Page 59 of Salty Pickle

Huh. Maybe if we could get compost-degradable bags, it wouldn’t be so bad.

There’s a water spigot out here, so I rinse off the stiff broom bristles and the dustpan. The water quickly slides off the balcony beneath the wrought-iron railing. Uh oh. I shut it off and peer over the edge. The water falls all the way to the sidewalk below where people are walking.

“Hey!” someone shouts and peers up.

I quickly step back.

“I don’t think I’m supposed to run water up here like that,” I tell Matilda.

She plops down on the wet concrete.

It’s pleasant on the balcony with the fans and the mist. I think of sitting out with her, mainly to keep her out of the bag of pellets, but my stomach growls again.

I’m stuck. I’ll have to bother Court.

“Don’t eat any more pellets, Matty,” I tell her, shaking my finger.

She pays me no mind, lolling on the wet floor.

I step back inside the apartment. I’ve only taken a couple of squishy steps when I realize my damp feet are leaving dark footprints on the glossy floor. Shoot.

“Don’t worry about it,” Court says, pocketing the phone. “My housekeeper will be here this afternoon. Are you hungry?”

“I am, but first, can we bring in the bag of pellets? I’m so grateful you found some, but Matilda’s eaten through the side of the bag, and she’ll gorge herself sick.”

“Really?” Court hurries to the door. “Oh.” He pulls in the bag, leaving a trail of pellets both outdoors and inside near my footprints. “I should have checked.”

“She’s fine. I’ll milk her shortly.”

“I have some pitchers. Take whatever you need.” He stands near a round wood dining table at the end of the kitchen. “I had some food delivered. For you, too, not just the goat.”

“Her name’s Matilda.” I slide past him to the refrigerator. It’s enormous and bright and filled with every fruit and vegetable I could imagine.

“I got eggs. You eat those, right? The wandering chicken kind. I figured you wouldn’t eat the others.”

“You mean free-range?” I bite back my smile.

“Yes, that. And three kinds of tofu. I didn’t know if you liked it silky or firm. I didn’t even know what it meant.”

“It’s all fine. I’m not picky.” I pull an apple out of the fridge and wind up shoving it in my mouth before I can even wash it. I’m too hungry.

“There’s a sticker on it,” he says, stepping forward to peel it off. “They’re organic.”

I nod and take another bite on the way to the sink. Only with something in my belly do I manage to pause to wash it. Then I stand there and gobble it down to the stem.

“You were hungry,” he says. “Can I make you something?”

“I’m okay.” I hold on to the stem.

“Trash is under the sink. You probably compost, don’t you?”

“I’ll give it to Matilda for a treat. Did we get away clean, or did you hear from the building management?”

He clasps his hands behind his back. “We got away clean. We make good criminals.”

I picture him running down the hall, Matilda on his heels. “Maybe in a comedy.” I set the apple core on the counter. “So, am I moving somewhere else?”

“Not yet. Devin is working on it. It will probably be Monday.”

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