Chapter 26
Adam
“I hereby call to order this meeting of the Ad Hoc Committee to Determine the Outcome of Bigfoot Versus Boyfriend.” Ike taps his gavel softly. We’re not in the assembly room where they usually hold town meetings, so he’s being gentle on the conference table.
Diana drops her forehead into her hand, rubbing her temples and muttering her husband’s name.
After a long weekend of quiet time with Stevie all to myself, I’m returning to reality in the most jarring way possible: a committee meeting. It’s not even a full town meeting, but it’s still brutal.
Only the nonsense committee, Ike, Stevie, Marlow, Diana, and the minute-taker are in attendance on this Monday night.
We’re seated around the table in teams. I’m sitting between Stevie and August on one side.
Marlow, Muffie, and Stevie’s mom, Inger, are seated across from us.
Diana and Ike are at the head of the table, looking like the President and First Lady of Cape Georgeana, except Ike is wearing a faded Red Sox shirt.
“What item of business has the committee convened to approve?” Ike asks, spinning his gavel between his palms.
Muffie, her voice muffled as she digs through her giant purse, answers, “We’re here to vote on whether Marlow is allowed to arrange a date with Stevie and a member of the committee.” She’s so deep in her purse, she might need a belayer.
“Uh, Mr. Wentworth?” The minute-taker holds up her hand.
“What’s up, Tina?”
She blushes. “Are you sure I should be here?” Even she seems to sense that none of this is standard protocol, no matter how small the town or how bored the town manager.
“Only if you want the extra hours.” He shrugs.
“So, for the record, I am being paid hourly?” Her fingers are poised over her keyboard, waiting for his answer. This Tina woman knows how to hustle. I can respect that.
Ike grins. “Sure.”
She hurriedly records Ike’s response in the minutes. That woman is getting paid.
“It’s a waste of time,” Muffie says from inside her purse. “Shirtless Adam—”
“It’s just Adam,” Stevie cuts in, but when everyone turns to face her in eerie unison she amends, “He’s wearing a shirt tonight. Go ahead and put that on the record, Tina.” She gestures soberly to the minute-taker’s laptop.
Diana’s red lips curl at the corners while Tina types into public record the fact that I’m fully dressed.
“Anyway,” Muffie emphasizes, “while I would argue that Shirtl . . . Adam is a virile, worthy candidate—”
Get me out of here.
“—when it comes to a vote to determine whether Stevie has a boyfriend, Adam will vote with his party. Simple as that.” She’s unloading the contents of her purse on the conference table now.
So far there’s a stapler, a bruised apple, and one of those mini boxes of crayons restaurants give to small children.
“Marlow’s time is better served choosing a date who won’t vote against the outcome. ”
I didn’t expect clear thinking from the depths of Muffie’s bejeweled purse. I don’t like the idea of Stevie dating anyone but me, though.
I’m surprised when Stevie’s mom cuts in. “Isn’t the whole point of this to finally find a boyfriend for my daughter? If Adam’s the right guy—”
“Mom.” Stevie’s cheeks are ten lovely shades of pink.
I wonder if anyone would notice if I held her hand under the table.
Probably not. Muffie and her Mary Poppins bag are commanding the room.
She just shot a tangled Slinky into the open trash can in the corner.
She must have grandchildren, or there’s something in the air in this town that makes people weirder the longer they live here.
Inger isn’t deterred. “If Adam is the right man for Stevie, he’ll vote his conscience. If he’s the wrong person for my daughter—either because he’s willing to lie about it or because he’s truly not the man for her—Bigfoot will get the vote either way. I say we allow one date.”
Stevie’s mom makes an excellent point, but I never want to be in the position where voting my conscience is a vote against Stevie.
As much as I hate it, I need Marlow to keep setting her up with men who drive Segways, and I’ll continue snuggling with Stevie on her couch every night. This is a good system.
With half my focus I monitor the attention of the people around me. With the other half I find Stevie’s wrist under the table. I slide my fingers through hers, squeezing and dropping our hands on her knee. She’s frozen, staring at the tabletop with wide eyes.
