Page 12 of Salty Pickle

But we have some downstairs. I pick up my office phone and scan the department list printed on the base. Merch is 4578.

I dial the number.

“Pickle merchandizing. This is Dawn.”

“Dawn, we have blankets in the storeroom, right?”

“Oh! Mr. Armstrong. Yes, we do. Gosh. Did you want some?”

I backtrack. Slow down. Be polite.

“Yes. Thank you, Dawn. I appreciate you helping me out.”

“Of course.”

“Bring me two. Uh, please. And tell me about our drinkware. Do we have anything that isn’t plastic?”

Her voice is bright. “Sure. We have aluminum and double-walled glass.”

“Do the glass ones close?”

“Yes, they are twenty-ounce water vessels with a screw top.”

“Great. Bring a whole case if you have them.”

“To your office?”

“Where else?” Jesus.

Then I catch myself. Damn. The performance reviews loom in my vision. Low work morale.

I draw in a breath. “You are being very helpful, Dawn. If you could have someone bring up two blankets and what glass bottles you can spare, I would appreciate it.”

“I’ll do it myself.”

“Thank you.”

I drop the receiver onto the base with a sigh.

I never was grace under pressure. Not like Axel. Give him a challenge, and he’d rally everyone behind him, smiling the whole time. Nadia, too, our baby sister. They are both natural-born leaders, like Uncle Sherman.

Rhett and I fall on the sourpuss end of the scale. We don’t like fuss or muss or pointless meetings or small talk. Rhett struggled too, down in Florida with the Dougherty division, but he seems to have pulled things out. He was more chipper when I saw them all on New Year’s.

Then they deserted me when Lucy approached.

Lucy. Lucy what, I wonder. We’re still on a first-name basis.

I swivel in my chair to look at her. She’s softer in sleep, her hair a brown-gold cloud on the dark pillow. She has curled her hand protectively on her belly. The other dangles over the edge to rest on the head of the white goat.

She oozes maternal instinct.

Is she going to be the mother of my firstborn?

I text my fellow grump in the family.

Me: You got a sec?

Rhett: Sure, bro. You at work?

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