“Don’t let them ticket the car, Tony. We’ll move it in half an hour.” Hopefully with Renata’s family inside and on their way back to Mexico, she thought. “And since when aren’t goats allowed upstairs?” Christy shouted back to him.
“How did you find me?” Christy asked as the elevator doors closed.
“We saw you on TV,” Jorge answered.
“Señor Robert Beck,” Old-Maria said, “on satellite.”
Great, she thought. Not only did my Robert Beck appearance humiliate me for all eternity, it brought the whole Ruiz family to my doorstep. What do they want from me? Money?
“So, how can I help you?” she asked when they stepped inside the apartment.
“We’ve come to take Renata back to Mexico with us,” Jorge said.
“What? No, that’s impossible. Maria, my Maria that is, she asked me to take care of Renata. I promised I’d raise her.”
“Can we have something to eat? Young-Mother-Maria said. “I’m famélico.”
“Of course. Oh, shoot. I let my cook go. There’s not much in the fridge. Do you like Chinese?”
Young-Mother-Maria shrugged. “I like eggrolls.”
“Give me a minute.” Christy called Eve on the intercom and asked her to order from Duck River. “Now, where were we?”
“We’ve come to take Renata back,” Jorge said.
“Yes, right. Of course. But she was entrusted to my care. Maria appointed me her guardian. I’ve already started adoption proceedings. And she’s thriving in school. You wouldn’t want to disrupt her when she’s doing so well,” Christy pleaded.
“Yes, but her mother left instructions in her will that we should raise her if Maria couldn’t. And we’re her flesh and blood. It’s all right here.” Jorge pulled some papers out of a raggedy leather briefcase. “See.” He handed Christy some kind of legal document that appeared to be a Last Will and Testament. She skimmed it. Assuming this was really written by Renata’s mother, her wishes were that Renata go with Jorge and Old-Maria if her grandmother couldn’t raise her. This is certainly going to complicate Renata’s adoption case, Christy thought glumly.
Mr. Koodles wandered into the living room and spotted the baby goat, who was chewing Christy’s dracaena plant. He hissed at the animal. The goat kept eating.
“Has Renata ever met you?” Christy asked.
“Yes. Well, no. Maria’s daughter, Maria, brought her to visit when she was just born, but we live in a tiny town outside of Monterrey. Maria never brought her back.”
“You mean my Maria’s daughter?”
“Yes.”
Christy was having trouble keeping track. She wondered how Renata had been spared the family name. “Ahhh, so you live in a small village. What do you do there?”
“I’m a carpenter,” Jorge said. “Maria”—he gestured to Old-Maria—“has a goat farm, a hundred acres. She exports goat cheese to the finest restaurants and gourmet stores in the world. You can order from her website, YouGoatGirl-dot-net. Maria is the webmaster,” he added, gesturing toward Young-Mother-Maria.
Christy laughed and said to Old-Maria, “Cute name. Not what I’d expect, just having met you. Tell me, are the schools good in your town?”
“The local school ends at eighth grade,” Old-Maria said. “There’s a Catholic school about twenty miles away that goes through high school. But it doesn’t matter. We’ll need Renata to help with the goats.”
“Ah, I see. How many goats are there?”
“Eighty,” Old-Maria said proudly. “Eighty-one counting this baby.”
“That’s impressive,” Christy said. She really meant it. “I didn’t know they let you bring goats across the border.”
“They don’t,” Jorge explained. “We snuck this cabrito in. Our little Maria wouldn’t leave home without him. Do you know where we can get goat’s milk near here?”
“There’s a gourmet market nearby called Eli’s. They’ll probably have it, but it’ll cost you.”
“That’s one of my accounts,” Old-Maria said. “Their cheese and goat’s milk come from our farm.”
Christy smiled. “That’s lucky. Maybe you can negotiate a discount,” she said. “How often does he need to be fed? Should we walk him?”
“We give him a bottle twice a day. The rest of the time, he grazes outside. Can we tie him to a tree in your backyard?” Jorge asked.
“This is Manhattan, Jorge. We don’t have a yard,” she said.
The conversation was interrupted by the interesting sound of goat retching. Before anyone could get the animal to a dry floor, he threw up the dracaena plant on the new Persian rug.
Cynthia, who had been spying from the kitchen, came running to the rescue with a roll of paper towels.
“Let’s put him in the laundry room. He’ll be more comfortable there,” Christy said. She wondered if the goat could be trained to use Mr. Koodles’ litter box.
Christy took Jorge and the goat to the laundry room. The doorbell rang, and Eve shouted that she’d answer it. When they returned from the laundry room, Eve was setting up a Chinese buffet at the table.
“Come, everyone. Let’s eat,” Christy said.
“I’ll bring water,” Eve offered.
Everyone except Christy helped themselves to the food. She was sick to her stomach. How could she possibly send Renata back with these relatives she didn’t even know, to work on a goat farm no less? What about her education?
“Jorge, Maria, is there any way you would consider leaving Renata here? She’s doing so well. I would make it worth your while.”
Jorge looked offended. “Do you think we’re here for money? What do you take us for? We’re here for the child. This is a family obligation.”
“Right. But I’m happy to take on the obligation. I know Renata, and I love her. Plus, I can offer her so much more than what she’d have in Mexico.”
“Joo Americans think it’s all about money, don’ joo?” Old-Maria said. She emphasized the point by spitting into her moo shu pork. Then she stormed out of the room.
As soon as Old-Maria was out of earshot, Jorge sidled up close to Christy. “If we were to take money for the child, how much are we talking about?”
Christy was about to answer when Old-Maria returned in a snit. “As soon as Renata comes home from school, we leave.”
Christy was desperate. “Please!