“I still say it wastes valuable time,” Muffie says.
She emerges from her purse with a half bottle of Diet Coke.
There’s a soft hiss when she twists the lid, then she chugs the last of the soda and tosses it in the trash can before returning to the depths of her purse. “Adam will vote Bigfoot either way.”
I don’t appreciate Muffie’s assessment of my character, but I need her to win this one.
August is shaking with silent laughter.
“What are your thoughts, August?” Ike turns to his brother. “Don’t be shy.”
Marlow raises her eyebrows from across the table.
August’s laughter fades, and he straightens. “Allowing—or asking—Adam to date Stevie while he’s a member of this committee would be unethical. He’s a nice guy and wouldn’t want to hurt Stevie. It would be unfair of us to put him in that position.”
Marlow makes a face. We all know she needs August’s support for this to happen.
Ike turns to the room. “Any other comments before we take it to a vote?”
Using everything I’ve learned from years of practice, I attempt to blend in with my surroundings. The last thing I need right now is anyone’s attention on me. Luckily, Ike seems to sense my discomfort, and his focus skips over me.
“Yes!” Muffie hollers.
Everyone around the table faces her expectantly.
She pulls out a roll of TUMS, peeling away the wrapper and popping a few in her mouth. She sighs, closing her eyes and chewing her antacid like she can’t get it into her stomach fast enough. “I say we vote,” she says around her TUMS.
“Okay, let’s do it.” Ike chuckles. “All in favor of Adam being allowed to date Stevie?”
“Aye,” Inger declares alone.
Ike, Diana, and Tina the minute-taker all grimace.
Ike clears his throat. “Any opposed to Adam being allowed to date Stevie at any time for the duration of the Bigfoot Versus Boyfriend bet?”
I don’t want to vote against dating Stevie in front of Stevie. I hold my breath, squeezing her hand under the table. Thankfully, August votes first.
“Nay.” He cringes, mouthing a “Sorry!” to Marlow. He’ll be hearing about this later.
Muffie clotheslines all of her junk back into her purse with her arm. “Nay.”
I release a long breath. “Nay.” Stevie knows why I have to vote this way, I remind myself. She put me in this ridiculous position to begin with.
Ike ends our baloney meeting, Tina closes her laptop, Stevie pulls her hand away, and I am going to burn for eternity. Sure, it’s a made-up committee managing a ludicrous town bet, but it’s starting to feel meaningful. The deceit is wearing me down like I have a cold coming on.
When everyone stands, Stevie wanders toward Ike and Diana like a good secret girlfriend. I’ll leave quietly and call her at home like we discussed earlier. We knew this room would be a minefield.
I’m almost through the door when Inger catches up to me.
“Adam?”
I turn, very aware that Marlow and Stevie are watching our every move. “Mrs. Sullivan?”
She bats the air. “Oh, call me Inger.”
“Okay.” I fold my arms. “How can I help you, Inger?”
“I feel like you never got a proper welcome to Cape Georgeana.”
Being appointed to this committee doesn’t count? The corner of my mouth hitches.
Inger smiles like she read my mind. “I’d like to invite you for dinner tomorrow night. Nothing fancy. Brian and I would like to get to know you better.”
In the corner of my eye, Stevie’s mouth drops open.
“Um . . . sure. I’d like that.” I nod. “Thank you.”
She pulls out a phone. “Why don’t you give me your number? I’ll call you with the details.”
Now Stevie’s eyes are wide.
“Okay.” I recite my number, fully aware that I’m walking into some kind of Irish Mother Snare.
Inger enters it into her phone, repeating it back to me. “Okay, I’ve got it. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
More terrifying words have never been spoken.
An hour or so later, I’m lying in my hammock with my arm draped across my forehead while my phone rings in my ear.
Another round of clouds blew in this afternoon, and steady rain is falling around my covered porch.
I’m about a minute away from slipping into a deep, much-needed sleep, but I have to check in with Stevie.
That committee meeting was landmine after landmine.
