14. Court
14
COURT
I haven’t even reached the Lincoln tunnel when I get a call from Lucy. I hear her heavy sob-laden breathing before she even talks.
“Lucy, are you okay?”
“Come get me.” Her voice is high and squeaky. “Please come back and get me.”
I signal to change lanes so I can turn around. “What’s going on?”
“They killed the goats. They sell them!”
Jesus. Did they do something to her goat?
“When?”
“Just now. I saw a meat truck, and I saw them hanging from hooks.” The last word dissolves into a sob.
“Did they mix up your goat?”
“Matilda? No. She’s here with me.”
I let out a sigh of relief. That would have been the worst. “So you saw the dead goats?”
“Those poor babies! They strung them up, like meat!”
I decide not to point out that the goats are, in fact, meat. Devin clearly didn’t check into this farm well enough. I had no idea there was a butchery operation out there as well. But it was a lot of land. I should have known there was more to it.
“Where are you?” I ask her.
“By the Goat Yoga sign.”
“Where they do the yoga in the yard?” It’s pushing ninety degrees. She should go inside.
“No, the one by the main road.”
“Lucy! That’s not safe. Get away from the road.”
“I can’t go back there.”
I grip the steering wheel hard. “It’s not safe for you or the baby or the goat to be that close to traffic. Please back away. Get in some shade at least.”
I hear a rustling sound.
“Are you moving?”
“There’s a tree by the fence.”
I glance at the clock. I left her forty-five minutes ago. I’ll try to make it back in thirty. “Just sit tight, Lucy. I’ll be there.”
“Okay.”
“If you get thirsty, please go back to your tiny house and get a drink. You can’t see the—” What do I even call it? “The other goats from there, right?”
“No. They were down a dirt road I hadn’t been on before.”
“Please tell me you’ll head back if you feel sick or hot.”
“Okay.”
She ends the call. Damn it. I put through a call to Devin.
“Yeah, boss. You about back? Your next meeting is in a half hour.”
“Cancel it. I’m returning to Warwick.”
“Something wrong with Lucy?”
“Did you know they sold goat meat on the property? They raise the goats and do the butchering?”
“I did not.”
I can hear him tapping. I dodge in and out of traffic to push the limit of how fast I can get back to her.
Devin says, “There’s no mention of this anywhere on their site, but now that I have specifically looked for it, I do see that they sell goat meat wholesale from another building. It’s a good quarter-mile back on the property on the other side of a forest. She found it?”
“Apparently so.”
“Poor thing. That must have been hard on someone with her sensibilities.”
“She’s sitting by the side of the road, waiting for me to get her.”
“You’re going to put the goat in your Ferrari?”
Right. I glance in the back. Will it even fit back there? Plus, this car had been hard for Lucy to ride in. And she hadn’t even complained about the leather seats.
“What can I rent between here and Warwick?”
More tapping. “I see three car rental places.”
“Call them. Get me an SUV with the keys in it, ready to go. I’ll park the Ferrari in their lot until I can come back for it.”
“I can make that happen.”
He better.
I pass a semi to gain some ground. “Let me know when you have it booked. No leather seats if you can help it.”
“Roger that.”
I weave between lanes, roaring past anyone who slows me down. By the time I’m approaching Warwick, Devin has dropped a pin where the car is.
Good man.
Five minutes later, I’ve parked my Ferrari in a lot and switched to a sporty SUV. This is better. I only lost three minutes on this maneuver but gained a lot of space and probably saved my Ferrari.
This one has cloth seats and an artic-level air conditioner. I crank it, knowing I’ll need to cool her down. As I approach the goat farm, I see Lucy in her yellow dress, sitting in the grass under a tree, her goat eating leaves off a bush.
I pull over onto the shoulder and shove the car into park.
It takes her a second to realize it’s me. She stands, shielding her eyes.
I wait for traffic to pass, then jump out and hurry to her.
“What’s this car?” she asks. Her cheeks are flush, and her arm, as I pull her up, is hot to the touch.
“A rental so we could fit the goat.”
“Her name is Matilda.”
“Right, right.” I help her to the car and open the passenger door. “You sit in the AC. I’ll load the goat into the back.”
“No, no, I’ll sit in the backseat with her.”
