CHAPTER EIGHT SAWYER #3
This right here, watching a man so full of life, so full of stories, fall into a fit of uncertainty—God, it’s heartbreaking, especially since I know there are no cookies in the oven, no Joan in the lobby.
But I don’t want to make the situation worse, so I go with it. “That’s great. I love snickerdoodles. Maybe I’ll stop by later for one—after I finish these tables, of course.”
He nods, then takes the picture from my hand and stuffs it back in his wallet. For a second, I think he’s going to resume our conversation, but when he doesn’t pick up his paintbrush again and stares off at the lake behind me, I know I’ve lost him.
Unsure of what to do, I continue to paint and try to bring him back to the present. “So, Joan was dating Earl?”
Sully clears his throat. “Yes, I, uh...” He glances back again.
His jaw worries back and forth, his hand now shaking in front of him.
“I think, I, uh, I think I should go check on her.” He taps on the table with his knuckle and cautiously rises, his eyes wandering, his sense of direction clearly confused as he carefully looks around to gain his bearings.
He doesn’t recognize where he is. I can’t imagine how frightened he must feel.
I need to step in.
“Uh, you know, I have to go to the lobby for some more water for my water bottle. Can I walk with you?”
“Yes, sure.” He nods but doesn’t move, so I set my paintbrush down on the paint can top. I grab my almost-full water bottle and start walking toward the lobby. “Ah, yes,” he says, pointing in the right direction. “Right this way.”
“Thank you,” I say, even though I’m leading the way.
“Are you enjoying your stay?” he asks, his voice changing from that of the grumpy storyteller to the ever-happy host.
“I am,” I say. “The cabins are beautiful.”
“Thank you. Did you know I built them?”
Yes.
I don’t want to lie to him, so I say, “You did a wonderful job. I can really see the fine detail you put into them. The joints you cut out are excellent.”
He chuckles. “Almost lost a finger cutting those.”
“I can imagine.”
We make it up to the lobby, and he pats me on the back.
“Enjoy your stay.” He opens the door for me, and we walk into the lobby to find Fallon touching up the paint job she was working on yesterday.
Jaz isn’t here this time, but Fallon’s boyfriend is instead, crouched down by the baseboards, paintbrush in hand.
“Hey, Sully.” The boyfriend stands. “How are you?”
Sully freezes and looks to Fallon. It’s written all over his face—he has no idea who that man is.
“Sully, you remember Peter,” Fallon says.
“Oh yes, Peter.” Sully doesn’t move, but just raises his hand at him. Confusion still clouds Sully’s eyes, and he turns to Fallon. “Where is your grandma Joan? I want to check on her.”
Fallon’s face falls, and in that one expression I can feel her grief, sense the heartache she carries for not only losing her grandma but repeatedly having this conversation with Sully.
Instead of emotionally withdrawing, though, she sets her shoulders with courage and walks up to him.
“Why don’t I take you upstairs, and we can talk.
” She turns to Peter. “Can you finish up for me?”
“Sure, sweetie,” he says as Fallon disappears upstairs with Sully, her hand gripping his arm the entire time.
When they’re out of earshot, Peter lets out a deep breath. “Did you run into him outside?”
When I realize he’s talking to me, I clear my throat. “Oh yeah, we were chatting. He seemed to get confused about where he was, so I helped him back here, figuring that would be pretty safe.”
Peter nods. “Thank you. He sometimes forgets where he is, so I’m glad you were there to help him.” He holds out his hand. “Peter.”
The steadfast boyfriend.
The type of character thrown into a story to throw the viewers off, especially when he’s a good guy, when there don’t seem to be any warning signals, nothing telling the viewers there’s a possible mean streak in him that could shake things up.
That could... wait, what am I talking about?
This is playing out in my head as if Fallon is the heroine of whatever romance is simmering in my head.
But... my pitch could be about a small-town girl with a boyfriend who flies in and out of town on the weekends, and during the week, she starts to fall in love with someone else...
No. Too complicated.
I give Peter’s hand a shake. “Sawyer. I’m staying in one of the cabins.”
“Oh, nice. For how long?”
“Uh, probably a few weeks.” I scratch the back of my neck. “Kind of giving myself a little escape from real life at the moment.”
“I can understand that. What I wouldn’t give to have a brief escape with Fallon right now.” He shakes his head. “Sully is a full-time job.”
Not sure why Peter is telling this to a perfect stranger, but I just nod along. “She seems to do a very good job with him.”
“She does.” He nods as well. “Anyway, I should get back to painting.” He holds up his brush. “Have a good stay.”
“Thank you.” I fill up my water bottle and then head out the back door to the picnic tables, which I soon finish painting. The entire time, I can’t get the picture of Joan out of my head.
Or Fallon’s fallen expression.