“Culture?” Fernando laughed. “This is a town full of grown men howling into the woods.”
A whistle blew near the makeshift stage in the town square. Kids with painted-on sasquatch faces chased each other between booths selling wooden carvings, knitted goods, and various Bigfoot paraphernalia. Janelle even had a booth selling plants in ceramic sasquatch flowerpots.
Walker reached for Fernando’s hand as they wove through the crowd. “Okay, but admit it. This is kind of amazing.”
He softened, squeezing Walker’s fingers. “It’s aggressively charming.”
They stopped at a booth where an older woman with a squatch watch visor displayed plaster casts of enormous footprints.
Fernando leaned closer. “These look suspiciously like someone stepped in cement with a snowshoe.”
The woman overheard. “Sweetheart, Bigfoot doesn’t need snowshoes. He’s got natural flotation.”
Walker nodded solemnly. “Science.”
Fernando bit back a smile until they’d stepped away. “You are enjoying this way too much.”
“Because it’s ridiculous,” Walker said, laughing. “And nobody here cares that it is. Look at them.” He gestured to a group of teenagers arguing earnestly over blurry photos pinned to a corkboard. “They want to believe. That’s kind of sweet.”
A man climbed onto the stage and tapped the mic. “Contestants for the Bigfoot Call, please line up!”
Walker’s eyes lit up.
“Oh no,” Fernando said immediately, tightening his grip on Walker’s hand. “Absolutely not.”
“It’s tradition,” Walker insisted.
“You’ve been here exactly twelve minutes, and this is literally the first Bigfoot festival the town has had.”
Walker leaned close, his voice dropping. “If Bigfoot is out there, Ferdie, he deserves to hear my voice.”
He stared at Walker for a long moment, then laughed, full and bright and unguarded. “Fine. But if you embarrass me, I’m telling everyone you cried during that documentary about orcas in captivity.”
“That shit was moving.” He jogged toward the stage before Fernando could change his mind.
Fernando stayed back in the shade of an oak tree, watching as he lined up beside a burly man in camouflage and a seven-year-old girl with glittery face paint. Unsurprisingly, Mateo, Eddie, and Ernie Wilson were also on stage.
“Why is my family so weird?” he asked.
“Because they’re connected to you,” Gabriela answered him, startling him.
He squeaked in surprise and spun around. Gabs, Valentina, Abel, and the kids joined him under the tree. Iggy’s pet bearded dragon, Pudding, was on a leash.
“I thought you had a booth to work?” he asked Abel.
“Gramps is watching it for me. I didn’t want to miss this spectacle.” Abel grinned. “Mateo’s sasquatch call is sexy, you know.”
Even baby Emma made a face at that.
“You’re disgusting,” Val said and pulled Fernando down to sit next to her in the grass. She brought Pudding onto her lap. “You let Walker go up there? What’s wrong with you?”
“I was blinded by his shoulders.”
Valentina shrugged. “That’s fair.”
When it was Walker’s turn, he stepped up to the mic, cleared his throat dramatically, and let out a long, wavering howl that started low and climbed into something surprisingly melodic. It echoed off the brick storefronts and rolled toward the trees beyond town.
The crowd went silent for half a second.
