Page 16 of The Woodcarver's Model
“You don’t remember where we know each other from.”
“Oh, trust me, I’d remember you.”
Mitch grinned. “Is that so, Hanson? Rob Hanson, right?”
“Yeah—I introduced myself when we met.”
Mitch smiled, and pressed on. “Just your first name. No Hanson mentioned. And definitely nothing ofHandsome Hanson.”
“Handsome…” Then it came to Rob. “Mitch! Mitch Carcross?”
“One and the same.”
Rob chuckled. “Kevin’s little brother.”
“That’s me. But I’ve grown up a bit since we last saw each other.”
“You sure have,” Rob said, with a little too much enthusiasm.
Mitch grabbed him up in a great big hug.
Mitch had been a scrawny, pimple-faced boy of thirteen when Rob and Kevin had split.Splitwas not quite it, was it? It was not a word used to describe the fiery eruption that had ended that romance, the one true joy he had felt in his adult life…a part of his life from which no evidence remained. Until now.
Mitch hugged him and Rob hoped it would never end.
“Come on. Help me pack up before the rain comes.”
* * * *
They had just finished up the grilled salmon and vegetables Mitch had prepared, in spite of the deal that dinner would be on Rob. They moved into the living room. Rob brought the bottle of wine.
Rob nestled into the overstuffed sofa and watched as Mitch threw another log on the fire.So little Mitchell Carcross has a house, he thought,and not just any house—a beautiful, cozy, post-and-beam, one-storey, half-way-up-the-mountain-at-the-edge-of-the-woods-overlooking-the-Strait-of-Georgia house. Could this really be the annoying little kid who had kept pestering him twenty years ago?
“This place is beautiful,” Rob said, looking around.
“I love it here. It is absolute tranquillity. It’s the only house on Mount Admiral.”
“How did you swing that? I’d have expected the mountain to be prime real estate.”
“It would be if the islanders let it. Which they won’t.” Mitch sat down in the chair opposite Rob. “They’re nice people, but they don’t take to strangers, and they don’t like things to change. Many years ago, a crew came to the island to look at putting up a cell tower, and they were held hostage here by my Aunt Sarah until the company changed its mind. This house…” he said, looking around with love, “this house was hers, so don’t go getting any ideas that I’m rich. She lived on the island for most her life. Everybody loved Sarah. I used to come over from Vancouver to help her out when she got sick. I did build the wheelchair ramp outside, so some of the work on the place is mine.” He smiled. “She left it to me in her will and that’s how I was able to move here to the island.” He shifted ever so slightly on the couch like he wanted to change the topic. “Are you okay for wine?” Mitch asked.
Rob smiled. “I seem to be empty.”
“Must be the high evaporation rate,” said Mitch as he refilled both of their glasses. “The islanders are good people. Not to say we don’t have our fair share of colourful characters.”
“Like who?”
“Off the record?”
“You bet.”
“Farley Dougald dresses up in women’s clothing.”
“Lots of guys do that.”
“But it’s why he does it that’s interesting. It’s quite a touching story, actually. He and his wife ran a small dairy farm. When she passed away a few years back, the cows dried up. Farley figured they missed his wife as much as he did. He wondered if they’d find comfort in a female presence, so he dressed up in one of her old work dresses and gave it a shot. His cows have increased their milk output since he donned that dirndl. Then there’s Maggie Tupman who, at eighty-six, greets every sunrise standing at attention on the eastern bluff in the buff while singing the national anthem. Colourful enough for you?” Mitch took a swig of wine. “They may at first seem a bit stand-offish, but they really are warm people.”
“Frances didn’t seem to be the motherly, welcoming type.”