“Hey, you,” she croons when she answers.
I close my eyes under the sound of her voice. “Hi.”
“So . . .” She sighs. “My mom.”
“Your mom.” I chuckle. “She invited me to dinner.” And I’m going. The more time I spend out of the woods, the easier these interactions become. And I’ve banked enough social activity this week to satisfy Ruth’s demands for at least a year.
“I heard.” Stevie smiles. “You know this is a trap, right?”
I lower my arm over my eyes. “I figured. Are you going to be there?”
“I doubt my mom will tell me about it.” She doesn’t sound too hurt. “I think she left me out of it strategically.”
“Hmm. Devious like her daughter.” This news is unsettling. I was counting on Stevie being my buffer. “Do you have any advice? Anything I should know about your mom?”
“Well . . .” I can picture her tapping her lips, her big brown eyes bright. “Maybe take her some whoopie pies from Marlow’s Diner. That’ll butter her up.”
“Done.” I make a mental note to stop by before the dinner crowd tomorrow. “I wish you were going to be there.” I sigh. “I wish you were here. Why aren’t you here?”
She laughs. “Because you’re half asleep already. That meeting ran way past your bedtime, didn’t it?”
“Mm-hmm.” I yawn, stretching my legs and settling deeper into the hammock. I should move inside before I fall asleep out here. Again. My neck was kinked for days after the last time.
The line goes dead for much longer than is typical of Stevie. “Does it seem like . . .” Her worried voice trails off.
“Like what?” I prod.
“Are things getting out of hand, maybe?” She’s uncharacteristically apprehensive.
I chuckle. Getting out of hand? Things have been out of hand—since her so-called sighting and the bet, the podcast, and the committee started.
The last few weeks have felt like a fever dream.
I don’t know how to put it into words. I don’t want her to think I think she’s mentally unstable or anything.
“You know, you didn’t say one word during the whole meeting tonight. It drives me crazy.” She says the word with a teasing growl. “I need to know what you’re thinking.”
“About what?” I ask. I sense that she won’t like it if I tell her what I’m thinking at this moment—that her angry kitten energy is sexy.
“The meeting, for starters. Would you agree that things are getting sort of insane?”
A laugh escapes. “Yes.” I choose my words carefully. “It’s unusual that town officials have gotten involved, but there’s a lot of money at stake, and the town is invested.”
There’s shuffling on Stevie’s end, and I wonder what she’s doing. Is she lying in bed? Sitting on her yellow couch? I want her here.
“This was only supposed to be a dumb bet with my friends.” She yawns. “I wanted to make a little money doing sasquatch tours and selling T-shirts. Now you’re on this boneheaded committee, I’m going on dates with strange men”—she growls again—“and we have to hide.” She sighs after her rant.
“So, it’s Ike’s fault for getting the town involved.” I like the guy, and he’s a good friend of Stevie’s, so there’s no malice behind my words.
“Actually, everything started to go haywire when Marlow became the town bookie.”
I chuckle. “Yes. Everything is Marlow’s and Ike’s fault. We need a committee for that.”
“I’ll make T-shirts. They’ll say ‘Everything is Ike and Marlow’s fault’ in huge block letters. I can get a bulk discount, I bet.”
I laugh again. I’m entering the phase of exhaustion where everything is hilarious. Stevie might be getting there, too, because we’re both laughing.
Our laughter winds down, and she sighs. “Adam?”
“Yeah?”
“Is it too much?” she asks timidly. “Are you having second thoughts about us now that I’ve pulled you into the crazy?”
She’s giving me an opportunity to exit graciously. This is diplomatic of her, so I consider the question seriously. Is this all too much—the committee meetings, the secrecy, and being dragged into civilization against my will?
I’m outside of my comfort zone, but maybe that’s not a bad thing.
I’m growing. This might even be an adventure.
Either way, the needle on my inner compass won’t point to anything but her.
I can’t seem to help that. If she comes with a little crazy, so be it.
“Nothing could ever be too much when it comes to you, Stevie Sullivan.”