A Year on Ladybug Farm - Donna Ball [27]
“I’m sorry we can’t offer you a seat, Mr. Farley,” Lindsay said, handing him a mug of fresh coffee. “But our furniture seems to have been delayed somewhere between here and Baltimore. We have evaporated milk for your coffee.”
“Take it black.” He spat tobacco juice into the can and sipped the coffee. “Mighty fine coffee, ma’am, thank you.”
Bridget and Lindsay exchanged a look that reflected a kind of dread curiosity about the commingled tastes of chewing tobacco and coffee, and suggested that neither one of them would feel entirely comfortable drinking from that mug again.
“I wonder if you could recommend a good plumber and a good electrician,” Cici said. “In case of emergency, you know.”
“I do plumbin’,” he said. “Do electric, too. Carpentry. Build about anything you want.”
“That’s wonderful,” Cici said, looking relieved. “And you live near here?”
“Down the road a piece.”
“Have you been here long?” Bridget asked, sliding pancakes onto a plate.
“All my life.”
“So you knew the Blackwells?”
“Yep.”
Lindsay encouraged, “You probably have all kinds of stories about this place the way it used to be.”
He sipped his coffee and appeared to consider that. Finally he said, “Nope.”
The three women looked at each other a little uncertainly. Bridget placed a plate of pancakes on the island before him. “Won’t you have some, Mr. Farley? If you don’t mind standing to eat, that is.”
“Can’t.” He finished off the coffee. “Thank you kindly, though.”
He started toward the back door. Cici said quickly, “Thank you so much for your help. How much do we owe you for your work?”
He stopped, and for a moment she thought she had insulted him. “Ten dollar,” he said.
Her eyebrows shot up. She couldn’t help it. “Ten dollars? But that wouldn’t even cover the cost of the parts!”
“Ten dollar,” he repeated.
She hurried to get her purse.
While she was gone, Lindsay said, “I don’t suppose you would know any high school boys looking to do some yard work, would you? We sure could use some help cleaning up this place.”
He thought for a minute. “Nope.”
Cici returned with a ten dollar bill in her hand. “Thank you again, really.”
He removed a worn leather wallet from his back pocket and carefully tucked the bill inside. “Be back with my ladder to fix your roof,” he said.
“But—we don’t have the tiles,” Cici said.
“Cost you ten dollar.”
“Oh. Well, yes. Okay. Thank you very much.”
He touched the brim of his camo cap, nodded to them, spat into the soda can, and left.
They waited until they heard his truck rumble down the drive before observing, “Strange.”
“But nice.”
“And cheap.”
“Strange.”
“I think this is good news,” Cici decided, picking up the plate of pancakes and spearing a bite with a fork. “A plumber, an electrician, and a carpenter.”
“All for ten dollars,” Bridget said, and put another plate on the island.
Lindsay dug into the pancakes. “At least we can shower now.”
“We still have to replace the water heater.”
“Yeah, but now we know who to call to install it.”
Cici toasted them with a forkful of pancakes. “Things are looking up.”
No sooner had the words been spoken than they heard a loud rumble and screech coming from outside, followed by what sounded like the gunning of a heavy engine and the whine of tires. Cici went to the back window but saw nothing. She went to the front of the house, and Bridget, shrugging, dished up more pancakes.
Cici had a bright, if rather strained, smile on her face when she returned. “Well,” she said, rubbing her hands together, “the good news is our moving truck is here. The bad news is, it’s in the ditch. And,” she added, with a shrug of wry resignation, “so is our sign.”
Lindsay finished off her coffee, set the mug on the counter, and squared her shoulders in determination. “Okay then. Let’s go start carrying boxes to the house.”
Bridget paused with her first taste of the strawberry pancakes only inches from her lips. “Good times,” she murmured.