Chapter 7
Adam
Stevie has a picture of me on her phone. I’d be flattered, except she thinks it’s Bigfoot.
I’m not going to be the one to tell her. I can’t get over the fact that this bright, intelligent woman believes that sasquatches exist. She’s fidgeting in my passenger seat, her red hair braided and tossed over her shoulder, looking like a totally normal person.
Except she believes in Bigfoot, I remind myself.
I knew there had to be something wrong with her.
She’s too perfect, otherwise. And I’m not surprised she didn’t recognize me in the photo.
I’m covered from head to toe in a shaggy green-and-brown ghillie suit.
I guess I can see how she mistook me for a giant hairy primate.
And I’m not about to admit that I hang out in the woods wearing a shrubbery costume, observing wildlife like a weirdo.
I mean, it’s part of my job, but still. The part where I wore a ghillie suit was totally voluntary.
“This one?” I ask, with a nod toward what I think is her house. It’s barely more than a cottage, with faded brown shingle siding.
“Uh-huh,” she sighs. She sounds down.
I sneak a glance out the corner of my eye, and she’s frowning. I want to ask her why she’s sad, but she doesn’t know me. I don’t have that privilege. I want to know, though, so I can fix it. She’s a Carrot Cake without frosting right now. I don’t like it.
I pull into her driveway, and Stevie unbuckles her seatbelt with another sigh. “Thanks for the ride.”
When she moves to open the door, her head lolls to the side like she’s dizzy again.
I’m taking this opportunity. “Wait right there.”
Before she can protest, I’m out the door and helping her down from the truck.
I take her hand, swallowing down the feelings that flood through me at the softness of it.
Everything about her is so delicate. I’m such an ox, I’m worried I’ll accidentally break her.
I take extra care not to hold her too tightly when I wrap my other arm around her shoulders to steady her.
“You don’t have to do this,” she says, sounding noticeably perkier. “This can’t be part of your Forest Service job description.” Her lips curve upward.
“I don’t work for the Forest Service,” I stutter, slightly stunned by her smile.
Why did I say that? She doesn’t care, and no one likes to be corrected. Adam, you doofus. I don’t know why I’m like this. While other kids were learning how to interact with people, I was chasing iguanas through mangroves, and it shows.
I try to fix it: “I mean, it’s close enough. I work for the Biddeford Land Trust.”
If both of my hands weren’t occupied, I’d be face-palming so hard right now.
I lead her to her front porch, which is covered with pots and planters full of every color of flower.
A vine of yellow blossoms—Allamanda cathartica—is growing around her door out of a big terra-cotta pot.
Huh. Those plants don’t generally do well this far north.
She must baby that thing to keep it alive in the winter.
And it is thriving—she almost has to part the flowers to unlock her door.
“Hmm.” The doorknob squeaks when she turns it, and she swings the door open. “Well, thanks for the ride.”
I want to look inside. I want a glimpse into the life of the forest mascot with the huge brown eyes, but I know I shouldn’t. I’m desperate for an excuse to keep her talking.
She believes in Bigfoot, I scold myself with some disappointment. Back away from the beautiful, crazy woman.
But that reminds me. “Hey, Stevie?” I make sure she’s steady before I move my hands away.
She turns, her bright smile back in place. “Yeah?”
“Don’t go into the woods alone.” That sounded like a command. And with that, I am never leaving the forest again. I don’t deserve to mingle in society.
There’s a spark in her brown eyes now. “Excuse me?”
“I mean, please don’t. It isn’t safe,” I say, attempting to smooth it over.
“Is it against the law?” Is it possible that her red hair is more red when she’s aggravated?
“No.” There isn’t a policy against it, but there are poachers in there with presumably loaded guns.
I'm trying to say as much when she steps away with a smile, the fire in her eyes only dimmed by a fraction. “Okay, then. Thanks again for the ride.”
“I’m—”
She cuts me off with a little wave, closing the door behind her.
My mouth hangs open while I stare at her white door.
Okay. Time to go back to the forest, Adam.
Later that evening, I’m back in the preserve and feeling monumentally stupid for a whole list of reasons. Besides that I was a bumbling idiot with Stevie this morning, now I’m wearing my ghillie suit and feeling awkward about it.
I’m already an unusually tall guy—sitting in an airplane is painful—but with the suit on I’m like a monster.
I even have big feet, I realize with a cringe.
My size-fourteen Lowa boots would fit a sasquatch.
Maybe I am Bigfoot. I frown, considering the similarities.
I also like to hide in the woods, and I’m just as charming.
It’s okay. I don’t need to be charming. Right now, I need to blend into the bushes so that I can get confirmation of the litter of endangered New England cottontail rabbits that I suspect have a burrow nearby. I did the same thing last night and the night before with no luck.
Last fall I did everything I could to prepare the perfect habitat for them. I posted signs discouraging walking off the trails into the dense brush. I moved a few downed trees into the area. I provided plenty of places for rabbits to hide and start a family, safe from predators.
