Page 46 of Salty Pickle

I feel faint.

A door squeaks at the end of the barn. I expect to see hay bales and dirt floor, but it’s not. It’s pristine white and silver.

With rows of hanging goat carcasses.

I stumble backwards. The males have spotted Matilda and move toward the fence.

All these goats. Just waiting to be taken inside and hung on those hooks.

I don’t care about the pain in my belly. I whirl around and take off in as fast a run as I can manage, pulling Matilda with me. The delivery truck catches up to us, but I’m not on the road, so it roars past.

We don’t stop until we’re in my tiny house. I bring Matilda with me. I don’t care that she’s not supposed to be here. They can kick me out.

I’m leaving anyway.

I can’t be here another minute.

Not with that happening so close by.

Those goats!

Those poor sweet goats!

I throw everything in my knapsack and carefully pack my goat milk and soap in the coolers, dumping ice from the freezer around the containers.

I haul everything onto my shoulders and race out the door, walking up the lane as fast as I can.

People arrive for noontime goat yoga, parking their cars along the fence.

“They kill goats here!” I cry, walking swiftly to the road. “They butcher them and wrap them in plastic and sell them!”

Some of the women look at me curiously.

My belly hurts, and I bend over a moment to manage the pain.

Then I keep going, past the cars, down the long drive.

I realize when I reach the main road that I should have already called an Uber Pet. I pull out my phone, trembling with misery and rage. I try to punch the buttons to book the Uber, but what if they turn me down? Matilda isn’t even wearing her diaper.

Matilda trots away from the road, startled by a car. I drop my bags, trying to hang onto her lead. I manage to find the Uber Pet, but there’s nothing available to book for hours.

I sit in the grass as the cars whiz by. What do I do? Where do I go?

I can’t go back there. I just can’t.

There’s no subway out here.

The sun shines down, bright and unrelenting. Sweat beads on my forehead. I can’t stay out here long. I’ll pass out from the heat. I should have drunk some water before leaving.

I can think of nothing else to do.

So I call Court.

14

COURT

Ihaven’t even reached the Lincoln tunnel when I get a call from Lucy. I hear her heavy sob-laden breathing before she even talks.

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