13. Lucy
13
LUCY
I can’t read Court’s mood at all. He’s swinging faster than a carnival ride.
I thought for a moment, when we were listening to the baby’s heartbeat, that he felt something. He got so still. So fully attentive.
But then he was back to his usual self, barely letting me dress without bringing up paternity.
He doesn’t believe the baby is his. And if he doesn’t, he can’t bond with his child.
At least not until the paternity test is done.
We check out, and I schedule bloodwork and a sonogram for next week. Court is impassive, giving me only the smallest nod when the clerk tells me what times are available.
This is going worse than I hoped.
As we walk out, he says, “I can take you back to the farm. I brought my car.”
That’s something, I guess. I’m emotional from the doctor visit and want to make progress, anything I can get, in forging some sort of partnership for when the baby is born. He may not believe it’s his, but I know .
The sunlight is blinding, and I shield my eyes as Court unlocks a sleek black Ferrari, low to the ground, and wildly sexy. It’s definitely a fit for him.
He almost sits behind the wheel, then realizes he should probably be polite, and rounds the car to open the passenger side.
I peer down at the low-slung seat with trepidation. I’m not sure I can get in, much less get out.
I duck my head and hang onto the edge of the door as I maneuver inside. There’s nothing for my left hand to grab onto. The dash is too far forward. The steering wheel is out of reach.
I hesitate, worried I’m about to fall onto the seat in a heap of yellow dress and belly.
“Everything okay?” Court asks.
I back out. “Trying to figure out how to sit down.”
He leans down to peer inside. “I guess it is a little low.”
“I’ll figure it out.”
I try putting a leg in first, but I can’t get my butt anywhere near the seat. I’m afraid to let go of the door. I don’t want to fall into place. It feels like a mile between my body and the seat.
I hover over the cushion, but my arm starts to shake. I’m about to crash land when Court leans down and cradles my thighs and back.
“Here you go,” he says, lowering me carefully.
As I expected, the seat is too deep for me to sit properly, so I have to stretch out to fit. I can’t bend in half enough to settle onto the bottom.
“Maybe if we lower the back.” Court reaches for a lever, and the rear cushion hums as it smoothly lies back.
His face is perilously near mine as I settle more comfortably on the seat. As I slide down and below him, it’s almost the same feeling as falling onto a bed. I flash with the one night we knew each other, his face hovering over mine.
And there it is, that intense flash of need. I suck in a breath.
His palm flies to my belly. “The pains?”
“No. I’m fine.”
He lifts his hand away like he got burned. “This position seems better. Is it?”
“It’s good.”
His gaze meets mine for a split second, and I almost wonder if he’s remembering New Year’s Eve as well.
Then he pulls back and tugs the seatbelt down. He starts to stretch it over my belly, but I take it from him. “I’ve got it.”
My hand brushes his as I take the latch. Fire licks through me. Stupid pregnancy hormones. What’s the point? I’m already reproducing! There’s absolutely no point to having him in me.
And yet, as he closes the door and walks around the back of the car, I flap my hand at my overheated face. All I can think about is his body over mine, sliding into me, my hands clutching his shoulders.
Now I’m the one swinging. Tears. Anger. Lust.
“You sure you’re okay?” He’s in his seat, pulling on his own belt, and I still haven’t latched mine.
I shove it into place. “I’m good. Gina was nice, right?”
“I think we should have seen the doctor.”
“Next time. It was short notice.”
Court grunts as he reverses out of the lot.
We’re back at the farm in mere minutes. I want to ask him to come in. To eat lunch. For us to talk.
But I can’t find the words.
“Do you need me for the bloodwork?” he asks.
“No, of course not.”
“You don’t faint?”
“No, I’m pretty hearty that way.”
He nods. “All right. Then I’ll see you afterward at the sonogram. Are you taking a birthing class?”
“I already did, with my friends. They like you to do it in the second trimester.”
“I see.”
I should have lied, asked him to do one with me. Damn it. I have to think on my feet a little better.
He pulls up to the fence in front of my tiny house.
I unlatch the belt but immediately struggle to sit up in the seat.
“Hold on.” Court jumps out and comes around.
Then his head is over mine again, and he’s helping me roll to my side so I can push up and out of the car.
“I’ll bring something more appropriate next time,” he says.
“You have more than one car?”
“I can rent something.”
It’s a relief to be standing again. “Thank you for coming.”
He closes the door. “No problem.”
