Monday, April 1, 2002
Gruff lumberjack Tug Denton was chopping wood on a Friday afternoon. It was cold in the northwest, where he worked as a lumberjack. Tonight he would likely curl up by the fire with his dog and read a book, or a dirty magazine. It was a lonely life, but he had his dog and the fire and the book and/or magazine.

That was before urbanite Mitzi Calligan walked into his life.

It was that Friday afternoon she did, so it wasn’t much before. She drove up in her smart urban Toyota onto Denton’s logging property. She looked very unfamiliar with the outdoors, which made Tug grin on his manly face.

“Are you Tug Denton?” she asked, to which he agreed. “I’ve been hoping to find you. I found this.”

“This” she was referring to was an object in her hand. Said object was a gold necklace, shinily polished and sparkling. The center of the necklace was a heart-shaped locket.

Tug turned egg-white when he saw it, the color of Mitzi’s bathroom walls. “That’s… that’s Clara’s necklace,” he said darkly.

“I… I found it.”

“What… what?”

“I… I found it,” said Mitzi. “It was in a fish. Apparently I bought a fish after work one night—I’m in advertising and it’s a tough career field for a woman—and inside I found this necklace. It makes for a great anecdote, don’t you think?”

“That’s my wife’s necklace!” growled Tug, tearing it forcefully out of her hand.

There was a long silence. For better effect, wait a moment before reading further.

“I’m sorry.”

“You killed her?”

“No, I’m just sorry for offending you.”

Tug was weeping softly to himself, but it doesn’t make him any less of a man. “It’s alright. I thank you for returning the necklace.”

“Can I ask what happened?” Mitzi asked cautiously.

“Go ahead.”

“What happened?”

“My wife… she… she died,” said Tug, staring off into the distance as if seeing his wife’s face superimposed over the scene, which would likely be what it would look like if we made it into a movie. “It was dark one night. We were out whale hunting—it was our favorite pastime, the two of us. She was sleepwalking and fell overboard. I never saw her again, not even the body.”

“Then, the fish that I ate…?”

“Yes,” Tug completed the sentence, “he must have eaten her.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I ate him,” said Mitzi, smiling compassionately. “It was a little on the ripe side, but I finished it.”

“Thanks,” said Tug, walking back to the house with the necklace in hand. “You’ve done a lot to help me confront her death.”

“Is that all?” said Mitzi. “I’m a little tired from the drive and hungry. I was hoping you could fix me dinner on your old wood stove or something.”

“No!” snapped Tug. “Sorry. No. Although there is an undeniable attraction between us, I’m afraid it’s too soon after the discovery of my wife’s necklace and my dealing with the fact she’s never coming back to begin thinking about eating dinner with you.”

Tug slammed the door to his cabin, at which point the whole thing collapsed. Mitzi wiped a tear from her eye and snot from her nose, returning to her car. That poor Tug Denton.

For more of this great story, buy Christopher Poppins’ novel
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