CHAPTER THIRTEEN FALLON
C HAPTER T HIRTEEN
FALLON
“Papa, the spinach tapas were out of this world,” I say, patting my mouth with my napkin. “If I had more time to make dinner for myself, I’d be making those every night.”
Papa clutches my hand in his and beams. “Good thing I made extra and froze them for you to take back to Canoodle.”
“Seriously?” I ask.
He brings the back of my hand to his mouth and gives it a kiss. “Always want to make sure our baby girl is fed.”
“You treat her like a toddler,” Sully grumbles off to the side.
He wasn’t too pleased with seeing the doctor today.
He kept muttering about needing to help Phil.
I brought up the confusion to the doctor, but Sully tested better than he was previously, which.
.. honestly threw me off. As the doctor said, it’s impossible really to predict what’s going to happen to someone with Alzheimer’s, which feels very true in this moment.
But it’s concerning that Sully has not only brought up Grandma Joan many times these past few weeks but also his brother.
I thought that was going to be a red flag that he was getting worse, but apparently, he’s showing great progress in other avenues.
His recollection of what time of the year it is, his past, his present, they were almost entirely on point. So... God, I don’t know.
I’ve just about hit my limit when it comes to this disease. I wish there was a magic button that would help me understand. That would help me look inside Sully’s brain and see where he’s coming from, but I don’t have that luxury. No one does.
All I can do is go off what the doctor is saying, and he’s saying that we should keep up what we’re doing.
That’s the thing, though: I don’t know what we’re doing.
I don’t know what’s changed.
“I recall you making several batches of cookies and freezing them so I could take them back to college,” Dad says to Sully as he wheels himself back from the kitchen, a tray of drinks on his lap. He hands a water to Peter, who’s sitting on the other side of me.
“Thank you, Izaak,” he says.
“I don’t recall a thing,” Sully says, popping another spinach tapas in his mouth.
Dad laughs and wheels over to Sully. He places a kiss on his arm, and like always, Sully leans down to Dad and kisses his head. Sully might be a grump, but he’s a very loving man, and it shows.
When Dad was eighteen, he was driving around Palm Springs with his friends, feeling invincible, and, of course, not wearing a seat belt.
They were T-boned when they ran a red light, and Dad was thrown from the car.
He was lucky he wasn’t killed that night, but ever since, Sully has been incredibly protective of Dad.
The cookies were not an exaggeration. I remember Dad telling me about the weekly visits Sully would make to UC Riverside to check up on him, make sure he was settling into college life.
After the first few months, Grandma Joan put an end to it and changed it to once a month.
“My mom would send care packages to me when I was in medical school, but it never consisted of homemade cookies,” Peter says.
“What was inside of them?” Papa asks.
“Cup of noodles.”
Dad and Papa both cringe while I chuckle.
“Oh, an abomination,” Dad says.
“I’m so sorry that happened to you,” Papa adds.
Peter holds his hand to his chest. “Thank you. It was a rough life, but someone had to eat those noodles.”
We all chuckle, and as my dads joke around with Peter, I can’t help but think how well he fits in with my family. He cares for Sully, he jokes with my dads, he makes as much time to see me as he can, and yet... it feels like something is missing, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.
“Fallon, did you hear me?”
“Huh?” I ask Dad.
“The renovations, how are they coming along?”
“Uh, I’ve been meaning to talk to you two about that.” I twist my glass of water on the table. “When were you going to tell me that you hired someone to help?”
Dad and Papa exchange confused glances.
“What are you talking about?” Papa asks.
“The person who’s been helping around the property. You know, the bench, the picnic tables, the horseshoe pits—when were you going to tell me about them?”
Papa crosses one leg over the other and looks over to Dad. When he shrugs, Papa says, “Honey, I have no idea what you’re talking about. We didn’t hire anyone.”
“What?” I ask. “You didn’t hire anyone?”
“No, we didn’t. Why, are those areas cleared up?”
“Not only cleared up, but they’re... they’re immaculate. Better than I could ever imagine.” I turn to Peter. “Did you hire someone?”
He pushes his hand through his hair. “I kind of wish I did, because that would certainly guarantee me some brownie points, but it wasn’t me, sweetie.”
More puzzled than ever before, I turn to Sully, who is gnawing on a toothpick. “Did you hire anyone?”
“Why would I hire anyone when we have Phil working on things?”
“Sully,” Dad says softly, “Phil passed away a few years ago.” He places his hand on Sully’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”
“I’m well aware Phil died,” Sully says. “I’m talking about the other Phil.”
