Page 81 of Forest Proximity
When I turn toward the familiar voice, Crispin appears across the booth dressed for a hiking-themed photo shoot.
“What?” I shake my ice to release the last of my soda, pulling the straw back to my mouth.
“You ate without me.” Crispin frowns.
“Um ...” I look at my empty tray in confusion. When he said we’d grab a bite before his tour, I didn’t think he’d care if I ate when my food came out. He’s also fifteen minutes late. “I have a few fries left. You’re welcome to them,” I offer, gesturing to the overbrowned fry stumps that didn’t make the cut. Crispin’s appalled expression only adds to my confusion. “I can wait while you order.”
“I’m good.” His voice has an edge that wasn’t there before. “Are you done?”
I don’t know what he’s bothered by, but if he’s not going to talk about it, it’s not my problem. “Yup,” I say with a wag of my eyebrows. I give my straw one last loud slurp, swallowing with a soft but pronounced “Ah ...” while looking at Crispin squarely in the eyes.
“Sexy,” he deadpans. “Are you ready to go?”
“Yeah.” I can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic, but again: not my problem. “Are Brad and Werner coming?” I ask, standing to clear my table for Brady. I know how it gets on Saturday mornings, and he’s covering for me today. It’s the least I can do.
“They headed back to Portland.” Crispin follows me to the door. “I figured you’d know it’s just us this time.”
Why would he figure that? A tiny red flag unfurls and flaps in the back of my mind. “Uh. Okay. Want to follow me up there?”
He should’ve met me there, come to think of it. He set the meeting location, though. I didn’t think twice about it because Ithought he’d bring friends, and I wanted to grab dinner on the way out. I need to stop letting my stomach do my thinking for me.
He holds open the door for me with a wide smile. “Should we ride together? No point in increasing our carbon footprint, right?”
He has a point, but I feel squirmy. “It’s a short drive. I’ll meet you up there.”
“Are you sure? The roads are going to be muddy, and you’re driving a sedan, aren’t you?” He gestures to his shiny truck. “I’ve got four-wheel drive and good air conditioning. Come on, Stevie. We can talk Bigfoot the whole way there.” He sweetens the deal with a grin.
I’m glad his sour mood seems to be gone, and he’s speaking my language now. Besides, it’s a short drive, and it’s not like Crispin is a serial killer. He’s a physician. He has two cats. Doctors with two cats don’t murder women in the woods. The worst Crispin will do is make me feel bad about my outfit.
I size him up in my peripheral vision. He’s tall, but he’s wiry. I could hold my own if he decides to get frisky. And why is my mind even going there?
All of Adam’s warnings about going into the woods alone have gotten in my head. I blame him for my weirdness—this time, anyway. My heart flutters at the memory of our train ride last night. I really need to find my evidence today. I’m ready to stop hiding, but I’d love to win this bet before I do. I’m more antsy than ever to get into the woods.
“Okay.” I slide my phone out of my backpack. “I’m gonna give Marlow a heads-up that I’m leaving my car here so she doesn’t worry.”And soyouknow that my friends know where I am.
I tap out a quick text to Marlow, and another one to Adam, while Crispin opens the passenger door for me. His cabisn’t meticulously clean. Two empty shaker bottles fill the cup holders, and a wrapper from a protein bar is shoved between them. That’s not serial killer behavior. I’m going to be fine.
As promised, Crispin talked about Bigfoot for the whole drive. Besides an awkward moment where he didn’t let go of my hand right away after he helped me down from his truck, we’re doing fine.
We hiked past the same area where I had my first sighting three weeks ago into a part of the preserve that is less familiar. It’s rougher here. The trail is messy and washed out in some places, but it’s easy enough to work around. More storm clouds have blown in. I don’t think they’ll give us any trouble. The air is unseasonably chilly, but more rain wasn’t in the forecast. The only real problem we have is that Crispin won’t stop yapping.
The guy loves to talk about himself—his thriving medical practice, the women he’s dated, his truck, his likes and dislikes—at maximum volume. If there ever was anything to see in these woods, he scared it away with his braggadocio. I don’t know why he’s paying me for this so-called tour. The way this man wastes his money isn’t my problem. I’m just looking for a sasquatch’s size-thirty footprints in the mud. So far I’ve seen nothing.
Okay, there’s one other problem. Tiny. No big deal.
I don’t know where we are, and I haven’t known for about ten minutes.
We’re not on a trail anymore—not a clearly marked one, anyway. Everything is muddy and washed out back here. We’ve hiked maybe three miles total, but even that’s a guess. The sun usually provides a hint as to my direction of travel, but it’s hidden behind dark gray clouds. It’s not a huge issue. I havea hiking app on my phone for rare times like these. I can’t remember the last time I used it, and I don’t want to admit to needing it. It’s a pride issue.
But it’s time to eat some humble pie. Sliding my phone out of my back pocket, I swipe until I find the dusty, unused app and click it open. Naturally, it needs to be updated.
Again, no big deal. I push the button to update the app, but I’m met with the endless spinning circle of buffering doom.
“Ugh,” I groan, holding my phone up to the cloudy sky. Never in the history of the world has this method solved coverage issues, but I’m desperate. The sky is getting dim and thunder is rumbling in the distance.
No sweat.
This is fine.
