“What is there to not know?” The video is pretty straightforward. “Have you listened to my podcast?”
He doesn’t answer right away. “Uh—”
“You haven’t listened yet?” Have I been screaming into the void? I thought my brothers would have jumped on a plane by now. Conor is within driving distance in Boston, and he hasn’t even listened to the podcast. “The Conor I remember from my childhood would be in those woods by now, searching with me.” Yeah, I’m laying on the guilt pretty thick. I learned it from my mother. I need to dial back the whininess a few notches, though.
“I was a kid,” Conor protests. It sounds like he’s drowning in crying puppies. “Honestly, I’m surprised you’re still doing that stuff.”
Is he? Everyone around me is well aware I became a teacher so I could spend my summers hiking in the woods. “I spend every summer out there, Conor. You used to do that, too, you know.”
“I know. And I don’t blame you. I miss it. I just figured you were hiking, not—” He grunts. “Down! Dang it, Darwin.Down.”
“Not what?”
“Looking for Bigfoot,” he says in a rush. It sounds like one of his dogs is trying to eat the phone out of his hand. “Darwin, down!”
I mean, it’s not theonlything I do out there. I love being outside in the trees. I take pictures, bird-watch, get fresh air, and more recently I monitor endangered rabbits. I’ve justalways kept an eye out for more—a habit ingrained in me by my brothers—until the other day when I got lucky and saw something.
Conor has to admit that my video is clear evidence. Even if he won’t, at least this brother called me. I haven’t heard from Brian and Declan all week. My mind wanders to the time when all of my brothers were home, and we could hang out together whenever we wanted—before dogs, adulthood, and jobs got in the way.
Meanwhile, Conor is fighting for his life over there.
The barking has intensified. “I gotta go, Steve,” he hollers over the cacophony. “I’ll give your podcast a listen, I promise.”
“Okay,” I shout so he can hear me. “Love you—”
Click.
I sigh, slumping my head back against my headboard. My stomach is unsettled after that half-baked conversation. Conor just hasn’t paid close attention, I remind myself. He’ll get it once he listens to the podcast and looks closer.
I’m not crazy.
My phone buzzes in my hand over and over. One notification after another pops onto the screen, and when I swipe the phone open, I’m happy to learn that my podcast has a megafan. Make that two megafans. I have new comments from both of them.
CRISPIN:
Hi, I’m Crispin. I live outside of Portland, Maine. I’m a physician, I have two cats, and I run a half marathon every year. I’m leading with that to prove I’m a healthy, functional adult—haha. I’ve been a believer since my first sighting when I was a teenager living in Falmouth.
CRISPIN:
I’m fascinated by what you saw. Would you be interested in leading a small group of friends on a tour of the areawhere you had your sighting? We would pay you for your time.
Would I be interested in being paid to do what I’d be willing to do for free? I laugh out loud at the ceiling. “Thank you, Crispinnn!”
The next message is similar. A woman named Kristy wants to bring a few friends for a tour of the area.
While I shoot out responses to Crispin and Kristy, an idea sprouts in my mind that spreads a wide smile over my face. I need to record a new podcast episode this afternoon.
I’m monetizing this bad boy.
Two hours later, I’m sitting between my parents on our usual mauve-padded pew at church, and my mom isn’t thrilled about my choice of footwear. She clucked her tongue when she spotted the hiking boots under my flowy, knee-length dress.
“Sorry, Ma,” I whisper with an unapologetic grin. What else can I say? I’m a woman of diverse interests, and I didn’t feel like changing my shoes later. I know where I’m going after church. Hopefully the rain will die down by then.
Halfway through the service, I nudge my dad with my elbow. I was going to tell him later, but I’m too excited. I can’t wait any more.
He leans in. “What?”
I keep my voice low. “I’m going to do Bigfoot tours.”
