a moment.”
Court lifts my feet onto the burgundy sofa. “Devin, adjust it near your end.”
Devin stacks the soft pillows against the arm of the sofa.
My head sinks into them like a cloud.
“I’ll be fine,” I say. “I’m used to it. It’s only a few weeks more.” I can’t stifle my yawn.
Something nudges my hand. It’s Matilda. She presses her nose into my palm. “Shhh, my baby,” I say.
She settles down on the floor beside the sofa.
“We should get her something to eat,” Court says. “Go to that all-natural place on the corner.”
“I’m vegetarian,” I say.
“Right. Order a bunch of things. And get some bottles for that milk. I can store it in the fridge.”
“No plastic,” I say. “I’d rather pour it down the drain than put it in plastic.”
Court frowns. “Glass bottles.”
Devin nods. “Got it. Text me if you think of anything else.” He takes off like the room is on fire.
My fingers trail along Matilda’s back. “Precious girl. It was a long ride.”
“I bet.” Court looks down at us, hands shoved in his pockets. “Just sit tight. We’ll figure things out. That’s what I pay people to do.”
I want to ask him if he has friends to talk to about this. It’s going to be an adjustment. Maybe his brothers will be able to give him advice. I remember them being there that night, laughing and smacking his shoulder in encouragement when I approached.
That moment is crystallized in my memory. I wore a silvery dress, borrowed from Summer. Her shoes were a size too large, but I managed in them, crossing the strange little bar to say hello.
My first words to him had been, “What’s a guy like you doing in a haunted bar like this?”
It’s a lot, finding out that the night created a baby with a stranger. I’ve had time to come to terms with it. April, Summer, and I spent long hours discussing our future with the baby. It had been April who tied the string to a crystal and swung it over my belly.
They had been my friends. My future. I never expected to be doing this alone.
But I can’t think about it any longer.
I’m simply.
Too.
Tired.