18. Court
18
COURT
T he frantic call from Maggie comes at the worst moment.
I’m in a meeting with human resources about the results of the external audit of company morale. All those terrible quotes from employees are spread over the table.
Uncle Sherman, the owner of Pickle Media, is in the room. So is his son Jason, my cousin, who keeps throwing me concerned looks as the auditor explains how dire things are at Pickle Media. He seems to think we’re months away from a triggering event that could cause a mass exodus.
And my housekeeper won’t stop calling.
It has to be about Lucy.
Or her damn goat.
I stand. “I apologize. I have a small matter that’s urgent. It will only be a moment.”
I take the call as I rush out the door of the boardroom. “What’s wrong, Maggie?”
“Sir, sir, Mr. Court. There is a goat in your apartment! It ran straight for me! Holy Mary Mother and Joseph. My life flashed before my eyes.”
It’s just as I figured. “I’m sorry I didn’t warn you.”
“You have a goat?”
“I have a guest. And she has a goat.”
“I didn’t see another person!”
Did Lucy leave with her goat loose in my apartment? “Where are you?”
“In the hall! I can’t go in there!”
“Hold on a second.”
I put the call on hold and dial Lucy.
It rings. No answer.
There’s no telling what has happened. She could be gone. She could have let the phone lose its charge. She could be with her goat, and the phone is in another room.
I return to Maggie. “You know, skip the cleaning. I’ll pay you the same. I’ll make sure the goat is put away before you come back.”
“But I have your groceries!”
“Keep them. Eat them yourself. I had a big delivery last night.”
“But your sheets! Your laundry!”
“I’ll be all right, Maggie. I promise.”
“Okay, Mr. Court. I have time on Sunday.”
“Don’t waste your weekend on me.”
“I don’t mind.”
“I’m fine. Really.” I have to return to that meeting.
I shove my phone in my pocket. Back to hell.
I re-enter the room, and the conversation drones on. Uncle Sherman nods grimly as we’re told to hire a specialized company to help boost morale. When we finally adjourn, Uncle Sherman asks to see me privately.
I saw this coming. He and Jason file into my office. When they’re inside, I leave my phone with Devin, which I probably should have done before the meeting. “Handle anything that comes down. Lucy and the goat are loose in my apartment.”
Devin fails to hide his smirk. He’s loving this. “How’s Ms. Lucy?”
My tone leaves no room for argument. “Find her a new place.”
His smile fades. “Sure, boss.”
When I make it into my office, Uncle Sherman and Jason are sitting on the sofa. “Let’s order lunch,” Uncle Sherman says. “We have things to talk about.”
I lower onto an adjacent chair and cross one ankle over my knee. Uncle Sherman is well into his sixties, but he looks like he could block the entire front line of any pro football team. He wears a suit, but no tie, and can look casual no matter what he has on.
Jason is sprawled on his side of his sofa, arms spread across the back. He doesn’t bother with suits. He likes his trendy jeans and designer T-shirts that might be more expensive than the furniture he’s sitting on. He’s expanded his deli in Texas, and now that he’s involved in his business, it might be doing better than the flagship one in Manhattan.
“How’s Nova?” I ask him.
“Great,” he says, but then turns to Sherman.
Something about the timing of me asking about Nova and him looking to his father sets off an alarm bell. What’s this really about?
I decide to take control of the conversation before it goes a direction I don’t like. “I’ll get the takeout menus,” I say, but Sherman waves a hand. “Let’s cover some ground first.”
Oh boy. “Did you want to strategize about the firm coming in without the other members of HR around?”
“No.” Sherman leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees as he clasps his hands together. “This is about a woman and her goat.”
Shit. How does he know about this?
I play it cool. “I had a visitor last week. It was a bit of a disruption. But it’s handled.”
“Handled, how?” Uncle Sherman’s voice is steady but firm.
I’m not sure how much I want to reveal. Better to find out what he already knows. “I helped her get settled.”
“I hear she’s pregnant. Very pregnant.”
So he knows a lot. “She is.”
“And she says it’s yours?”
And there it is. Lucy’s pronouncement last week has gotten out. “She is saying so, yes.”
“So, how is this handled?” His gaze bores into mine.
“She’s at my apartment. We went together to the doctor yesterday. We’ll run a paternity test when the baby is born.”
“So it could be yours.”
“It’s a possibility. I met her briefly when I was in Colorado for the New Year.”