“Did you have to cancel meetings?”
“I can move things around.” His face is grim. “I’m the boss.”
I wait by the gate as he gets into this car and backs out of the drive. I stand there long after his gleaming black car disappears down the lane.
He’s something.
The goats roam the big pen, and I spot Matilda by herself in the corner. Poor girl. She’s not used to so many roommates.
I hurry inside to grab her lead and spring her from the pen. It’s late morning but not too hot yet. We walk along the backlot, taking the dirt road that leads into the trees. She’ll enjoy foraging for brush.
It’s the farthest we’ve gone since arriving, but I’m feeling good knowing the baby is okay, and Court will be coming to the visits.
“I saw Court today,” I tell Matilda. “He was less salty than usual for a hot second when he heard the heartbeat.”
Matilda pauses to chew on a shrub. She doesn’t hold up her end of a conversation, that’s for sure.
I spin a fantasy while I wait for her to move on. Court and I outside a little house with a fence for Matilda, the baby running in the yard. We sit side by side on a porch swing, a gentle breeze ruffling our hair.
He puts his arm around me. And I’m content. Absolutely happy.
Matilda nudges my knee.
“Hey, girl.” We keep walking through the copse of trees until I hear the rumble of a motor behind me. We have to step aside as a refrigerated truck passes us on the road. The side of it is emblazoned with dancing cartoon steaks and the words “McKenzie Meats.”
What is that doing here?
I quicken my step to follow it until we hit a clearing. A sign here announces, “Halson Goat.” The driver unloads an empty cart and pushes it toward the side door of a long, sleek barn.
I glance back up the lane. The Halson family goat-milk operation is all housed in the front barn. What is this?
The smell is strong back here. I can hear the bleats of many, many goats.
At first, Matilda walks alongside me, but once we get closer, she halts in her tracks.
I have to pull and coax her into moving forward. At first, everything seems fine. More fencing, a huge pasture, and plenty of space beyond. Dozens of goats roam the wide pen.
These goats are males. I can tell by the smell. Probably they’re put here after kidding since only the females can produce milk.
But why so many? They far outnumber the milk goats up front.
The door opens again, and the delivery man wheels his cart out, stacked with boxes.
My heart hammers. He’s taking boxes from the property to his refrigerated meat truck?
I move closer. There’s print on the side of the box, an arc of words over an illustration of a goat.
Halson Family Farm Goat Meat.
Meat.
Of goat.
I feel faint.
A door squeaks at the end of the barn. I expect to see hay bales and dirt floor, but it’s not. It’s pristine white and silver.
With rows of hanging goat carcasses.
I stumble backwards. The males have spotted Matilda and move toward the fence.
All these goats. Just waiting to be taken inside and hung on those hooks.
I don’t care about the pain in my belly. I whirl around and take off in as fast a run as I can manage, pulling Matilda with me. The delivery truck catches up to us, but I’m not on the road, so it roars past.
We don’t stop until we’re in my tiny house. I bring Matilda with me. I don’t care that she’s not supposed to be here. They can kick me out.
I’m leaving anyway.
I can’t be here another minute.
Not with that happening so close by.
Those goats!
Those poor sweet goats!
I throw everything in my knapsack and carefully pack my goat milk and soap in the coolers, dumping ice from the freezer around the containers.
I haul everything onto my shoulders and race out the door, walking up the lane as fast as I can.
People arrive for noontime goat yoga, parking their cars along the fence.
“They kill goats here!” I cry, walking swiftly to the road. “They butcher them and wrap them in plastic and sell them!”
Some of the women look at me curiously.
My belly hurts, and I bend over a moment to manage the pain.
Then I keep going, past the cars, down the long drive.
I realize when I reach the main road that I should have already called an Uber Pet. I pull out my phone, trembling with misery and rage. I try to punch the buttons to book the Uber, but what if they turn me down? Matilda isn’t even wearing her diaper.
Matilda trots away from the road, startled by a car. I drop my bags, trying to hang onto her lead. I manage to find the Uber Pet, but there’s nothing available to book for hours.
I sit in the grass as the cars whiz by. What do I do? Where do I go?
I can’t go back there. I just can’t.
There’s no subway out here.
The sun shines down, bright and unrelenting. Sweat beads on my forehead. I can’t stay out here long. I’ll pass out from the heat. I should have drunk some water before leaving.
I can think of nothing else to do.
So I call Court.