Page 116 of Salty Pickle

She’s not here.

I circle back to the balcony.

Matilda is gone.

I turn to the kitchen. The Dutch oven I used for her water is cleaned and upturned on a dish towel to drain.

The compost pot is cleaned out, too.

I open the pantry. My groceries are there but not the spices and flavorings for her goat cheese.

I race to the guest room and open drawers. Her clothes are gone.

Shit, shit, shit!

I hurry to the baby’s room.

Here, everything looks the same. The swing, the bassinet, the changing table. I open drawers. They might be slightly emptier, but I don’t remember everything we bought.

Then I see her phone.

And the locket.

She left those.

I pick up the phone. The lock screen of Matilda is still active.

I don’t know her passcode.

So, I have no way of reaching her. To figure out where she went.

She’s just… gone.

I sit on the edge of the bed, the chain of the locket cool in my hand.

She left me.

Where could she have gone? Who would have taken her in?

She has less than a week until the baby is due.

I stand. Did she go into labor? Maybe left by ambulance?

Then I sit down again.

No, the goat is gone.

She took Matilda with her. She took the things she needed.

I wasn’t one of them.

35

LUCY

My parents and I do a lot of talking on the long drive home.

Then we sing.

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