23. Lucy
23
LUCY
S neaking a goat down the stairs is much easier than going up the elevator. In my new tennis shoes, peachy cargo Capri pants, and the snug white shirt, I feel like a completely new person.
I use the collar and leash rather than the lead with the loop since there might be huge distractions to set Matilda off running. I have no idea what to expect, but I’m super excited.
The drive out to Syracuse is sunny and beautiful. The trees shimmer with vibrant green, and the highway is shiny, like a silver ribbon threading through the scenery.
Court is relaxed behind the wheel, his strong features in profile against the brightness of the window. I have to stop myself from squealing every time I think about what we’re doing together and everything he planned for me today.
Nobody since BeeBee has given me a day like this.
“You never said how your dilation gender prediction came out,” he says.
“Oh, hush. You’re making fun of me.”
“No, no. I find these old wives’ tales interesting. They have to come from something.”
“No dilation.”
“Does that mean girl or boy?”
“Girl, if you believe a store employee.”
“Uh oh.”
“What?” I turn to him.
He’s laughing. “That means you have a direct contradiction between your two forms of gender divination. The string says a boy. Dilation says a girl.”
“Maybe it’s twins.” I smirk in satisfaction when his face pales.
“You think?”
“No, no. I had a sonogram. There’s only one baby in there.”
“And they didn’t tell you the gender?”
“He was turned the wrong way. And it’s, you know, one of those freebie clinics for people who can’t pay. They don’t take much time.” I try to say it simply, because I don’t want him to feel sorry for me. I made my choices.
“Will the sonogram you do next week be like that, short, with a side of humiliation?” His voice is harsh.
“I’m grateful I could get one. Grateful for the program. For my ability to get through the paperwork. To be approved. That’s more privilege than some expectant mothers have.”
His frown deepens. “But next week?”
I shrug. “It might be pricey. My program was for Colorado, so it doesn’t apply here.”
“It’ll be fine.” He waves off my concern. “I mainly want you to feel like you got the information you went in for. The reassurance.”
“The baby kicks, so I feel good about it. I’m healthy, and I haven’t had any complications other than these ligament pains. And being endlessly hungry and thirsty.”
“Are you now? Hungry and thirsty?”
“I can wait until we get there. I looked it up. They have tons of food booths. And a whole tent devoted to preserves and canning. You can buy almost anything in a jar. If they have bearberry jam, you’ll have to stand aside while I shove my paw in the jar and eat it straight off my fingers.”
“Now that’s an image.” He says it low and rumbly, like I was talking about sex.
I mean, maybe it’s a little sexy, licking jam off your fingers.
Then I picture Court licking jam off his fingers.
Then other things off his fingers.
He’d done that on New Year’s Eve.
My body flashes hot.
I press my hand to my chest.
“You okay?” he asks. “Are you in pain? Contractions?”
“No, no. I’m fine.” My cheeks heat up. “I’m pretty sturdy.”
“Okay. If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.” He’s being very doting this morning.
“So, what do bearberries taste like?”
I’m relieved to get my mind off the dirty thoughts. “They look like blueberries, tiny ones, but they taste more like apples. Bears love them. You can eat them straight off the bush. They unfortunately look a lot like some of the poisonous berries out there. But BeeBee taught me how to find them. If bears can do it, surely humans can.”
“Did she have them on her farm?”
“In the woods beyond it.” I frown. “Those are probably mowed down too by now.”
He signals, and we shift from one highway to another. I turn to take a peek at Matilda. She’s standing in the back of the SUV, seeming to enjoy the height she has to easily look out the window. She’s more dog-like than I had imagined.
“We should get some hay for her,” I say. “If it’s okay to spread it on your balcony.”
“Sure.”
“Probably just a bale if I’m leaving Monday.”
“We’ll get a couple in case Devin has trouble finding you a place.”
“Will it be near the other farm? I picked that doctor because it was close.”
“We’ll have to figure that out as we go.”
Traffic suddenly picks up, which seems unexpected for a Saturday. As we exit again, this time for a smaller road, it’s jammed with trucks and trailers.
“I think we’ve found your people,” Court says.
A sign reads, “Farm Expo parking one mile ahead.”
“Ooooh.” I press my hands to the glass, looking out. There are too many trees to see anything.
But soon, we approach cleared land and miles of gravel. A man in an orange vest waves at us to park in a row.
Court pulls up to him. “Where’s VIP parking?”