I meant the cargo bay, but I’m not going to argue. I open the rear door, and Lucy pats the seat. The goat jumps up, and Lucy follows. I pile her bags into the front seat and make sure plenty of air is flowing to her.
“This is better,” she says.
I get behind the wheel, and for the first time since she called me, I realize I have no idea what I’m going to do with her.
This is a dilemma. As I signal and merge back onto the road, I try to figure out a solution. We have to vet any goat farms, or farms in general, before we choose another place.
I glance in the rear-view mirror. Lucy rests her head on her goat, weeping into her fur.
“Have you eaten lunch?” I ask her.
“I don’t think I could.”
“Let’s at least stop and pick something up.”
She doesn’t respond.
At the next light, I search my phone for something suitable with a drive-thru. I find a sandwich shop with an extensive vegetarian menu and smoothies. I want something cold and caloric in her. She looks both pink and pale at the same time, wisps of hair curling around her temples.
When we pull up to the microphone to order, she says, “Can you ask for loose lettuce or carrots for Matilda?”
This will be fun. “Sure. What do you want?”
“Maybe a strawberry smoothie.”
Perfect.
A woman’s voice comes over the speaker. “May I take your order?”
“Yes, I need a large strawberry smoothie.” I’ll get some food, anyway. She might eat it later. “And a hummus and avocado on wheat. A cream cheese with sprouts on sourdough. And can I get a pile of lettuce on the side?”
There’s silence for a minute, then the woman says, “What was that?”
“A pile of loose lettuce.”
“Just lettuce? Nothing else.”
“It’s for a goat.”
Silence.
“Did you get that?” I work to control the anger in my voice as heat rises from my gut.
“Oh, I got it. Strawberry smoothie. Hummus and avocado on wheat. Cream cheese and sprouts on sourdough. And lettuce for your goat.”
“That’s right.” I catch Lucy watching out the window as if she can see the woman taking the order.
“Clarice, what do I charge for random lettuce?” the woman calls.
Another voice says, “What do you mean, random lettuce?”
She must realize her mic is on, because the speaker goes quiet.
“You’d think I asked for poop on a platter,” Lucy says.
I force myself to hold back my laugh. “You’d think.”
Finally, the speaker squawks again, “Twenty-three seventy-five. Pull up.”
When I arrive at the window, I pass the woman a credit card. She gives me a plastic bag full of loose lettuce and peers into the car. “Clarice, there sure is a goat in there!”
Several other faces appear in the glass.
Lucy rolls down her window. “Her name is Matilda! She loves lettuce! It’s like a cookie to her.”
“It’s like a cookie!” one of them repeats, as if it’s the wildest thing they ever heard.
I hand Lucy the bag of lettuce and watch in the rearview as she feeds a leaf of it to the goat.
“Look at her chomping it!” one of the women cries. They all lift their phones to record it. Great. Hopefully, they keep me out of it. Axel and Rhett will never let me live this down if it goes viral.
Another car pulls up behind us, but nobody pays any attention as they video the goat. Finally, the other driver honks.
“Oh, hush, Karen ,” the woman says, but she runs my card through her reader and passes it back.
Eventually, we get our smoothie and sandwiches, and everyone waves and shouts, “Bye, Matilda the goat!” as I pull away.
Lucy sips her drink as the goat shoves her face into the lettuce bag. “That lifted my spirits. Thank you.”
I pass her the sandwiches. “I thought you might get hungry once you cooled off.”
“I’m starving. You’re good at this.” She unwraps one and takes a big bite.
“Good at what?” I glance at her reflection as I wait for a chance to pull out. Traffic is heavy.
“Taking care of a pregnant stranger.”
“Oh, I’ve done it before. Twice actually.”
“You have?” Her voice is incredulous. Then she smacks the back of my seat, choking with laughter. “It’s a joke! You can be funny! See, I never knew that about you!”
“Don’t get used to it.” There’s finally an opening, so I pull out.
Lucy shakes her head, merriment in her eyes. I can’t stop glancing between the road and the sight of her behind me. “Court Armstrong, there’s a lot more to you than meets the eye.”
Maybe there used to be. To be honest, it feels strange to laugh or smile.
It’s been a long, long time.