Page 57 of Butter You Up
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?”
