CHAPTER EIGHT SAWYER #2
“Are you working on any other projects in your own time?”
“I am,” I answer. “I’ve been working on a kayak for a few years now. I’ve been building it from scratch. It’s taken me a really long time, especially since I don’t get to work on it very often at all.”
“A kayak.” He nods, the gruffness in his voice easing. “That’s quite the ambitious task. Lots of curves.”
“Yes, it’s been a challenge, but rewarding.”
“Maybe someday you can float it on Strawberry Lake. We don’t get many boats out there anymore.”
“Why is that?” I ask.
“Can’t be sure, might be the new mayor.”
“Do they not like boats?” I chuckle.
“Doesn’t like water.” Sully looks me in the eyes. “It’s a damn cat.”
Confused, I look behind me and then back at him. “What’s a cat?”
“The mayor.”
“Huh?” I ask.
“The mayor of this town is a cat.”
“A cat? Like... meow?” Why did I just say “meow”?
But it makes Sully laugh as he nods and then sands in between the table’s cracks.
“An actual cat. The damn thing is the fattest animal I’ve ever seen. Spends all day sleeping on a silk pillow and only removes itself during feeding time. A ridiculous load of crap, if you ask me.”
“Wait, so an actual cat is the mayor?” Sully nods. “How?”
“Canoodle opted out of local government, and as a novelty, they hold elections every four years. The competition is always between dogs and cats. Personally, I think the entire thing is a joke.”
“Adds to the quirk of the town,” I say.
His bushy eyebrows draw together. “You think this town is quirky?”
“I do,” I say. “It’s the type of town that you’d find in a movie.
A small town in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees and full of local charm.
Quirky townspeople, fascinating store names, a mayor for a cat.
.. it’s the classic setting for a romantic Christmas movie.
” I’ve written about a town like this a time or two as a screenwriter, especially back when I was working with Lovemark, the network known for its sweet, romantic movies.
This is the kind of location they’re looking for—a place where people can escape their troubles.
Huh... that’s exactly what I’m doing. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think I’m living out my very own troubled story line, although if that were the case, where’s the heroine who’s supposed to step in and help me realize my worth?
My mind immediately falls to the one single woman I know in town—at least I think she’s single—Jaz. I shiver from the thought. Terrifying. That would be absolutely terrifying.
“Romance?” Sully asks. “Are you a romantic man?”
I dig a little deeper into the cracks with the sandpaper. “I used to think I was, until my girlfriend left me for someone else.” I’m ashamed to look Sully in the eye. There’s something about his stoicism that makes me feel weak at the mention of Annalisa.
Sully doesn’t respond at first. The scrape of sandpaper against wood fills our silence, and then, after a few minutes, Sully clears his throat. “I was cheated on myself.”
Sully... cheated on? I don’t believe it. I can tell from the green in his eyes and the strength in his jaw that he was an attractive man in his younger years. And despite his surly disposition, I can see his kindness resting just beneath the surface.
“That doesn’t seem possible.”
“Even the most handsome of the bunch can be unlucky in love,” Sully says with the smallest of smirks. “But I have to admit, even though it hurt, it was a blessing in disguise—after I was cheated on, I moved here, to Canoodle. I used every last penny in my account to build these cabins.”
“You built these?” I ask, taking a look at the craftsmanship. Designed to look like mini log cabins, they’re finished in a light oak with black metal gable roofing. They’re very quaint. “You did an incredible job.”
“Thank you,” he says softly. He’s been so talkative, so chatty, that I wonder if today is one of his more lucid days.
He seems to be very clearheaded, very in tune with his thoughts—I’m curious what he was like before Alzheimer’s grabbed ahold of him.
There’s no doubt in my mind I’d still want to be sitting here, with him, sanding an old table and just chatting.
“It was when I was picking out furniture that I met Joan.” His eyes drift off toward the lake.
“She sold furniture—handmade pieces and antiques—and she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.
The lightest blue eyes that tore right through my heart.
Brunette with the prettiest curls. She captured me.
In an instant, I knew this woman was special—and I needed to spend the rest of my life with her.
I told her about the cabins, and she came by to look at them.
