Chapter 32
Stevie
It’s fully dark now, and the rain hasn’t relented. My eyes have adjusted to the dim light enough that I know we’re still in Maine. I’m drenched and covered in mud up to my knees. I stop to wring out my shirt.
“Do you want to take a turn with the poncho?” Crispin asks again.
Taking turns with a poncho is idiotic. We’ll both end up soaked.
I didn’t think to bring an emergency poncho on what was supposed to be a short hike.
That’s on me. None of this was on the forecast, though, and we weren’t supposed to get lost. I can’t wait to read the one-star review Crispin leaves on Yelp after this.
I just know this guy loves to write a scathing review.
“Nope,” I call over the pounding rain. “I’m good.” I swipe my dripping hair off my face.
We hike for a while longer, with no sense of which direction we’re moving or any cell service, when a loud, repeating scream echoes through the trees. I stop in my muddy tracks.
Crispin stops at my side. “What was that?” he hisses.
“Shhh!” I wrangle my phone out of my back pocket, swiping to open my camera app. My battery is almost dead. My heart thumps, making my hands shake while I shield my phone from the rain and press record. Then I wait.
Another series of whoops booms through the dark forest, and I want to laugh. Of course this is happening now, when my phone is nearly kaput and the only person here to enjoy it with me is Crispin. I wish Adam were here. I double-check that my camera is rolling. It is.
“Is that an owl?” Crispin’s hopeful voice wobbles.
I shake my head, praying that he’ll stop talking before he scares it away. The sound didn’t come from an owl, a bear, a coyote, or a wolf. We both know what it is.
He gasps. “Is that a—”
I clamp my hand over his mouth. The screaming stops, and a second bellowing howl starts.
Crispin yanks away. “I’m so out of here.” He sloshes deeper into the woods.
Is he seriously leaving me alone? I follow him, well aware that if we have a shot at making it out of this mess without ending up on the news, we have to stay together.
That’s basically rule number one of wilderness survival.
He should know that. My growing suspicion that Crispin isn’t what he claims to be is confirmed when he screeches, slips onto his backside, and slides out of sight. His scream fades into the night.
Bolting to the spot where he was standing a few minutes ago, I peer down in the darkness. “Crispin?” I call after him. “Are you okay?”
It’s hard to see, but it looks like he’s made an inelegant landing in a shrub at the bottom of the small ravine.
There’s a rustling sound as he breaks free.
“I’m great. I love this. Could not be happier.
” He’s already marching away, loudly muttering something that sounds like, “Worst date of my life.”
I cannot have heard that right. I don’t have time to question his sarcasm, though, because I’m on my backside. With a yelp, I slide down the same muddy rush of water that carried Crispin to the bottom of the ravine. A shrub catches me, and I cling to its scratchy branches while I get my bearings.
“Crispin!” I holler. He isn’t waiting for me. Clambering to my feet, I follow him uphill to the other side of the gully. What’s his hurry?
I catch up to him at the top of the hill where he’s resting with his hands on his knees, gulping air. He points at something through the woods. “Look,” he gasps between breaths.
I squint into the darkness. “Is that . . .”
Oh my gosh, there’s a house out there. Yellow light spills through a window deep in the trees, promising rescue, shelter, and hopefully, a bathroom.
In addition to being lost in the woods during torrential rain, I’ve desperately needed to pee for the better part of an hour. The glasses of Diet Coke I drank back at the diner are torturing me now. I’m motivated.
Changing course, I pass Crispin as we move closer to the light, working carefully through the mud and soggy undergrowth. The water is gushing around our ankles in icy streams now, slowing our progress. We make good time toward the warm light, all things considered.
We finally reach the back side of the house, drenched, caked with mud, and breathing heavily.
As we round the corner to the front door, a few flashes of lightning illuminate the front side of what I realize now is a familiar cabin.
Rainwater runs down a long set of wooden stairs toward a river where the dirt road should be.
A white truck is parked in the driveway.
“This is his cabin,” I crow, stomping toward the front door.
