39. Lucy
39
LUCY
I t’s wild to be without the baby.
I wave at Mom and Dad as Court backs down the driveway in the SUV he bought when we moved to the Airbnb house.
Then I frantically roll down the window.
“Don’t forget the bag balm! He’s got a spot of diaper rash on his right side!”
“We won’t!” Mom calls. She lifts Julian’s hand to make him wave.
I roll up the window, then roll it down again. “There’s two extra bags of breast milk in your freezer! Thaw them in hot water, not the microwave!”
“We’ve got it!” Dad calls.
Court pauses at the curb.
I look at him. “Are we going?”
“I’m giving you a second to see if you think of anything else.”
“Oh, don’t be silly. It’s only a couple of hours.” I wave at the steering wheel. “Let’s go.”
But as soon as Court lifts his foot from the brake, I hang out the window again. “His favorite song right now is Look What You Made Me Do . Play that if he’s fussy.”
Mom waves her hand dismissively, as if there’s no way she’s playing that song.
Court moves forward.
I roll up the window. “Did I remember everything?”
“I’m sure you did.”
I set my phone in the lap of my blue cotton dress. I reclaimed all my clothes from the yurt a couple of weeks ago. “I can always text them anything I forgot.”
“Exactly.”
Court had all the baby things shipped from his apartment. Maggie is slowly packing everything small in advance of the team, who will eventually move all the furniture when he’s ready for it.
He says he’s never going back there. His home is here.
So far, so good. We’re learning how to care for Julian together. Like he said in the hospital, we take each challenge one at a time. We almost never talk of the distant future, other than a vague notion that we’ll know when it’s time to have a wedding.
We head for the family-owned jewelry store to get a proper engagement ring, even though I told him I don’t need one.
“Remember, I don’t want any diamonds,” I say. “Too much conflict. Too many bad apples in mining.”
“Got it. But the fair-trade gold is okay?”
I nod. “Yes.”
“What if we use estate gems from old family jewelry?”
“I guess that would be okay. We’re not taking part in a trade with despicable practices.”
Court nods, and I let out a slow breath of relief. He says I’m like an onion, and he’s constantly revealing an additional layer of how I want the world to be, and what I won’t be a part of. It’s my choice. I don’t force my beliefs on anyone, not even him.
Which can be evidenced by how many times my dad springs him from the house to get barbecue. I don’t even mind the leftovers in the fridge, not that Court leaves any. The man loves his meat, and that’s okay.
We pull up to the small store that specializes in ethically sourced gems and metals. Court takes my hand. As we enter the showroom with its lighted glass cabinets, I can’t help but feel excited. “I’m in a Valentine’s Day commercial,” I tell Court.
He smiles as a young woman in a pink dress comes forward. “You must be Court.”
“I am.” He passes her a roll of velvet. The family jewels, I’m guessing.
“I’m Vicky, one of the designers here. You’re Lucy?”
“Yes. And I like things simple.”
“I understand completely,” Vicky says. “Let’s look at the family gems and see if we can come up with something you’ll love.” She unrolls the velvet.
Inside, clear plastic pockets each hold a gem, some large, some small. A couple of them are attached to their original settings. A single earring. A pendant.
“I see we have a couple of rubies, an emerald, sapphires, and several diamonds.”
“Lucy doesn’t like diamonds,” Court says.
But they’re so sparkly. “How old are these?” I ask.
“Some of them over a hundred years,” he says. “My great-great-grandfather gave these earrings to my great-great grandmother, but then my great-grandfather accidentally grabbed one straight out of her ear and threw it into the Grand Canyon. Only one survived. But she kept it. It was his first gift to her.”
“So much history.” I run my fingers over the gems. “No one who mined or cut these is alive anymore.”
Vicky nods. “Only their work remains.”
It does seem a shame all this beauty is lost to the world. But it isn’t practical for me.
“I like to work with my hands. I can’t really have a big stone.”
“Let me show you something I made before,” Vicky says. She unlocks the next cabinet over and pulls out a black velvet display. She pulls a set of rings out and passes a wedding band to me.
“So, this solo band is lovely all on its own,” she says. “It has two inlaid stones on each side of the swirl.”
I examine it. It’s beautiful, braided gold with four stones and a lovely loop in the middle.
“But then, on special occasions, the larger stone ring fits right inside.” Vicky snaps an engagement ring with a ridiculously large diamond into the band.
It’s breathtaking. “Court,” I breathe. “I’ve never seen anything so pretty.”
“You can have that one if you want it,” Court says. “We don’t have to use the family stones.”
“Could we do it with your family’s jewels? And maybe more of a ‘v’ shape than swirl?”
“That sounds lovely,” Vicky says. “Do you have a preference on which of these gems to use?”
“I wouldn’t know,” I say. “I leave that up to you as long as you use these.”
“All right,” Vicky says. “Let us catalog them before we take them to be used. I’ll be right back.”
Court and I wait by the counter. “You sure?” he asks.
I feel lightheaded with giddiness. “So, we’re doing this? Getting married?” I lean in. “You haven’t even had sex with me since before Julian was born.”
He bends close to my ear. “And hasn’t enough time passed for that?”
