10. Court
10
COURT
P regnant women sure sleep a lot.
I glance back at Lucy as we enter the Lincoln Tunnel.
She’s resting on her goat, which looks up at me with half-lidded eyes. They’re both relaxed.
I let out a long breath. Things are finally going the right direction.
This is the first time I’ve been able to pause and think about this situation I’ve been thrust into.
Due to thrusting into her.
A baby?
With this woman?
My father, who delivered a threat-laden speech to me in high school about girls, protection, and always doing the right thing, will kick my ass.
Except I did use protection. And wasn’t I doing the right thing?
As we get farther from the island, I begin to wonder.
Lucy is absolutely convinced the baby is mine. She’s announced it to everyone, which is a different, separate problem.
I still don’t know her last name.
Devin should have put it on the rental when they got together to fill out the form. I flick my phone awake and find the email he forwarded from the farm.
Lucy Brown.
I google her to see what comes up, not sure what I’ll find.
There’s a Facebook profile, which surprises me since she seems to hate technology. I click on it.
She kept it up while in college, which is another unexpected detail. Based on what I’ve seen of her so far, shoeless, traveling with a goat, I wouldn’t have expected her to manage coursework, computers, and being surrounded by people so unlike her.
But she graduated from the University of Boulder in—I read it three times to be sure.
Finance?
That would require software, spreadsheets, data.
So this all-natural lifestyle, the yurt, the yoga is all new.
Okay, not totally. There are check-ins at a yoga studio from way back. I scroll through what personal posts are public. They stop abruptly five years ago, right around when she would have graduated. She seems to be twenty-seven.
She had a boyfriend named Steve back then, one she never changed her relationship status with before abandoning the platform.
There are pictures of them, heads together, hiking outside of Denver. I recognize the trail.
A heaviness settles in my belly. What the hell is that? Jealousy of some five-year-old relationship that must have ended? Wishing he’d hung on to her, and I wouldn’t be here?
I don’t know.
The driver turns back to me for the first time since we got in. “We’re about ten minutes out.” He sniffs. “Smelly dog?”
Anything I say might be incriminating, so I just grunt.
I should wake Lucy before we get there. I reach over the seat to touch her knee.
She startles awake, looking disoriented. Only meeting the gaze of her goat settles her. “Are we there?”
“Almost.” I realize once we separate, I have no way to contact her. That won’t work. I make a quick decision. “Tomorrow, I’ll have a cell phone delivered to you so you can search for an obstetrician that suits you. I’ll have Uber installed with an account attached so that you can attend appointments.”
“That sounds expensive.”
“I’ll cover the rides. And the doctor. Forward me the information once you determine who it is, and I’ll arrange payment.”
She stares out the window as she nods. “Will you come to any of the appointments?”
“That seems rather intrusive.”
“They do sonograms. You can see the baby.”
“You can forward those to me. Do you have an email address?”
She sighs. “Somewhere. I’ll track it down. Or make a new one.”
“My contact information will be in the phone.” I consider asking her about the finance degree but don’t want to admit to online stalking.
We’re quiet as we travel down a small two-lane highway lined with trees. Sometimes I forget how close we are to expansive places when I’m deep in the city.
“It looks nice out here,” Lucy says. “Lots of open space.”
The driver slows as we approach a sign that says, “Goat Yoga at Halson Family Farm!”
Lucy touches the glass as if it’s a fond memory. “Maybe I can do a few stretches with them. If I’m not teaching, I can do only the moves that don’t strain my belly.”
“Is that allowed?”
She shrugs. “I mean, getting around at all is already causing a lot of discomfort.”
“You shouldn’t be on bed rest?”
“There’s no threat to the baby. Just pain for me. Pregnant joints get loose, and tendons can be overtaxed. Probably it’s hereditary.”
“Did it happen to your mom?”
“I have no idea.” She keeps her gaze on the window as we turn through an open gate onto a long, winding road.
“Do your parents know about the baby?”
“No.”
“Do you plan on telling them?”
“Maybe.”
“What would change your mind?”
Her chin wobbles. Is she going to cry again?
“I’ll have to be at my last resort.”
“I thought that was me.”
She turns her attention to the goat, stroking the fuzzy white head. I’m beginning to see that it serves as a support animal. “If you throw me out, I’ll be forced to go to them.”
“I wouldn’t—” I cut myself off. The baby might not be mine. What will I do then? Pay for her to return to Colorado, I guess. Or her parents. Or maybe send her to whoever the real father might be.
“Oh, look!” She leans toward the door. “The goats!”
I bend down to peer outside. “Those are bigger than yours.”
“They’re Nubians! You can tell by their long, floppy ears.”
I see that. “Are they friendly?”
“Oh, very. They’re commonly pets, like the Nigerian Dwarf.”
The van slows down as we approach a large farmhouse. Behind it, an expansive barn is surrounded by fenced pens.
I turn to the driver. “I’ll pay for you to wait while I get her settled. Then we can return to Manhattan.”
The man taps his phone. “All right. I’ll adjust the trip.” He opens his door, but I stop him. “I’ve got it. Take a moment to relax after that drive.”
“You sure?” He peers into the rear-view mirror at Lucy.
