her, or the shadow of her, disappear into the barn. She had already shooed the other goats out into the pen from the stalls. Reba started bawling inside the barn, and the rest of them jerked up their heads and crowded by the fence, trying to hide behind Patsy. Gnarly started barking, even though Aunt Sue had walked right past him, so he knew she was home.
The truck seemed too big for the road, and I shoved everything I could find underneath me so I could sit high enough to see: Aunt Sue’s Walmart jacket, some of Book’s recruiting pamphlets from college coaches. Even then I felt as if I was straining to peer over the steering wheel and could barely follow the lines on the road.
A tall, geeky clerk with long sideburns was the first one I saw at the Walmart. He leered at me when I told him what I wanted. I said, “It’s for a goat.” He smiled a pervert smile and raced off — he said to find the pump tub of K-Y Jelly back in the storeroom, but probably to laugh about me to his buddies. Five minutes later, he thumped it on the counter and said, “You think this’ll be enough?”
“It’s for a goat,” I said again, my face burning. “She’s pregnant.” I should have just not said anything, because that cracked him up, too.
Aunt Sue had Reba lying on her side in a stall when I got back. She was sitting with Reba, bent over so their foreheads nearly rubbed together. I thought Aunt Sue might have been saying something, maybe even singing, but whatever she was doing, she stopped as soon as I walked in. I’d never seen her be tender to the goats, and it surprised me. The one naked bulb hung from its electrical cord from a rafter overhead and cast long shadows. Reba was mostly hidden in one of them.
I set the K-Y tub down on the milking stand and went into the stall.
“What now?” I asked.
Aunt Sue shrugged. “Wait.”
“How long?”
“Long as it takes. Why? You got to be somewhere?”
I didn’t say anything else. I wasn’t crazy about spending so much time with Aunt Sue, but I refused to leave Reba. She’d been her usual self the past couple of days — following me around, rubbing against me, lifting her head so I would scratch under her chin, eating all the Cheetos I brought from school. Now she was shaking all over, her breathing getting heavier and heavier, and her eyes were open wide, giving her a worried look.
Aunt Sue stood up. “I’m going outside for a smoke.”
I took the opportunity to sit closer to Reba, who laid her head in my lap.
“It’s her second time,” Aunt Sue said, sounding gruff, but not entirely convincing. “She knows what she’s doing.” Then she left the barn to have her cigarette.
The next couple of hours passed like that — me continuing to hold Reba, rub her, talk to her, while Aunt Sue alternated between smoking outside and standing watching in silence inside. Finally, around midnight, something happened with Reba. She shifted in a certain way; her breathing quickened; her nostrils flared. She made low, guttural sounds.
Aunt Sue said, “Here we go.” She pumped K-Y Jelly into her hands and smeared it up her arms, then she knelt behind Reba, spread Reba’s legs wide apart, and slid her hands inside. Reba started bawling hard, and pushing. “Hold her,” Aunt Sue said, and I held her, my arm locked around her neck.
“I can see the first one,” Aunt Sue announced. She pumped more jelly on her hands and went in again. “They’re tangled up, like I thought.”
Reba struggled against me as Aunt Sue worked her arms up inside and wrestled the first kid around. The struggle went on for half an hour. Sweat poured down my face. I wished I’d taken off my hoodie because I was roasting in it, holding on to Reba. Both of us panted, pretty much together. I said things, dumb things, but the stuff you always say in those situations:
Hold on. It’ll be OK. Almost there.
“Would you shut up already,” Aunt Sue barked. “She’s a goat, in case you
The truck seemed too big for the road, and I shoved everything I could find underneath me so I could sit high enough to see: Aunt Sue’s Walmart jacket, some of Book’s recruiting pamphlets from college coaches. Even then I felt as if I was straining to peer over the steering wheel and could barely follow the lines on the road.
A tall, geeky clerk with long sideburns was the first one I saw at the Walmart. He leered at me when I told him what I wanted. I said, “It’s for a goat.” He smiled a pervert smile and raced off — he said to find the pump tub of K-Y Jelly back in the storeroom, but probably to laugh about me to his buddies. Five minutes later, he thumped it on the counter and said, “You think this’ll be enough?”
“It’s for a goat,” I said again, my face burning. “She’s pregnant.” I should have just not said anything, because that cracked him up, too.
Aunt Sue had Reba lying on her side in a stall when I got back. She was sitting with Reba, bent over so their foreheads nearly rubbed together. I thought Aunt Sue might have been saying something, maybe even singing, but whatever she was doing, she stopped as soon as I walked in. I’d never seen her be tender to the goats, and it surprised me. The one naked bulb hung from its electrical cord from a rafter overhead and cast long shadows. Reba was mostly hidden in one of them.
I set the K-Y tub down on the milking stand and went into the stall.
“What now?” I asked.
Aunt Sue shrugged. “Wait.”
“How long?”
“Long as it takes. Why? You got to be somewhere?”
I didn’t say anything else. I wasn’t crazy about spending so much time with Aunt Sue, but I refused to leave Reba. She’d been her usual self the past couple of days — following me around, rubbing against me, lifting her head so I would scratch under her chin, eating all the Cheetos I brought from school. Now she was shaking all over, her breathing getting heavier and heavier, and her eyes were open wide, giving her a worried look.
Aunt Sue stood up. “I’m going outside for a smoke.”
I took the opportunity to sit closer to Reba, who laid her head in my lap.
“It’s her second time,” Aunt Sue said, sounding gruff, but not entirely convincing. “She knows what she’s doing.” Then she left the barn to have her cigarette.
The next couple of hours passed like that — me continuing to hold Reba, rub her, talk to her, while Aunt Sue alternated between smoking outside and standing watching in silence inside. Finally, around midnight, something happened with Reba. She shifted in a certain way; her breathing quickened; her nostrils flared. She made low, guttural sounds.
Aunt Sue said, “Here we go.” She pumped K-Y Jelly into her hands and smeared it up her arms, then she knelt behind Reba, spread Reba’s legs wide apart, and slid her hands inside. Reba started bawling hard, and pushing. “Hold her,” Aunt Sue said, and I held her, my arm locked around her neck.
“I can see the first one,” Aunt Sue announced. She pumped more jelly on her hands and went in again. “They’re tangled up, like I thought.”
Reba struggled against me as Aunt Sue worked her arms up inside and wrestled the first kid around. The struggle went on for half an hour. Sweat poured down my face. I wished I’d taken off my hoodie because I was roasting in it, holding on to Reba. Both of us panted, pretty much together. I said things, dumb things, but the stuff you always say in those situations:
Hold on. It’ll be OK. Almost there.
“Would you shut up already,” Aunt Sue barked. “She’s a goat, in case you
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