36. Court
36
COURT
A t first, I try to find Lucy. Where could she have gone? Back to her yurt, somewhere, anywhere in Colorado?
I call the spa to see if she arranged for future goat milk. Kaliyah hasn’t talked to her in a week. Stanley either.
On Tuesday, I stalk her old Facebook. I message her there, even though I know it’s futile. She hasn’t logged in for years and probably doesn’t have a way to do it now.
Her old friend list is hidden, but I find comments from people named Summer and April on her account. These are the only friends she’s mentioned. I write them, but they seem to have abandoned the platform, too.
I get on LinkedIn and find a chef with April’s name, but I don’t get a response there, either. Summer is nowhere and her full name, Summer Jones, is so common that I can’t easily search for it.
Work is worse than ever. I have no desire to talk to anyone, not even Devin. I insist he message from outside my office and leave me the fuck alone.
On Wednesday, Dawn shows up with samples of the new merch, and I have to control myself not to throw her out. She scurries away as fast as possible. I cancel all other in-person meetings for the week, then on Friday, I don’t even bother to go in. Pickle Media can run without me.
The baby’s room is making me crazy, so I start packing it all up to donate.
I’m in the middle of that when Rhett texts me.
Rhett: The whole family is talking about you.
Court: Like I give fuck all.
Rhett: Go ahead and be your asshole self with me. I get it. But do you want help or not?
Court: What would you do exactly?
Rhett: I don’t know. Did you hire an investigator to find her? Where do you think she went?
Court: No clue. I didn’t jailbreak her phone, but she was talking to her two friends before she left. She said so.
Rhett: Where are they?
Court: Vegas and France.
Rhett: You check Vegas?
Court: Right. Because that’s a town where it’s easy to find people who want to be lost.
Rhett: But she has a goat. A goat in Vegas will stick out about as much as a goat in Manhattan. Check social media. People might have posted videos.
Court: It’s useless.
Rhett: It’s not like you to give up.
Court: Fuck off.
Rhett: Yeah, I get it. I totally get it.
Does he? I doubt it.
I drag the swing to the living room. It looks ridiculous there, but at least it will be gone soon.
I unload drawers, but every stack of baby garments I pick up is a stab to my chest.
Maybe Maggie can do this. I just need to move the heavy stuff.
I start pushing the changing table into the hall when my cell phone rings on the dresser.
The caller ID reads UNAVAILABLE . I answer the call, my heart pounding. Could it be her? “This is Court.”
“Court Armstrong?”
My shoulders drop as I realize it’s not Lucy.
“Whatever you’re selling, I don’t want it.”
I’m about to hang up when she rushes out the words, “It’s the OB/GYN’s office.”
I lift the phone back to my ear. “Is Lucy okay?”
“That’s what we wanted to ask you. We got a request for her records this morning, then a notice that she was in labor in a hospital in Denver, Colorado.”
I make up a lie, so it seems I’m in the loop. “She’s visiting her parents. Which hospital?”
She rattles off the name, and I race to the kitchen to grab something to use to write it down.
“Are you not with her?” the woman asks.
“I’m on the way.” That’s not a lie. “When did you get the call?”
“About two hours ago.”
She could have had the baby by now. Or it might be twenty more hours. It’s impossible to know.
The woman sounds concerned. “Naturally, Dr. Martin won’t be her doctor of record there.”
“I understand. Of course. The travel was unexpected. A family issue. Thank you for all you did for her.”
I hang up, running in a dead sprint for my bedroom. I have no time to pack properly. I slide everything from my bathroom counter into a duffel bag, along with a pile of random clothes.
I call Devin. “I need a flight to Denver, Colorado, as soon as you can make one. Any class. Any airline. Any price. I’m about to get in an Uber. I’ll head toward La Guardia but let me know if we should divert to JFK.”
“Is this about Lucy?”
“She went into labor, and the nurses called her doctor here.”
“That’s great news! I’ll get right on it.”
Is it great news? I remember her standing in my office the first day, distraught that I was willing to miss the birth of my baby.
She was so sure. She was always so sure.
I’ve screwed up.
What’s an apartment without your family in it?
What’s a job if you hate it?
As I lock the front door, I say to it, “I’m never coming back here.”
Now I have to find a way to make it true.