“Briefly, eh?” Jason says with a laugh.
“Don’t be coarse,” Sherman booms.
I’m definitely not laughing. “We rang in the New Year together.”
“Eight months ago.” Sherman taps his shiny black shoes. “How far along is she?”
There’s no tiptoeing around this. “Eight months.”
He sighs. “What do you know about her?”
“She’s a naturalist. Estranged from her family.”
“Hmmmph.” Sherman sniffs and leans back on the sofa. “Do you get a sense she’s after something?”
“I don’t think so. She lives very simply in Colorado. I think she just needs somebody.”
Jason rubs his chin. “Why wait eight months to turn up?”
“She hadn’t planned to tell me.”
“Really?” Sherman sits up again. “Why the change?”
“She was going to raise the baby with two friends, but they bailed on her.”
“Why was she going to blow you off?” Jason asks.
This I don’t know. “Other than the plan with the friends, she hasn’t said.”
Sherman pours a glass of water from the pitcher on the coffee table. “Well, I’m sure it occurs to you that being a father is a big deal. It will affect everything.”
“I will be able to do my job as usual. I assure you of that.”
Sherman waves his hand. “I’m not worried about work. But you’ll see things differently. And people will see you differently.”
“You think being a family man will save morale? Devin suggested that.”
He sips the water and shrugs. “Maybe. Maybe not. That’s a separate issue. But there will be changes. You do the right thing. No matter what the outcome, you be a credit to the Pickle name.”
Jason bites back a smile at that. I stifle any retorts about his sullying of the name before he got his act together.
Most of us cousins have had a time of it.
But as Uncle Sherman sorts through takeout menus, I wonder, what does being a credit to the Pickle name really mean for me?
Lucy never picks up a call but later, she texts me that she’s fine and sorry she scared the housekeeper.
I unlock the door, opening it carefully in case the goat is close and might try to escape. I’ve learned my lesson on that.
I hear nothing.
But I smell many things.
Something sweet baking. Something else, too, richer, more savory.
Did Maggie come back? She doesn’t normally cook for me.
I walk through the living room. The goat is asleep under the fine mist on the balcony. One of my metal bowls is out there, serving as a food dish. The Dutch oven is in use for water.
I pass the dining room table and turn into the kitchen. Lucy’s there, her hair tied up, pulling a tray of cookies out of the oven.
“You’re home!” She sets the tray on the side of the stove not taken up by pots. Two things are cooking.
“You’re being domestic.”
“I so rarely get to cook in a proper kitchen. I only have a propane stove in my yurt. This is a real treat.”
She stares down at her oven mitts as she places them on the counter. “I really am sorry I scared your housekeeper away.”
“The goat charged her?”
“I didn’t realize she had come in. I’m so sorry, Court. I should have kept Matilda on the balcony.”
“It’s all right. We’ll arrange it better next time.”
Her gaze meets mine at the “next time.” And she’s right. She won’t be here long enough for a next time.
Although she might be back if the baby turns out to be mine.
I press the heel of my hand to my forehead, Uncle Sherman’s words weighing on me. Be a credit to the Pickle name.
“Did Devin find a new farm for us?” Lucy asks.
I drop my arm. If Lucy wants to go to a farm, then surely sending her is the right thing. It has to be hard on her goat to sit on a balcony.
“We were pretty overwhelmed with an issue at work, but he’s hoping to comb through what’s available after this farming event that has everything booked.”
“Oh.” She picks up a spatula and moves the cookies to a plate. “What’s happening at work?”
I loosen my tie. “Just some employee reviews. I’m going to change.”
“Okay! I made peanut butter cookies, and I’ve got some potatoes on to boil for a casserole with leeks and mushrooms.”
I bought leeks? I don’t even know what they are. “That sounds good.”
“What do you normally eat?” she asks.
I shrug, sliding off my suit jacket. “Whatever takeout sounds good.”
She nods. “I thought so. This will be better.”
Will it? I guess I’ll find out. If it’s a total bust, I’ll make an excuse and grab a slice at Luciano’s Pizzeria up the street.
I take one more glance at her as I head down the hall. She’s wearing the yellow dress and the shoes I got her all cleaned up from yesterday’s mishap. Her neck is long and exposed with her hair up. The warmth of the kitchen gives her a rosy glow.
No woman has ever set foot in there, at least other than Maggie.
It’s nice.
And I don’t like thinking about it being nice.