“Whose cabin?” Crispin doesn’t sound as relieved or grateful as he should.
“Adam,” I holler over my shoulder. “Adam!”
I make my way to the dry front porch. The door swings open, and there he is—looking warm, dry, and oh-so-cozy.
“Stevie?” I barely have time to register the relief on his face before he throws those cozy arms around me. He sighs, releasing a long exhale even as I cover him in mud. “How did you get here?”
I burrow against him, loving his warmth. “The long way.”
Fifteen minutes later, I emerge from Adam’s tidy, spartan bathroom wearing a pair of his sister’s sweatpants, a towel on my head, and one of Adam’s roomy T-shirts.
I’m warm, dry, barefoot, and comfortable.
Forget being saved from a night in the woods and a potential search-and-rescue situation.
People don’t talk enough about the particular relief of having access to a toilet after a few hours of holding it.
I pad toward the living room with a spring in my step. Crispin brushes past me into the bathroom looking sour, but with a fresh towel and set of clean clothing in his arms. I offered to let him shower first, but Ruth wouldn’t have that. I liked her instantly.
When I enter the room, Adam and Ruth are lounging on his big leather couches, and their whispering comes to an abrupt, fishy stop. I’ll pester Adam about their whispering later. I can’t feel anything but gratitude at the moment.
“Thank you for the shower.” I curl up on the cushion beside him and his niece, tucking my feet under me with a sigh.
I feel like a new person. “Were you able to get a hold of Ike?” I ask.
Apparently, we’re stranded here until the flood water recedes, and Adam sent Ike after us just before we turned up at his door.
“Mm-hmm.” He nods, fidgeting at the mention of Ike. “All taken care of. Everyone’s glad you’re safe.”
The little girl on his lap is blatantly staring at me.
Offering a tiny wave, I smile at Adam’s niece. “Hi.”
“Unkie Adam, who-uh dat?” She pats his arm with her soft fingers, snuggling against her uncle with a shy smile.
Okay, I consider myself a strong, solid woman.
I can hike through the woods in a monsoon at night without fear.
I hold my own when I wrestle my brothers.
I face hundreds of teenagers on a daily basis during the school year.
But one look at Adam with his two-year-old niece curled up in his big arms? I’m melting.
Unkie Adam? More like Hunky Adam. When he tightens his arms around her, I have to strangle a squeal in my throat before it escapes.
“That’s Stevie.” Adam kisses the top of her head. “She’s my girlfriend.”
I’m past melting. I’m boiling. I have to pretend to be a normal person, though. Adam’s sister is watching me. “What’s your name?” I ask her daughter softly.
The little girl is brave now, blinking up at me with huge brown eyes. “Sammie Sue.” She recites her name perfectly. Is she for real? I’ve never met a cuter two-year-old.
“Guess what?” I lower my voice to a whisper like I’m sharing a secret. “My name is Stevie Saoirse Sullivan. We have the same initials.”
Her tiny frown and puckered eyebrows tell me she has no idea what I’m talking about. “Where you phone?” She holds out a pudgy, expectant hand.
I love her.
“No, Sammie.” Ruth scolds. “You can’t have Stevie’s phone—”
A male voice screeches from the direction of Adam’s bathroom, cutting her off and making me startle. Sammie hides her face against Adam’s chest.
“Gah!” Crispin bellows from the back of the cabin, unleashing a string of curse words.
Adam covers his niece’s ears, smirking at his sister and me. “My water heater is tiny. I’m sure there’s nothing left after Stevie’s marathon shower.”
“Hey!” I swat his chest even though he’s right. The water was just so toasty, and I had mud everywhere.
He shrugs. “He can handle it.” He tilts his head to the side when the hollering continues from the bathroom. “Or maybe not.”
Ruth snickers, and for a minute or so we listen to Crispin fighting for his life in the shower.
“So . . . what happened out there?” Ruth cringes at the window, which is clouded with solid sheets of rain. “How did you get here?”
