Butter You Up: A Grumpy Sunshine Romantic Comedy

7. Molly

Sunday startsoff slow but picks up in the afternoon. We sell even more strawberries than we did yesterday...so many strawberries, in fact, it gets to be thin in the bushes and a few customers even remark they wish they could buy more. Lia says it’s likely that most of these people are city folks headed back after the weekend and hoping to take a bit of upstate home with them.

Just before bed, I remember I need to email the electrician that I’ve been talking to about replacing the batteries in Vaniel to let him know I’m in town and need him to come by and take a look. I’m hoping he can do that this week before I start working for Alex on Thursday.

Monday morning Ethel takes me into Climax, the nearest town with a grocery store, and I stock up on food. I buy a ton of canned and dry goods so I don’t have to make regular trips to the store and can fill the mini fridge with essentials. We also stop in a souvenir shop that sells knick-knacks with the word Climax! printed on them…exclamation point included. I buy a snow globe with a phallic-looking cannon, and I occasionally shake it and giggle.

Ethan runs an extension cord out to Vaniel so that I can run my power-hogging devices like my laptop and my electric kettle. Boiling on the stove is so much slower.

However, the electrician has not responded despite a series of desperate emails I have sent over the next few days.

On Thursday morning, I don’t have to be at Udderly Creamy ‘til nine. I walk to the pole barn and shed my gloves, stopping to inspect my hands. They’ve always been kinda dry, but I’ve been having an eczema flare-up lately; the left hand, extending from the lower knuckle of my pinkie down to the lifeline, has gotten red and cracked. I medicate it with a greasy ointment before bed and wear gloves for a few nights until it goes away. It’s looking a lot better now, the skin around it pale with the hypo-pigmentation that tells me it’s healing.

I wash my hands with my special soap, use the bathroom, and wash my hands again. When I come out, Ethel is striding toward me.

“Good morning,” she calls, slowing. “Can I interest you in taking some coffee or tea with me?”

“Sure! Let me get dressed for work, and I’ll be over in about fifteen minutes.”

“Take your time. I’ll have some toast and jam out as well.”

My stomach grumbles at the thought of more of Ethel’s homemade jam, and I get ready quickly, walking my bike out to park it next to Baabara’s palace so that I can leave right after tea.

Ethel’s on the front porch, and I pull out my phone as I take a seat in the padded wicker chair next to her. “I have something to show you.” I navigate to the picture of Alex in my bed the other night and when I show it to Ethel, she laughs.

“Ah, that boy was always a big one.” She chuckles, pouring tea for me, and tops off her own. She gestures to the spread—toast, butter, jam, and some fruit. “When he came to live with us after our son and his wife passed, he was twelve and still pretty scrawny. Ate half the fridge, it felt like, and then next thing we know, he’s sprouted like Jack’s beanstalk.” She settles back in her chair. “Just like with Ethan, the growth spurt was followed by getting a lot more involved in farm life.” Her eyes twinkle. “If you ask nicely, maybe I’ll show you pictures sometime.”

I swallow my buttered and jammed bread. “Yes please.” I want to gobble up everything I can about my quiet boss, and every tidbit I get just makes me more and more interested. What was Alex like as a gangly pre-teen? I can’t even imagine.

“His grandad gave him a talking to as soon as we realized he was gonna be a big kid. ‘Be careful,’ my Eugene would say, ‘you’re bigger than everyone else. Mind your temper or people will fear you.’”

“He seems pretty successful now. The farm is pretty big, right?”

“Oh yes, let’s see. He’s got just over four hundred milkers—the cows, I mean.” Ethel gives me an excessive rundown of all that Udderly Creamy does. I’ve pieced together quite a bit myself, but Ethel has the inside scoop on everything. I make lots of ‘yeah’ and ‘oh wow’-sounding noises while I eat.

After Ethel’s done with the accounting of Alex’s farm and I’ve eaten my fill, she picks up the breakfast dishes and refuses my offer to help clean up. I hop onto my bike and wave goodbye as I peddle down the road for my first day at the dairy farm.

Instead of slaking my curiosity for Alex Bedd, I fear talking to Ethel has only made it worse.