“What other Phil?” I ask, and then it dawns on me. “Wait, are you talking about Sawyer ?”
“Who’s Sawyer?” Sully asks.
“The man who’s been renting a cabin,” I say. “Tall, blond hair, wears a backward hat.”
Sully grumbles. “I tell him all the time to wear it like a normal human.”
“Wait.” I set my drink down and turn toward Sully. “Are you telling me that Sawyer is the one behind all the renovations?”
“You mean Phil,” Sully says.
I try to hold back my frustration. “Yes, Phil. He’s the one who’s doing the renovations?”
“With my supervision, of course.” Sully picks at his front teeth. “If it weren’t for me, that boy would be absolutely lost. I do appreciate his use of regular tools. He refuses to use power tools.”
That could explain why I haven’t heard anything.
“So, you and... Phil have been doing these jobs around the property?”
“Yes,” Sully confirms, and I sit back in my chair, completely... shocked.
I think back to all the times Sawyer came into the lobby to refill his water, all sweaty and even dirty at times.
He wasn’t exercising, like I assumed—he was doing work around the Cove.
He was fixing Sully’s bench. He was sanding and painting all the picnic tables, turning that entire area into a dream escape. And the horseshoe pits...
I can’t...
I don’t think I can quite comprehend the kind of gesture...
My throat chokes up, and my eyes fill with tears.
“What kind of work has been done?” Papa asks.
Throat tight, I glance up at my parents.
“The picnic table area is all refurbished, all the tables painted brilliantly in red, and lights are strung around on poles.” I swallow back my emotions.
“The landscaping is cleaned up too. It’s beautiful, just how it used to be when Grandma Joan and I would go down there. ” I wipe at my eyes. “Sully’s bench—”
“Which still feels uncomfortable,” he mutters.
“Has to be better than a pile of wood,” Dad says with a smirk.
“And the horseshoe pits have all been cleaned and fixed, and he built a scoreboard and benches.” My eyes water from the thought of all the work he’s put in. The cuts and scrapes on his hands, the blisters. That was from his work. The work he’s done selflessly.
“I helped paint the scoreboard,” Sully says, startling me from my thoughts.
I grip Sully’s shoulder lovingly. “You did a great job,” I say, and then something hits me. “Wait, you’ve been helping him this entire time?”
“Yes, that’s what I said. The man seems lonely,” Sully huffs out. “To keep him busy, I’ve told him all about Grandma Joan while we work. Seems to be a romantic, that one.”
Peter shifts uncomfortably next to me. “Romantic?” he asks.
Sully nods and points at Peter. “Yes, I’d watch out if I were you.”
Oh God.
“Sully,” I chastise, and then turn to Peter. “Trust me, nothing to worry about.”
“Has he flirted with you?” Peter asks, his face full of concern.
“No. Not at all. I barely even talk to him.” Technically not true as of recent events, but the last thing I need is a jealous boyfriend.
“Then why would he be doing the renovations without you knowing?”
Great, great question.
“Because I told him to,” Sully says matter-of-factly.
This all feels like too much to take in. The man I thought was horrible, who I wanted nothing to do with, is the one behind the mystery renovations. Not sure I can handle Sully while I process all of this, I turn to Peter. “Can you, uh, take Sully to the back and play cards with him?”
“I’m not an invalid,” Sully says as he pushes away from the table. “Just tell me you want me to leave so you can talk about me.” He pushes his chair into the table, grabs his plate, and brings it into the kitchen before stomping out to the backyard, the door shutting harshly behind him.
“Should I go out there with him?” Peter asks.
“Do you mind?”
“Not at all.” He places a kiss on my cheek and stands from the table.
Once we’re alone, I turn to my dads. “The doctor was telling me that Sully seemed more... lucid. He asked what we were doing to help slow down the progression of his symptoms, and I told him nothing new.” I look between them. “Do you think it’s the work he’s been doing around the Cove?”
Papa crosses one of his legs over his knee and grips his shin.
“You know, I was reading about how a fulfilling activity could actually help slow down the process. Sully has always enjoyed working with his hands. We took away his tools because it was too dangerous for him to do alone, but under supervision, I can see how it would be cathartic.”
“He’s right,” Dad says. “I read the same book. But we weren’t sure what would keep him busy that wouldn’t keep you busy as well. Seems like this Sawyer is a godsend... on many levels.”
I glance off toward the backyard, where I spot Peter sitting next to Sully. “I can’t believe Sawyer didn’t say anything to me.”