I sigh. Can I admit that I got lost? I don’t want to, but there’s no way out of it. Here goes. I take a long breath. “I got . . . turned around. We went to an area I don’t normally go. After all the rain we’ve had, the trail looked different, I don’t know . . .”
Adam frowns, and I can’t meet his eyes. I’m not ready to face the music. He was right. I was wrong.
Ruth’s worried expression matches her brother’s. “But what were you doing out there?”
“I took Crispin on a sasquatch tour,” I say with a wince, unsure how much Adam has told her about me.
I pull the towel out of my hair, running my fingers through the tangled ends to straighten it.
Adam’s red bottle of ten-in-one shampoo, conditioner, body wash, mouth wash, floor wax, and engine oil might’ve murdered my hair.
It smells like cedarwood, though. That solves that mystery.
“Oh, cool!” Her eyes fill with light. I have her full attention now. “So? Did you see anything? I follow your podcast, by the way, so I’m totally invested in this.” She cringes. “But I gotta admit I bet on Boyfriend—”
“You what?” Adam cuts in, nearly dumping his niece off his lap when he turns to his sister.
She shrugs. “A few days ago I called the diner and placed a bet.”
Adam tips his face to the ceiling, like he’s praying for release.
“Oh, calm down. It’s not like I bet on her finding Bigfoot.” Ruth swats her hand at him, turning to me and settling in for story time. “Tell me what you saw on your tour tonight.”
“It wasn’t a tour.” Crispin saunters into the room, toweling off his hair with a shiver. “It was a date.”
Adam straightens.
“I’m sorry, what?” I shake my head, squinting up at him in confusion.
Crispin is drowning in Adam’s T-shirt. “Easily the worst date of my life.” He gestures to the storm raging outside.
“No.” I wave my hands palm down in front of me. “It wasn’t. What are you talking about?”
“We met for dinner.” He looks at me like I’m especially slow.
“So?”
“I didn’t ask you for a tour. I asked you out.”
“You said, ‘Hey Stevie, want to go Squatch Watching on Saturday night?’” My imitation of his dopey voice isn’t flattering.
He drops his damp towel on the carpet in a pile, plopping on the couch beside Ruth. “I also asked if you wanted to grab dinner.”
Adam clears his throat, turning to his sister. “I think Sammie is ready for bed.” He motions to his niece, who is wide awake. “I’ll help you . . . you know.” He stands, and Ruth follows him to the back of the cabin.
Poor Adam. Unexpected house guests must make him so uncomfortable, especially when one of them is Crispin. I appreciate him giving us a minute to sort this out in privacy, though.
I blow out a long breath that makes my lips flap like horse lips. I’m tired. This has been a long night, and it’s not over. “I’m sorry I misunderstood what we were doing tonight.” I’m not ready to apologize for getting us lost in the woods. It’s too much humility at once.
I’m surprised when he shakes his head, looking unbothered. “Not a problem.” He relaxes into the cushions. “I should’ve known.” He pulls out his phone, talking to me without looking at me. “I’ve listened to your podcast,” he says under his breath.
I’m too exhausted to decode. “What?”
“Your whole gimmick—finding Bigfoot before your friends find a boyfriend for you?” He swipes the screen of his phone aggressively. “You’re chasing something that doesn’t exist because you think no man is good enough for you, even though you’re . . .” He gestures at me with spindly fingers.
I raise my eyebrows. If he doesn’t believe Bigfoot is out there, then . . . Oh, man. Something in his words makes me queasy. I need him to be wrong. “Don’t stop there. Please. Go on,” I challenge him.
“The things you complain about on your podcast—men with bad manners or who don’t notice the small things or who are totally oblivious?
You don’t see it?” He grins, waving a hand over me and shaking his head.
“I have some bad news for you. You are all of those things. You expect perfection from the men you date, but you’re your own worst nightmare.
” He turns back to his phone, then mutters, “Crazy.”
Heat floods through me, washing over my face and making my heart drum. “You know what? I was apologizing. I don’t need a psychoanalysis.” I can’t be around this guy for another minute. I need Adam, but the closest I’ll get is his hammock. I make my way to the covered patio.