Page 89 of Forest Proximity
Seriously?
Of course, I hope my nephew is okay, but now I’m really crying. My throat tightens as I swallow back the tears. This isn’t that bad. I know that. I just needed Conor. I swallow one last time, blinking the last of the tears away when the front door creaks open. Swiping my hands down my face, I dry my wet cheeks with a sniff.
“Stevie?” Adam peeks around the door.
“Hey.” I sniff one last time, and I’m sure it won’t be obvious that I was bawling my eyes out a minute ago.
He makes his way to me, his soft smile turning into a frown. Instead of asking what’s wrong, he stands beside the hammock, steadying it.
“Hold still.” He braces the mat with a hand on either side, then rolls beside me, crossing his legs in front of himself easily. The hammock barely swings beneath us.
I scoff, irritated that he made it look so easy. “How did you do that?”
“What?” He props his arm behind his head.
“Nothing.”
“Hmm.” He’s so warm and so close that his rough voice rumbles through me even though he’s whispering. “What were you crying about?”
“Nothing.”
“Stevie.”
With a sigh, everything spills out of me. I recount the horrifying hike here, the accidental date, and Crispin’s cutting observations, ending with the attempted phone call to my brother. Adam listens quietly, eventually tucking his arm around me. He pulls me in, dragging his thumb up and down my arm while I talk. I air every worry, complaint, and hurt I’ve felt in the last six hours until I’m empty. I have no more words. I yawn, covering my mouth with the back of my hand. I let my eyes flutter closed.
“Wow,” he murmurs.
“Yeah.” We listen to the rain for a few minutes, and an uncomfortable thought leaves my mouth. It’s the last thing keeping me awake. “After what Crispin said—and Marlow and my brother and the whole town—I’m starting to feel crazy.” The words come out slurred. My body feels heavy, and his warmth and the sound of steady rain tries to lull me under. I fight it. “Do you think I’m crazy?”
It takes him a while to answer, but when he does, his words are slow and careful. “What I think doesn’t matter.” His deep voice cuts through the fog. “You don’t need my validation, Stevie. You don’t need me or anyone else to tell you who you are.”
He’s right. I don’t usually have a problem standing behind what I know or who I am. But he didn’t answer my question. Iwant to prove I’m not nuts, and the exhaustion is making my lips loose.
“We heard Bigfoot tonight.” I sigh, settling deeper into his warmth. “I got a recording.”
This news should feel bigger. I have proof. I can win this thing. But in light of what Adam just told me it feels anticlimactic. I shouldn’t care whether people think I’m crazy or that I know what I saw. But here I am, caring. My dumb little heart is aching for Adam to care about this. I want him to cheer me on, tell me I’m smart, and I was right, and it wouldn’t hurt if he told everyone. He could organize a parade. I wouldn’t complain.
Adam lets out a long breath. “That’s ... good.”
It’s not quite enough. My tired brain wants to add this to Adam’s list. He should care more. But that would prove Crispin’s point about me, wouldn’t it? And why do I care what Crispin thinks? I want to scream. I yawn instead.
“You need to sleep.” I think Adam presses a kiss into my hair, but I’m halfway gone. “We’ll figure out everything in the morning, okay?”
My hair smells like Adam, and I don’t mind it. My pillow smells like him, too. I turn onto my side without opening my eyes. I’m not ready. Yellow light shines through my heavy eyelids, telling me I’ve overslept. Or have I? What day is it?
I stretch my legs over cool, scratchy sheets that don’t feel right. It’s Saturday. I’m taking Crispin on a tour tonight.
No, that was yesterday. We got lost. Stranded at Adam’s—
“Oh!” I gasp.
Sitting bolt upright, I assess my surroundings. The stacked logs of the exterior wall have one sunny window and no curtains. There’s a dresser with no books, picture frames, or any signs of human habitation. The only clue I’m given is a pair of worn leather work gloves resting on top of the dresser. I know those gloves. I’m in Adam’s room. How did I get here?
Thanks to my hyperactive imagination and snippets of memories of last night, my heart is galloping. A dreamlike memory surfaces: Adam carried me in here. I think he tucked me in.
I’m awake now.
Swinging my legs over the edge of the mattress, it takes my feet way too long to touch the ground. I’m like Goldilocks, waking up in a bed that is way too big and smells like cedarwood. I grin, thinking about how Adam needs an extra tall bed. Of course the man who has so much in common with Bigfoot would also need a humongous bed.
