"That sounds wrong on so many levels."
I turn around and can't help my grin when I see Jud standing a few feet away.
"You came," I say.
He shrugs. "I've been made aware that no self-respecting, Vermont-born and raised chef would miss this festival."
Claire's not very discreet cough next to me brings my attention back to her.
"Claire, this is my friend, Judson." And then I look at Jud. "Judson, this is my friend, Claire, and over there, praying for a swift death when the time comes, is Claire's husband, James."
Jud waves at both of them, and Claire turns around to go back to her stall. Not before mouthingwowand winking at me.
"Hey, Claire," I say to her. "Do a swap?"
"Your mom's favorite?"
"Yup."
"You got it, honeybun."
She places a few of her soaps in a bag and tucks it under my stall, taking a couple of bottles of maple syrup and cream for herself.
I love that I can trade stuff like that and take home some gifts for my mom. Normally, I don't have a chance to see the rest of the festival, so I get whatever is closest to me.
Thanks to Claire's soaps, I'm going to score my favorite dinners for at least a month.
"So, what's good here?" Jud asks.
"Where do I start? I'd love to take you around, but I'm kinda stuck in place here."
"Seems like you're in good company," he says, looking at Claire, who's unashamedly staring at us.
She waves, and I'd flip her the bird if there weren't children around.
I give Jud a map of the festival and point out a few places he might like to try.
Unfortunately, a customer interrupts us, and soon a line forms behind her, so Jud says he'll be back later and leaves me to work.
The next few hours are a rush of sales, talking to people, and offering samples of maple cream and syrup. Most people buy both after trying a sample of the maple cream on a piece of homemade bread that my mom baked specially for the festival.
That thing is like crack. You can't have just one sample, and when people find out I only sell at the farmer's market in Burlington and a couple other stores, they buy more than one jar.
There was never any doubt that this event would bring in much-needed income. But now, more than ever, I need it.
I try not to think about the conversation with my dad the last time I was home. He promised he isn’t gambling, but he also couldn't explain the missing money. Add in how defensive he was about it, and all I can do is brace myself for what's coming.
He wouldn't put the farm at risk again. He promised, and to give him credit, he's kept his end of the bargain.
Nope, I'm not going to think about it. This is my time, and I'm going to enjoy being at the festival as long as I can.
There's always a quiet period around lunchtime when everyone flocks to the food tent. I can smell it from here. The maple bacon pizza, the pancakes from Barnsby Sugarhouse, maple doughnuts…the thought alone is making my belly rumble.
James usually does the lunch run for us, so after serving my last customer, I grab my wallet to take some money out for him.
"I think you're good for lunch," he says, pointing behind me.
I turn around, and Jud is there, holding a pizza box.
