Page 59 of Forest Proximity
Ah. The German physician. Obviously.
Stevie grins at Werner, Brad, then at L.L. Bean. “Are you guys ready to do this?” She walks backward ahead of our group, beckoning us with curling fingers and a spring in her step.
Her ebullience is contagious. She’s bringing the forest-mascot energy today with her red hair poking out under herforest ranger hat and her pink cheeks. The men follow her quickly. I catch a look between Werner and L.L. Bean that makes me want to move between them and Stevie. So I do. I take my place on the trail between Stevie and the men, scanning the brush for signs of cottontail rabbits out of habit.
While Stevie answers their questions about her sighting, the men follow us, moving carefully down the trail. It finally stopped raining, but portions of the path are still muddy and washed out. I need to install short boardwalks to protect the trail, and I make a mental note to start the project when this whole bet thing is over. Between that and tracking down the turkey poachers, plus my appointment to the Committee to Get Stevie Whatever She Wants, So Help Me, my hands are full.
Stevie stoops to snatch a piece of purple trash out of the tall grass. Holding up a smashed Takis bag for me to see, she shakes her head.
I blow out an annoyed breath. “I should grab the SD cards while we’re out here,” I say quietly just for her. I didn’t bring backup cards, so I won’t be able to trade them out, but I’m certain we’ll have the poachers in this round of photos. “But I’ll stick close.”
Stevie fixes me with serious brown eyes under her serious brown hat. “And you’ll wait for me to look at the pictures this time?”
“Of course.”
Man, I want to hold her hand. She is killing me. We have Larry, Moe, and Curly behind us on the trail, though.
Like he read my mind, L.L. Bean butts in. “It was about this time of day? Near here?”
“Yep.” Stevie skips ahead. “Just a bit farther ahead.”
She answers more questions and gets lost in the details of her story, and I get lost in her. At times I move off the trail, pullingSD cards and keeping the men in my line of sight. But for the most part, I follow Stevie like a guard dog.
When we reach the location of Stevie’s sighting, I wait for her to mention it. She doesn’t know I was here for the encounter, after all.
“It was here,” she says reverently. “I was talking on the phone with a friend.” She lowers her voice, looking out into the woods. The sun is behind the trees now, and the air is cooling. “I looked over, and a figure emerged—taller than any human I’ve seen and covered in dark hair. He stood on two feet but didn’t walk like a bear,” she whispers. She gestures to the location of her sighting.
My face burns. This is also a few feet away from where we observed New England cottontail rabbits together. I’m surprised—and more than a little relieved—that she hasn’t made the connection. I want her to figure it out; I also don’t.
Brad shakes his head. “Amazing,” he says in awe.
Werner frowns into the trees.
L.L. Bean buffs his fingernails.
Not really, but I bet he would.
I take a step closer to Stevie.
The forest falls silent around us while the men observe and listen.
A piercing, howling yodel fills the air around us.
Stevie startles, sucking in a breath and throwing her hands over her heart.
My eyes shoot to the source of the howl. Werner’s hands are cupped around his mouth. His head tips back and his Jell-O mold hair flops as his blaring yodel morphs into sustained barks that echo through the forest.
L.L. Bean and Brad are unbothered, vigilantly scanning the trees. They seem to be accustomed to Werner’s yodel-barking.
Stevie and I make startled eye contact. She tucks her lips between her teeth to hold back a grin, but her eyes shine with repressed laughter. Her shoulders are shaking. A short laugh bursts out of her like someone popped a balloon, but she turns it into a hacking cough.
Brad’s face turns red. “Werner won the Lake Placid Sasquatch Call contest three years in a row,” he explains around the howls of his friend.
I legitimately cannot tell if Brad is embarrassed, proud of his friend, or both. He’s smiling like he loves everything about this. He’s just having a good time. I could be friends with this guy, I think. This is a first for me. I don’t make friends, but Brad seems to have a healthy respect for the forest and a soft spot for eccentric people. We have those things in common.
Forcing a serious expression, I ask, “What does the call accomplish?” Besides scaring the bejeezus out of the rabbits I’ve worked so hard to accommodate.
Brad makes a face. He shrugs, palms up. “No idea,” he mouths.