Maybe I shouldn’t have said it, but I didn’t want him noticing we brought a goat.
I tug on the sliding door. It takes a moment to figure out how to shift the seat forward to let Lucy out. I wish it were darker, so maybe the goat wouldn’t be so obvious. Not that it matters. If he ditches me over it, I’ll call another car.
But he’s back on his phone, and he doesn’t pay us much mind as we unload the goat, Lucy’s knapsack, her new clothes, and the lunch coolers.
A woman appears from the barn, a bucket in her hands, and waves. “Bring that sweet girl over here!” she calls. I’m assuming she means the goat.
Lucy has found her people.
We walk in that direction. I cast a glance back at the van, but the driver is having an animated conversation with someone.
“Are you Lucy?” the woman asks.
“I am.”
She fills a trough with her bucket, and the goats inside the pen come running. “You’re gonna pop any day. When’s your due date?”
“September 20.”
“That’s coming fast.” The woman hangs the bucket on a nail and deftly hops over the fence. “I’m Caroline Halson. My husband Tom and I run the goat farm.”
“Do you teach the yoga? I was an instructor in Colorado until I got too far along.”
“Did you really? No, I’m not much into yoga myself. But we have two instructors who take turns teaching our goat yoga. It’s great fun. You can come to any class you like while you’re staying.”
“That’s wonderful. Where should Matilda go? She hasn’t been in a herd since I got her shortly after she kidded about a year ago.”
“We can test her out with the pygmies, see how it goes.”
I watch all this with fascination. The two of them look a lot alike, tall and easy with their movements, hair flying, no fuss about their appearance. Caroline is older than her, late forties, but I can see a lot about the two of them in common. It’s in how they carry themselves, their love for the animals, the way their eyes alight on their surroundings. They’re in their element.
I am not. My shiny leather Burberry dress shoes are already caked with mud. My pant cuffs are damp. I stand stiffly, hands clasped behind me, uncomfortable with the green coolers hanging from my shoulder, and the Naturalist Outfitters bag dangling from my fingers.
“Is this your husband?” Caroline asks. “I only saw you and Matilda on the reservation.”
“Oh, no,” Lucy says. “He’s handling the accommodations for me.”
Caroline reaches down to stroke Lucy’s goat. “You rented the place for a month. Do you intend to have the baby while you’re here?”
Lucy hesitates, looking at me.
I take a step forward, almost skidding in the damp earth. “We’ll be looking for an obstetrician in the area. She’ll be taken care of.”
Caroline’s eyebrows furrow. “And you are?”
I extend a hand. “Court Armstrong. I’m helping Lucy as she prepares for her baby.”
Caroline shakes it uncertainly. “Well, all right. We have a good hospital about fifteen minutes away.”
Lucy glances at me. “Perfect, thank you.”
“Come this way. I’ll show you the tiny house.” She walks ahead of us. “It’ll be quiet this weekend and during the week, but next weekend, we’re fully booked with the farm expo happening so close. Let me know if you’d like to go. It’s fun.”
“I might!” Lucy follows, patting her leg so that her goat will go with her.
Our unusual party arrives at a semi-circle of tiny houses, each with its own small fenced yard.
Caroline opens the gate. “If Matilda doesn’t take to the herd, you can keep her in the yard. We don’t allow them in the houses, though. Will that be all right?”
“I can sleep outside with her if she gets upset,” Lucy says.
I’m about to protest this, but Caroline gets there first. “There’s an extra cot folded up beneath your bed. We can set that up. I bet she’ll like the barn.”
Really? She’s encouraging a pregnant woman to sleep outside? But what do I know? Lucy’s yurt barely qualifies as indoors.
When we’re all inside the fence, Lucy bends down to take the diaper off the goat. “You’re free!” she says.
“Poop at will,” Caroline says, and they both laugh.
What kind of world is this? Not mine, that’s for sure.
Caroline unlocks the front door. “It’s small but tidy and homelike.” She steps aside.
Lucy goes in. The goat tries to follow, but Caroline reroutes the goat to a shrubbery by the door.
I follow Lucy inside with the bags. There’s a tiny kitchen, and beyond it, a space with a sofa on one side and a table on the other. At the back is a small bedroom and a bathroom.
“I love it,” Lucy says. She sets her knapsack on the sofa.
I leave the coolers and bag on the table. “You all set?”
She nods. “Thank you. This place is perfect.”
“Good.” I rock back on my heels, not sure what to say next.
She runs her hands on her skirt, like she’s sweaty. Nervous, maybe? “I’ll let you know when the phone arrives. And when I have a doctor appointment.”
“Good, good.”
We stand there a moment, looking at each other.
She extends a hand. “Thank you, Court.”
It feels strange to shake it after this wild, unexpected day. “We’ll be in touch.”
I don’t look back as I head out the front door, past Caroline and the goat chomping on the leaves of the shrub.
I almost skid in the mud again but make it back to the van in one piece.
“Ready?” the driver says.
“Yes. Thank you.”
He backs up to the narrow lane.
I’ve gotten through the first phase of this strange new world. It feels like a year since Lucy showed up in my office, barefoot and pregnant.
But it’s only been one day.
There are miles to go in this conundrum before I see it through.
A month at least.
And maybe, a whole lot more.