It was a drive, since she was living down in Palm Springs, but she made the trek up the mountains and helped me pick out furniture and bedding for each of the rooms. It took a lot of convincing, but she finally went out on a date with me, and I never looked back. ”
“That’s beautiful,” I say. Reminds me of a classic Nicholas Sparks romance. A blue-collar man making the most of what he has, impressing not with his wallet, but with his work ethic, his charm, and his caring heart. “So, the cabins, this property... it’s like the beginning of your love story.”
He nods. “It was. It was what brought us together, and not a day goes by that I don’t miss her. That I don’t see her around here. These cabins were a part of her.” Sully looks up, a twinkle in his eye. “And I romanced her. This old guy had quite a few tricks up his sleeve.”
“Oh yeah?” I ask, even as I feel a pang, realizing my suspicions were correct—Joan has passed. “Like what?”
Sully sets his sandpaper down. “That’s a story for a different day. I trust you can clean this up?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Meet you out here tomorrow to paint.” With a parting nod, he gets up and leaves.
I watch him as he retreats to the bench I rebuilt, where he takes a seat and stares out at the lake, the sun setting behind the mountains, bringing in the perfect magic-hour illumination—a filmmaker’s dream, ambient light.
From a distance, I can see his mouth moving, as if he’s talking, but I can’t quite hear him from where I sit.
His arm is draped along the bench, though, and I just know he’s wrapping his arm around Joan, talking to her as the sun begins to set.
And I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anything more romantic in my life.
Because even though Joan is gone, she’s still in his heart, and the man continues to love her, ache for her, include her in his life.
That’s the kind of love movies are written about.
That’s the kind of love I want in my life.
Not a roller coaster of drama, like I had with Annalisa. If I truly give it some thought, that relationship wasn’t based around a deep appreciation for each other, but rather a common goal—of making it in show business. There wasn’t a foundation between us. There wasn’t friendship.
I think about what Sully confessed, how he retreated to Canoodle after he was cheated on and found solace here, among the trees, in the deep lake and solitary mountains. Makes me wonder... will I find the same solace?
I stare up at the dimming night sky.
You know, I think I might have already started to find it.
“So, what were your famous moves?” I ask Sully as he calmly paints a picnic table, being very careful with his strokes.
The vibrant red of the paint put a large smile on Sully’s face when I opened the can and revealed it to him.
He asked how I guessed what color he’d want, and I told him Tank at Village Hardware had offered some help.
“Famous moves?” Sully asks, clearly confused.
Oh. Right. He might not remember all of our conversation from yesterday.
“The moves you made to romance Joan.”
“Ah,” he says, a sly smile now passing over his lips. “Well, she was a tough shell to crack at first.”
“Why was that?”
“Because she wasn’t into me. Not that she didn’t find me attractive. Back in my day, I was what they called a hunk.”
“I believe it,” I say. “You still are.”
“I prefer you not stick your head up my ass—it’s not comfortable.” I let out a loud laugh as Sully continues. “She had a boyfriend at the time.”
“Really?” I ask. “Huh, I didn’t see that coming.”
Sully dips his paintbrush in the can and strokes the wood carefully. “His name was Earl. He owned a rock company.”
“A rock company? Like, geodes?”
Sully chuckles and shakes his head. “No, landscaping rock.”
“Oh, that makes sense.” I laugh.
“They were high school sweethearts, Joan and Earl. She was very much attached to him, and I respected that, though it was easier said than done at times. When I first asked her out and she told me she had a boyfriend, I was crushed.” Sully sets his brush down and reaches into his pocket.
He takes out his wallet and fidgets around with it until he pulls out a worn, yellowed picture and hands it to me. “That’s my Joan.”
Despite the discoloration of the photo and the wrinkle that travels the length of the right side, I can easily see how beautiful Joan was.
As a screenwriter trying to paint a picture, I’d describe her hair as rag curls, silky without a strand out of place, and her eyes, despite not being able to see their color, seem kind, loving.
And of course, even in black and white, I can tell there’s bright-red lipstick on her heart-shaped lips.
“Wow, she’s beautiful.”
“She is, and she’s aged with grace,” he says. “When you go to get your payment, you’ll see what I’m talking about. She makes the best snickerdoodle cookies. I think...” He pauses, and my heart sinks as his eyes glaze over. I’m losing him. “I think there are some in the oven right now.”
In an instant, I watch his lucidity disappear, only for confusion to cross his face.
He sniffs and glances over his shoulder. “Yes, there are... there are some in the oven.”