Page 36 of Salty Pickle

I watch all this with fascination. The two of them look a lot alike, tall and easy with their movements, hair flying, no fuss about their appearance. Caroline is older than her, late forties, but I can see a lot about the two of them in common. It’s in how they carry themselves, their love for the animals, the way their eyes alight on their surroundings. They’re in their element.

I am not. My shiny leather Burberry dress shoes are already caked with mud. My pant cuffs are damp. I stand stiffly, hands clasped behind me, uncomfortable with the green coolers hanging from my shoulder, and the Naturalist Outfitters bag dangling from my fingers.

“Is this your husband?” Caroline asks. “I only saw you and Matilda on the reservation.”

“Oh, no,” Lucy says. “He’s handling the accommodations for me.”

Caroline reaches down to stroke Lucy’s goat. “You rented the place for a month. Do you intend to have the baby while you’re here?”

Lucy hesitates, looking at me.

I take a step forward, almost skidding in the damp earth. “We’ll be looking for an obstetrician in the area. She’ll be taken care of.”

Caroline’s eyebrows furrow. “And you are?”

I extend a hand. “Court Armstrong. I’m helping Lucy as she prepares for her baby.”

Caroline shakes it uncertainly. “Well, all right. We have a good hospital about fifteen minutes away.”

Lucy glances at me. “Perfect, thank you.”

“Come this way. I’ll show you the tiny house.” She walks ahead of us. “It’ll be quiet this weekend and during the week, but next weekend, we’re fully booked with the farm expo happening so close. Let me know if you’d like to go. It’s fun.”

“I might!” Lucy follows, patting her leg so that her goat will go with her.

Our unusual party arrives at a semi-circle of tiny houses, each with its own small fenced yard.

Caroline opens the gate. “If Matilda doesn’t take to the herd, you can keep her in the yard. We don’t allow them in the houses, though. Will that be all right?”

“I can sleep outside with her if she gets upset,” Lucy says.

I’m about to protest this, but Caroline gets there first. “There’s an extra cot folded up beneath your bed. We can set that up. I bet she’ll like the barn.”

Really? She’s encouraging a pregnant woman to sleep outside? But what do I know? Lucy’s yurt barely qualifies as indoors.

When we’re all inside the fence, Lucy bends down to take the diaper off the goat. “You’re free!” she says.

“Poop at will,” Caroline says, and they both laugh.

What kind of world is this? Not mine, that’s for sure.

Caroline unlocks the front door. “It’s small but tidy and homelike.” She steps aside.

Lucy goes in. The goat tries to follow, but Caroline reroutes the goat to a shrubbery by the door.

I follow Lucy inside with the bags. There’s a tiny kitchen, and beyond it, a space with a sofa on one side and a table on the other. At the back is a small bedroom and a bathroom.

“I love it,” Lucy says. She sets her knapsack on the sofa.

I leave the coolers and bag on the table. “You all set?”

She nods. “Thank you. This place is perfect.”

“Good.” I rock back on my heels, not sure what to say next.

She runs her hands on her skirt, like she’s sweaty. Nervous, maybe? “I’ll let you know when the phone arrives. And when I have a doctor appointment.”

“Good, good.”

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