Page 17 of Forest Proximity
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 likeevery 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 biologicalwhatever, 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 isAdam 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 thecajones, and I gave her a concussion.” I sigh, long and deep. “How do I fix this, Ruth?”
Chapter 8
Stevie
August is a big, fat liar. He said the headache wouldn’t be that bad after twenty-four hours. I’m literally calling him on it.
“You, sir, are a big, fat liar,” I whine from the yellow couch cushion I’ve been sitting on all day. I partially close my eyes, because it helps with the pain.
After Adam dropped me off this morning I plopped down, and I’ve only gotten up to get Tylenol and a few bowls of Lucky Charms. Now it’s late in the evening, and August and Marlow came to check on me—or so they say. I’m guessing word has gotten out.
“How did I lie to you?” August says, fighting laughter.
“You said my conk-cussion wouldn’t be as bad today.” I rub my temples and tip my head back against the cushion.
“Have you done what I suggested?” He leans forward, his elbows on his knees. “Are you resting? Staying away from screens, like your phone or computer or whatever someone might use to—I don’t know—start a podcast about Bigfoot?” He raises his eyebrows. “Squatch Watcher?” He throws out the name of my podcast like an accusation and a question.
He has a point. And I was right—word has gotten out. I laughed so hard when I chose the name for my social media page and podcast.Squatch Watcher: The One That Got Away. It’s all about my bet with my friends and my search for Bigfoot. I’m snickering again just thinking about it. I sent links to a group chat with my brothers as soon as everything was live. I can’t believe they haven’t blown up my phone yet.