“Keep going to the front. There’s a row of golf carts. You have your cart number?”
Court nods.
“You got a golf cart?” I ask.
“It comes with the top tier passes.”
I inspect mine. There are numbers on the back. One line says Cart 53. “How did you get these in time?”
“I had a courier pick them up and deliver them.”
“We could have gotten them when we arrived!”
He grins as he turns the wheel down the first row, right next to a big open gate with a huge “Farm Expo” sign. “But then I couldn’t have surprised you.”
A gesture. He’s doing a gesture.
But why?
I shake off the question. Just accept it, Lucy.
Another man with a flag waves us to our spot. When we get out, he calls, “You know your cart number?”
“Fifty-three!” I yell back.
He gives us a thumb’s up.
We unload Matilda from the back.
“If she hates the cart, we can walk,” Court says.
“Oh, she’ll love it. Before I got too pregnant, we would do some odd jobs for the woman who owns the property my yurt is on. We got around on her four-wheeler.”
“What kind of jobs?”
I tie Matilda’s leash through a loop on the floor of the cart. She pokes her head between us on the front seat. “Moving brush. Mending pens. She had chickens. We tended them when she was gone.”
“Was that in exchange for rent?”
“Some. I also gave her goat cheese.”
“Did you use her bathroom, too?”
“No, I would shower and things at the yoga studio.”
He leans on the steering wheel. “So, when you couldn’t teach anymore, you were out of running water.”
I pet Matilda’s head. “And I came here. Like I said, I got to the end of my rope.”
“So, you peed in the woods?”
I laugh. “You’re obviously not much of a camping person.”
His face is contorted as he punches the code from the back of his badge to turn on the cart. “We did that, sure. My parents were outdoorsy. My brother is a serious hiker.”
“Okay, then, you know how it works.”
“But a weekend is different from all the time.”
“It wasn’t all that long. Summer only left for Vegas two months ago. I had access to her place until then.”
He shakes his head. “You’re made of pretty stern stuff.”
I hope he means that in a good way, not a weird one. I’m very aware that how I lived was unusual. I just got… stuck.
Court twists around to look behind him as he prepares to back out of the spot. I wrap an arm around Matilda’s neck to keep her steady. She lets out a happy meh eh eh .
“Me too, Matilda. Me, too.”
The gravel crunches beneath the tires as we approach the entry. We don’t even need to flash our passes. I guess the golf cart tells the story. We’re waved through a gate and wow! Huge white tents have been erected on the back side, like it’s a circus. Shiny green tractors line up like giants.
We drive along the big rig row, admiring a long red rotary tiller tearing up a patch of dirt while several men in ball caps watch.
We turn down a row of temporary pens, the silver bars winking in the sun. There are entire herds here. Cows. Sheep. And goats!
“Look, Matilda! There are more Nubians like you!”
Matilda pays me no mind, snorting at the air.
I glance around to see what she’s picking up on.
A big hay baler is sitting ahead, and a man is turning the flywheel to show how the claws drag in loose hay to push through the machine and bundle it into perfect rectangles wrapped with twine.
Matilda smells the hay.
Court leans over. “You think he’ll sell us some?”
“I think it’s a manufacturer, not a farmer, but maybe!”
Court pulls up next to the baler. Several of the men look at Matilda with amusement as I untie the leash and let her walk on the ground. She immediately scarfs up bits of hay that blow near her hooves.
“We got a cleaner upper,” one man calls. “We could use a goat to hoover up our mess!”
“She’s doing it!” I holler back.
One of the men steps forward to shake Court’s hand. I can’t hear their conversation over the chunk, chunk sounds of the baler. Matilda makes a happy leap in the air, then returns to eating hay as fast as she can.
Court comes over. “He says we can come by later and grab a couple of bales. They’re going to have more than they want to haul home.”
“How nice of them!” I wave at the cluster of men.
“Are we going to be able to get her back on the cart with all this food around?” Court asks.
“I’ll get her going. Goats aren’t really grazers. They like to eat brush at head level if they can. If you hold some hay out, she’ll prefer that.” I bend down to gather up some hay, but Court stops me.
“Let me do that.” He collects a good cluster and holds it out to Matilda. When she starts chewing, he walks backward toward the cart, bringing her with him.
When we’re back in the cart, Matilda still happily chewing, I tell him, “See, you’re going to be a goat expert before this is over.”
“Do you want to look at the other goats?” he asks.