I meet his gaze. “It has.”
“And our house is empty?”
I grin. “It is.”
Vicky returns with a photograph of the gems and forms for Court to sign.
“Give us a few weeks,” she says. “I’ll contact you with some sketches.”
Court and I practically run back to the car.
“Are we headed for a booty call?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says. “But I have another stop first.”
“Condoms?”
He laughs. “Definitely need those. But something else.”
As we head out of the Denver suburb I grew up in, I recognize the highway we’re traveling. “Why are we going this way?” My belly quivers. It’s how we used to go to Grandma BeeBee’s.
“We should take a look,” Court says.
“I might get upset.”
He reaches over to take my hand. “Let’s face it together.”
As we crest the last hill before you can see her farm, I have to squeeze my eyes shut. I need to prepare myself. It could be a liquor store. Or God help me, a butcher shop.
I let out a long, slow breath. I picture the farm in its best days, in the summer, the front rail heavy with flowered vines, the berry bushes bursting with fruit. The barn doors would be thrown open where Grandpa would endlessly work on his latest project car, a classic BMW or maybe an old Mustang. He especially loved 1950s Ford trucks.
“I have something for you,” Court says. He tugs my hand from where I’m gripping my skirt and places something papery in my palm.
I open my eyes, careful to avoid looking up or out the window.
“What’s this?”
“Take a peek.”
I slide my finger under the flap. Inside is a folded sheaf of pages.
And a key.
The key is new and shiny. I turn to Court. “What’s this the key to?”
He points out the front window. “They changed the locks when it first sold.”
I hold his gaze for a moment. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying the development deal from five years ago fell through when the holding company filed for bankruptcy. BeeBee’s farm went into foreclosure and got hung up for two more years. A year ago, it sold to another developer, who hasn’t yet decided what to do with the property.”
My entire body flashes hot, then cold.
Is it true?
I look up.
And it’s there.
It looks terrible. Paint peeling, porch listing, weeds overtaking everything.
But it’s there.
“Court! Court!” I can’t think of anything else to say. “Court!”
“It’s yours, Lucy. We’re not married yet, so it’s just yours. If you get rid of me some time in the future, it will still be yours, since it will predate our wedding.”
I lean over and kiss him. “I can’t believe it!”
I wrestle with the door. Finally, it opens, and I race across the cracked drive to the overgrown yard.
I stop at the collapsing porch and take off around the house to the back door. This side has only a concrete step.
I try the lock, and the key works back here. I pause for a moment, turning to look over the barn and yard that was once my most familiar view.
It’s still here!
The back door opens with a squeal of rusty hinges. The kitchen has the same wood cabinets and linoleum floor. It’s dirty and filled with spiderwebs, but it’s the same as I remember it.
I dash to the empty dining room. The curtains are on the window! I brush them with my hand, sending a flutter of patterned light on the walls from the lace.
I can almost feel Grandma BeeBee here.
Next is the living room with the old stone fireplace. The furniture has been cleared out, but the old oval rug made of tied rags sits in front of it.
I drop to my knees on it. If I don’t pay too close attention to the dust, I can almost imagine that their two matching recliners are behind me. BeeBee is doing a cross stitch, and Grandpa is squinting at his phone and wishing for a newspaper.
The thought makes me smile, and I hold onto the moment as long as possible.
Then I’m up again and walking down the hall. The small front bedroom. The hall bathroom. The funny cutout in the wall with a shelf above the old defunct landline jack. The middle bedroom. Then BeeBee’s bedroom with its big sunny windows and attached bathroom.
It’s all here.
A shuffle on the floor makes me turn around. Court stands in the door with a folded blanket and a picnic basket from Mom’s pantry.
“Thought we could have an early dinner here before we head back.”
I rush up to him and wrap my arms around his neck. He lowers the basket and lets me hold onto him, his lips in my hair.
“I love you,” I say, and I’m surprised to find that I mean it. I’m not sure how love is supposed to grow or how long it’s supposed to take, but I feel it.
“I love you too, Lucy.”
I pull back. “Is it too fast?”
His expression is serious. Not the salty kind, the one I first knew. But earnest. “I think maybe it will only grow stronger from here.”
I take the blanket from him. “Let’s eat in the living room. The old rug is there. It will give us extra padding.”
“For dinner?” he asks.
“No,” I say. “For breaking in my new house.”
He sets the basket on the floor. “In that case, we’re walking way too slow.”
He picks me up and throws me over his shoulder.
I let out a squeal. It feels amazing, my body so close to his, only a normal belly between us.
When he sets me down in front of the fireplace, he does it slowly, carefully, until my feet are back on the ground.
Then he kisses me and undresses me, and we spread the blanket and remind ourselves of how we got in this predicament in the first place. Kisses. Touches. His mouth everywhere on my body.
Then he jumps up and runs, naked, back to the basket, where he’s stashed the condoms.
When we’re bundled up in the blanket as the sky gets dark, I tell him, “I think we’re going to be very happy here. I can teach Julian how to milk Matilda. Where to spot bearberries.” I poke his chest. “Of course, we’ll have to figure out how to support ourselves.”
“We will.” Court draws me close. “I think we’re going to need more goats.”