32. Alex
You can takethe man out of the dairy farm, but you can’t take the dairy farm out of the man. I wake up before sunrise in the guest bedroom of Kit’s parents’ house. The Hutchinsons have always been kind to me and treated me like family, even though I’m just one of Kit’s many, many friends.
I check in with Perry, who says everything is fine and to take my time getting back. When I get there this afternoon, I’ll send both him and Jesús home as a thank you for doing the morning chores without me.
I can count on one hand the number of times that I haven’t woken up at Udderly since I moved in.
There are missed calls from my family—literally everyone, even Jackson and Samuel, who I haven’t seen in months—but nothing from Molly. I ignore my family and instead slip out of the Hutchinsons’ house. I grab an old leash out of my truck, worried about local laws and stranger danger with other dogs, and walk toward Main Street, Trixie at my heel.
It’s not close, but it’s still walkable. The fresh air and movement will do me good, and I take the time to think about apologizing to Molly. Yes, my family hurt me, but that’s nothing new, and it’s not her fault.
I find a coffeehouse, a place that reminds me of our renovated farm shop—a little kitschy for my taste, but most people would say I have no sense of style when it comes to decor. I order a black coffee and a pup cup and survey my reading options. There are local magazines and guidebooks, a testament to the tourism industry. I pick up a few things and take them out to the bench where Trixie waits. She shoves her snout into the paper cup and goes to town.
It’s hard to focus on the reading. I’m only halfway through an article on the family that owns the local ski resort when Kit flops down on the bench beside me.
And when I say flop, I mean full-body flop.His head ends up on my thigh, and he closes his eyes and pretends to snore. Trixie gets up to sniff his face before he pushes her away.
“You didn’t have to get up,” I tell him.
He ignores me. I go back to my article, and Trixie shoves her nose deeper into the paper cup.
I have to make sure my family apologizes to Molly, too. Maybe I need to get Ethan to agree that we don’t share an employee again. It shouldn’t be difficult—even though it’s a small town, Ethan doesn’t really have hired help. Our family has always been enough to support the farm, even now that it’s diversifying.
I’m not a big enough idiot to suggest that Molly quits one of her jobs. But maybe I could have her move Vaniel to Udderly so that she doesn’t need her deal with Gran.
Hell, maybe she doesn’t even need Vaniel.
No wait. This is one-hundred percent fantasy, because no matter what I do, Molly’s still leaving at the end of the summer.
Fuck. Here I am, fantasizing about Molly staying with me when I know she’s gotta finish her trip and get home to her dad. She’s still got months of travel ahead of her in that van. She’ll probably be glad to leave all this drama behind.
“You might as well put the magazine down. You aren’t fooling anyone.”
I put the magazine down…on Kit’s face. He sputters and gets up, throwing the magazine at my chest and ambling inside the shop. He returns with a plate full of pastries and a mug of light brown, doctored coffee.
“You gonna drive back to Fork Lick today?”
“Yup.”
“Apologize your ass off to Molly?”
“Yup.”
“Talk to your family?”
“Maybe.”
Kit nods. “Acceptable plan. Your family can wait till tomorrow.”
* * *
Hours later, I pull into the farm shop parking lot and climb out of my truck. I let Trixie loose with a “go long,” and she dashes off to the field. The chicken coop is in the near one today, and Trixie does a wide lap around it, mindful of the hens.
I open the door to the farm shop and freeze. Imara, not Molly, is at the counter. She waves. “Hi, Mr. Bedd.”
There’s a rock settling in my gut. “Where’s Molly?” It comes out sharp and harsh, and I wince.
“Um, I don’t know. Perry said I should talk to you about my schedule for the rest of the week?”
Oh shit. I back out of the shop without answering and whistle for Trixie, who comes barreling toward me. She doesn’t even slow down as I hold the door open for her, and she leaps into the cab. There’s still a bug up her butt, and she does a lap inside, bouncing from the front seat to the back seat and back before I get the truck started and roll out of the parking lot.
Molly wouldn’t be waiting for me at my house. She’d be in the farm shop or…
The rock sinks further as I put the pedal to the metal to get to Bedd Fellows. I try calling Molly, but she doesn’t answer. Trixie whines and nudges me.
My stomach completely bottoms out when I drive around the back of the farmhouse and see that Vaniel’s gone. The rock just disappears, leaving me with a hollow, gutted feeling.
I’ve fucked up so badly.
A door slams, and I look to my right. Through the swirl of road dust I’ve kicked up, I can see Gran on the back porch, her hands on her hips.
I roll the window down. Trixie sticks her head out and gives Gran a joyful bark. “Where’s Molly?”
“She left this morning. Can you come in to talk?”
I squeeze my eyes shut, thinking. Molly would head to Pennsylvania, probably, on the thruway. “What time did she leave? Do you know where she went?”
When I open my eyes, Gran is right next to my truck. She gives Trixie an absent-minded pat on the head. “She left about an hour ago, and I don’t know exactly where she’s going.” Gran hesitates. “I really want to talk to you, honey, and so does Ethan. But if you need to go after Molly, we’ll wait.”
I grip the steering wheel and try to think. Where would she be going? It could literally be anywhere.
“Maybe her dad could help you?” Gran suggests.
I have his number on her emergency contact sheet. I nod, and Gran pats the doorframe. “We’ll be here when you’re ready.”
I drive back to Udderly and find Molly’s paperwork in my office. I dial the number for her dad, Wesley Perkins.
A grumpy voice answers. “If you’re a telemarketer, I’m going to shove my boot so far up your ass?—”
Belatedly, I realize it’s a little before six a.m. in Washington.
“Mr. Perkins? This is Alex Bedd. I’m Molly’s…boss.”
“Her boss, huh? So, I suppose this is a business call about how you slept with my daughter?”
I swallow. I did not think this through very well. “No, sir.”
“No, you didn’t sleep with my daughter?” He barks.
Jesus. “No, sir. I mean…I, uh…That’s not why I’m…” Oh, fuck it. “Do you know where Molly is?”
“Yes.”
“She’s safe?”
His voice softens a fraction of an inch, and I’ll take it. “Yes.”
“Is there any chance,” I close my eyes, “that you would tell me where I could find her so I can apologize to her? I’ll fly wherever it takes.”
There’s silence on the line for so long I think he might not answer.
“You fucked up, son.”
I exhale, partly in relief and partly in surprise at him calling me “son.” It’s stupid, and I know he doesn’t mean anything by it, but no one’s called me son in years. “I know. My whole family did.”
“So why should I tell you where she is?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, standing in my office trying to figure out how to explain to Molly’s dad how much she means to me. Memories resurface of the past two months; Molly’s excitement at everything, the way she teased me, the way she made my life richer, less lonely. Not just with her presence but with her gravitational pull that sucked everyone in—my family, Kit, my farm hands, even my dog.
I take a deep breath and confess. “Sir, I’m in love with your daughter. I don’t know if she’ll forgive me, and I have no idea how we could stay together, but she deserves to hear my apology. I can’t stand the thought of her time with us being stained by the stupid thing I said. She’s amazing, and her trip is worth more than my pride—and yours.”
A big sigh comes through the phone. “Fine. Fly to Spokane and I’ll pick you up from the airport. If you can make it today, maybe you can talk to her.”
“She’s not going to Pennsylvania?”
“No.” I almost hear the dumbass tacked on at the end of the word. “She’s driving home, only stopping to sleep.”
“But, that’s going to take her…” It’s got to be at least a three-day trip.
“You come today,” he growls, “and maybe I’ll let you talk to her. After you and I have a chat.”
“Yes, sir.”