“No, that might agitate Matilda if they are uncut males. Can we head to the tents?”
“Anything the lady wants.”
I try to hold back my squeal as we approach the long tent, open on one side. There’s an unending line of crafters with everything from quilts to jams to pies to pickles to embroidery to jewelry.
I can’t stop myself. “Squeeeee!”
Court laughs. “Get one of everything.”
“I won’t have space in my yurt!”
He averts his gaze at that, and I realize I probably won’t be going back to the yurt. Not once he realizes the baby is his.
Will I live in his fancy apartment? I can’t do that to Matilda. The balcony is fine for a while but not long term. Besides, he’s sure to get caught with her there.
I refuse to think about it. Today is for fun. Court is giving me everything I want.
We park with a cluster of other golf carts at the end of the tent. I untether Matilda again.
“I’ll take her,” Court says. “You roam the stalls.”
The first woman sits behind her tables piled high with shopping bags woven from recycled plastic. “Carry things with confidence,” she says as she holds up one of her bags. “I like to start things off because you can then fill up your bag as you go!”
“That’s so smart! How much are they?” I could use at least one.
I reach into my pocket, but Court’s there. “We’ll get four for starters.” He passes her a credit card, then guides Matilda away from the tablecloth she’s about to chomp.
The woman waves at her stacks. “Pick any four you like.”
I pick one made mostly of pink and white bags with a pink braided handle.
“Are you having a girl?” the woman asks.
“We’re finding out in a few days.”
“How lovely.” She finds a similar bag in tones of blue. “Better cover your bases!”
I’m not much for color coding humans, but the blue bags are pretty, so I choose one. Then a couple of wildly mixed colors. “Thank you. These look sturdy.”
“They’ll last forever!” She passes me the credit card. “For your husband.”
I almost tell her he’s not but then decide there’s no reason to do so. “Thank you.” I string the four bags on one arm as I head to the open side to return the card.
“Keep that,” Court says. “We’re going to walk outside of the tent to avoid getting into trouble.”
I laugh. “Good idea.”
It’s nice having him watch Matilda as I peruse the booths. I buy practical things, mostly. Two jugs for her milk. New cheese cloths for squeezing the curds. I fill the first bag.
“I’ll take that,” Court says, and I walk the six or so steps to hand him the full one.
Matilda sniffs at it, then resumes eating the grass around one of the poles.
I arrive at a fudge booth, and the smell of chocolate is so sweet and tempting, I have to pick up a sample. The creamy smoothness makes me want to swoon.” You should try this!” I tell Court.
He ties Matilda to the pole and comes closer. “What have we got here?”
“Made with cream from our own herd,” the woman says proudly, cutting a few more samples to put on the tray. “Try the chocolate caramel.”
Court holds up his hand. “I’m hay and goat hair covered.”
I pick up the tiny square sample. “I’ve got you.”
He opens his mouth, and I feed him the bit of fudge. My fingers brush his lips, and everything in me ignites.
Our eyes meet, and his expression shifts from easy to intense, sending another flash of heat through my body.
So much time passes that the woman clears her throat. “Is it okay?”
We shake loose of whatever we might be feeling.
“Exceptional,” Court says. “We’ll need six pounds of that.”
I turn away from him, almost sad the spell is broken. “You won’t be able to roll us out of your apartment if we eat all that.”
“Apartment?” the woman asks. “Where do you put your goat?”
This shifts the mood again. Court and I glance at each other conspiratorially and try not to laugh.
“We’ll take a half-pound of the caramel fudge and a half-pound of plain chocolate,” I tell her.
“Sounds good for me,” Court says. “What are you getting for yourself?”
I giggle again. “Okay, add a half-pound of the s’mores fudge.”
“There’s s’mores fudge?” Court’s eyes light up.
I feed him a taster. He groans. “Make it a pound.”
The woman happily cuts, weighs, and wraps the three rectangles. “Here you go.”
I tuck them in another bag and check on Matilda as Court takes the credit card from me to pay. She’s found a bush near the end of her tether and is happily munching.
“We can look at a few booths together,” I tell Court. “Matilda is occupied and in easy sight distance.”
“All right, then.” He takes my arm and tucks it in the crook of his elbow, like we’re walking through a county fair in a movie starring Judy Garland or Dick Van Dyke.
It’s magical and lovely, and I refuse to feel any concern about what it does or doesn’t mean.
Or how my heart catches.