4. Court
4
COURT
S he’s out again.
I pace the room, eventually shucking my coat and tie. Is it warm in here? I turn down the air conditioning, then worry she’ll be cold. I don’t have a blanket.
But we have some downstairs. I pick up my office phone and scan the department list printed on the base. Merch is 4578.
I dial the number.
“Pickle merchandizing. This is Dawn.”
“Dawn, we have blankets in the storeroom, right?”
“Oh! Mr. Armstrong. Yes, we do. Gosh. Did you want some?”
I backtrack. Slow down. Be polite.
“Yes. Thank you, Dawn. I appreciate you helping me out.”
“Of course.”
“Bring me two. Uh, please. And tell me about our drinkware. Do we have anything that isn’t plastic?”
Her voice is bright. “Sure. We have aluminum and double-walled glass.”
“Do the glass ones close?”
“Yes, they are twenty-ounce water vessels with a screw top.”
“Great. Bring a whole case if you have them.”
“To your office?”
“Where else?” Jesus.
Then I catch myself. Damn. The performance reviews loom in my vision. Low work morale .
I draw in a breath. “You are being very helpful, Dawn. If you could have someone bring up two blankets and what glass bottles you can spare, I would appreciate it.”
“I’ll do it myself.”
“Thank you.”
I drop the receiver onto the base with a sigh.
I never was grace under pressure. Not like Axel. Give him a challenge, and he’d rally everyone behind him, smiling the whole time. Nadia, too, our baby sister. They are both natural-born leaders, like Uncle Sherman.
Rhett and I fall on the sourpuss end of the scale. We don’t like fuss or muss or pointless meetings or small talk. Rhett struggled too, down in Florida with the Dougherty division, but he seems to have pulled things out. He was more chipper when I saw them all on New Year’s.
Then they deserted me when Lucy approached.
Lucy. Lucy what, I wonder. We’re still on a first-name basis.
I swivel in my chair to look at her. She’s softer in sleep, her hair a brown-gold cloud on the dark pillow. She has curled her hand protectively on her belly. The other dangles over the edge to rest on the head of the white goat.
She oozes maternal instinct.
Is she going to be the mother of my firstborn?
I text my fellow grump in the family.
Me: You got a sec?
Rhett: Sure, bro. You at work?
Me: Yeah, but it’s not a work thing.
Rhett: Lay it on me.
Me: Remember that woman I met at the Castle on New Year’s?
Rhett: Silver dress? Country girl vibes?
Me: She hitchhiked from Colorado to New York to find me.
Rhett: What!
Me: With a goat.
Rhett: Holy shit. Why?
Me: She’s eight months pregnant.
Rhett: Oh, damn.
Me: Exactly.
Rhett: You do a paternity test?
Me: She wants to wait until the baby is born.
Rhett: Are you having her stay with you?
Me: Not a chance. Devin’s looking for a place.
Rhett: Damn.
Me: I feel blindsided.
Rhett: Where is she now?
Me: Sleeping in my office.
Rhett: She seem… okay? Not… you know.
Me: Off her rocker?
Rhett: I watched Baby Reindeer.
Me: No, not like that.
Rhett: What are you going to do?
How to answer that? I was hoping he would have a suggestion.
There’s a tap at my door.
Me: Someone’s here. Later.
Rather than call out and wake Lucy, I hurry to the door and open it.
A young woman stands outside, two blankets stacked on a box.
My instinct is to grab them from her and walk away, but I force myself to smile. I speak in a low voice. “Thank you…” Shit. I already forgot her name.
“Dawn.” She drops her voice too, looking around as if to figure out why.
Yeah, we don’t need that. I open the door wider to take the box from her, but before I realize her intent, she enters the office and sets it on my desk.
When she turns around, her eyes get big. “Is that… a goat?”
And there it is. I can feel the annoyance rising. “Yes.”
“And a pregnant woman?”
Anger rises. If she talks, I’ll be the source of gossip. All courtesy goes out the window. My voice is a low growl. “You may leave. And use discretion like your job depends on it. Because it does.”
Dawn sucks in a breath. “Okay… sir. I’ll be quiet about it.”
There’s a gasp from the corner, then, “Court!”
I whip around to see Lucy struggling to sit up.
My voice is a boom. “Shouldn’t you be resting?”
“Not while you’re being mean to this poor woman!” She pushes on the side arm of the sofa to try to get upright.
Dawn lunges forward. “Let me help you. I remember those days. It’s like being strapped to a bowling ball.”
“This sofa eats you,” Lucy says.
Dawn helps her sit up. “I hated soft cushions. You bend too far.”
“Exactly! Can you help me stand?”
Dawn grasps Lucy’s hands and braces herself to pull Lucy up.
“I like your goat,” Dawn says.
“Her name is Matilda. I have fresh milk if you’d like some.”
Dawn glances back at the box. “Is that why Mr. Armstrong wanted the glass-lined cups?”
They both seem to finally remember I’m also in the room.
“Yes,” I say, stepping behind my desk.
“You got glass cups?” Lucy hurries for the box. “That would be perfect! I just need to wash them.”
The women open the carton and pull out tall green cups with the words “Dill With It” screen-printed on the sides.
“These are hilarious,” Lucy says. She turns to give Dawn a hug. “Thank you so much.”
She seems perfectly recovered from whatever happened earlier.
Suspiciously recovered.
My eyes narrow. Am I being played here?
Lucy leans close to Dawn. “Does he always look like Grumpy Cat?”
Dawn bursts into giggles, but she straightens her expression quickly when she sees me glaring at her. “Mr. Armstrong takes Pickle Media very seriously.”
“Did he threaten your job a minute ago?”
Dawn sobers instantly. It’s about time she remembers who signs her checks. She hands Lucy the cups she’s holding. “I have to go. Please, do come find me if you need anything else. I have a baby girl, six months old. I know exactly what you’re going through.”
The two women hug like they’re old friends. It’s been precisely four minutes since Dawn entered the room.
What is with this instant bonding?
Dawn releases Lucy and hustles out to the hall.
Lucy sets down one of the cups and inspects the other. “What did she ever do to you?”
I glower at her, but Lucy pays no attention. She lifts the blankets from my desk and turns to the sofa, then back to me. “Were these for me?”
“The air conditioning is strong.”
“Huh.” She sets them on a chair, instantly drawing the goat.
“She’s going to eat that.”
Lucy ignores me to pop the lid off the top of the cup and sniff inside. “Nice. No petroleum products. I can work with these.” She fills her arms with a half-dozen of the cups. “Watch Matilda while I wash them.”
It’s not a question.
She disappears into the bathroom.
I stare at the goat, who has decided the blankets are not worth trying to eat. She looks at me, then in a wild, unexpected lunge, she jumps onto the desk.
I leap backward. What’s happening here? “Lucy!”
She pops her head into the room. “Oh, goats like to find high spots. She’s commanding the space.”
Then she disappears again.
I snatch up my keyboard before it gets trampled.
The goat walks across the surface, slipping occasionally, leaving scratches on the wood and tearing loose papers. So much for my reports.
Then she stands stock still, like she’s a statue guarding a town square.
She doesn’t move.
I don’t move.
I’m no longer sure whose office this is anymore.