Cut to me, dressed as Bigfoot and looking for bunnies on a Saturday night.
I let out a long, frustrated exhale as I scan the dense brush in the dusky light. I never thought twice about my life until I met Stevie.
The woman who believes in Bigfoot, I remind myself for the thousandth time today.
A piercing ring cuts through the air, and I groan.
I forgot to turn my phone down. Rookie mistake. Well, that’s that for tonight’s rabbit watch. I dig my phone out of my pocket, which is no small trick in this getup. It’s Ruth. I swipe the screen.
“Hey, Sis,” I murmur. Even if my phone scared the rabbits, I want to keep my voice low so they feel safe—not that Ruth will let me get a word in.
“What’s up with the sexy voice?” she asks with a laugh.
“I’m on rabbit watch.”
“Again?” She’s already annoyed. “Dearest brother of mine, we need to get you out of those woods. It’s Saturday night.”
I purse my lips.
As usual, Ruth doesn’t need me to respond. I picture her finger twirling the end of her brown ponytail as she lectures me. “For Pete’s sake, stop touching grass. Please, please drive your truck to civilization, find a woman, and ask her on a date. I beg you.”
“I—”
“My kid is never going to have cousins,” she whines. “Aren’t there any women in Cape Georgeana?”
“Actually—”
“You know what, I’ll look.”
Ruth is my opposite in every way. I might need to stop touching grass, but she needs to start. And I can tell she put me on speaker—my favorite. She’s distracted by whatever she’s doing on her phone.
“Okay, I’m looking through location tags on social media. This is tricky, because all I have to go on is the name of your town—oh! Here’s someone. Oh, wait. She has a husband. Hang on, I’m still looking.”
I need to stop this before it starts. If I throw her a bone, it might placate her.
“I met someone actually,” I say quietly. “Last night.”
I swear the sound of a record scratch comes through the line. “You did?” Ruth screeches. “Tell me everything. I can’t believe you didn’t lead with that.”
She didn’t give me the opportunity, as I recall. “She was hiking in the woods, and I helped her—”
“Oooh, sexy. I’ve been telling you, women love that kind of thing. The hot forest ranger in the woods. I bet she ate that up. Okay, go on.”
I run a hand down my face. “She didn’t love it. I scared her, and she fell on her butt and got a concussion.” I wince. “She blacked out, so I picked her up—”
“Dead.” Ruth squeals. “I. Am. Dead. Keep going.”
I summarize the events of the prior evening, including the part where Stevie kicked me where it counts. Ruth is not nearly as bothered by this as she should be.
“Okay, I found her.” Ruth cuts me off with a gasp, then mutters, “Oh, wow. She’s pretty. That red hair. Ugh, I’d die for that hair. Maybe I should dye my hair red like that, or maybe a deep auburn—”
“You found her?” I ask much too loudly. Sorry, bunnies. “How?”
“You said her name. Social media isn’t rocket science. Stevie’s online like every other normal adult.” She emphasizes the words for me. She’s tried to get me to join this or that platform for years. Hard pass.
“Um . . .” Ruth trails off. My sister never trails off.
“What?” Why am I worried about what she’s found about Stevie? Is she wanted for murder? Or worse, is she deep in a crooked multilevel marketing scheme?
Ruth is distracted by whatever she’s looking at. She doesn’t answer right away.
“Uh, Adam?” Her voice shakes. She’s either about to cry, or she’s fighting laughter.
“She’s posted a video and pictures of—oh man, I hope this is what I think it is.
” Her voice is strained from holding in whatever emotion she’s fighting.
It’s still hard to tell. “She’s started a whole separate social media account—and a podcast?
!—about sasquatch. This woman believes in sasquatch.
And her pictures look exactly like you in that dumb ghillie suit. Tell me this isn’t you, Adam.”
This time I tip my face to the darkening sky, growling loud enough to scare every rabbit within a mile.
I’m never going to beat the sasquatch allegations if I keep acting like this.
“It’s only been twenty-four hours. She did all that in one day?
” Less than a day—I dropped her off at her house ten hours ago.
Ruth isn’t listening to me. She’s cackling. I can wait her out. She’ll run out of breath eventually.
“Let me get this straight.” She gasps for air.
“My brother, Mister Science, with his Master’s degree in geospatial biological whatever, I don’t know, finally met a beautiful woman.
And that woman believes in Big—” She can’t even say the word.
She’s laughing so hard, no sound comes through the line.
“Bigfoot.” The word is barely more than a wheeze.
“And the Bigfoot she found is Adam Sandoval.”
Annoying as it is, her nonstop laughter is what I needed. My sister will help me figure this out.
“Yeah,” I say in defeat. Stevie and I are clearly not a good match. I get it. “And don’t forget—she kicked me in the cajones, and I gave her a concussion.” I sigh, long and deep. “How do I fix this, Ruth?”