Crispin manages to keep a smooth expression. “The truth. You didn’t see anything out there.” His condescending tone is also smooth. It’s like butter, and it makes me want to spread him on the concrete. “We all know it. You can admit it to yourself by now, right? I mean, for a minute there—after this guy chased me out of the woods in costume like some kind of Scooby Doo villain—I was almost convinced, too.”
Stevie’s confused laugh has an angry edge. Her tight gaze moves from Crispin to me.
Crispin pushes his chair away from the table. “You’ve got a cute little hustle going, but that’s all it is, Stevie.” He’s fighting to maintain the cool L.L. Bean facade, but it’s slipping. When he’s made his way to the front door, he shoots over his shoulder, “I’m calling a rideshare. Thanks for breakfast.”
Stevie blinks in shock at my front door, her face pulled into a grimace. “Someone’s about to find out that the one Uber driver in Cape Georgeana likes to sleep in.”
We listen to the hum of the vent fan for a few seconds while I gather my thoughts. It’s time for me to explain myself. It’s past time, actually.
“Stevie—”
“Put it on.” She stabs her finger at the pile of ghillie suit in my living room.
“Put it on?” I parrot her demand, praying I’ve misunderstood her.
“You heard me.” She doesn’t sound fully angry. In fact, the corner of her mouth is curled into an almost-smile.
“You want me to put on my ...” I tip my head toward the suit.
“Uh-huh.” Now she’s folding her arms over her chest.
“Uh ...” I’d rather sing Britney Spears's full catalog at a town meeting. While tap dancing.
“Stop stalling.” She’s fully grinning now. “You know you aren’t getting out of this.”
With a heavy exhale, I scrape my chair away from the table and make my way to the ghillie suit. I pull the thing over my clothes, taking my time before I turn to face her. “Well?”
Is she angry? I can’t tell. She’s not smiling anymore.
She tilts her head, taking me in. “Walk across the room.”
This is insane, but I do as she instructs and pace across the room like an obedient sasquatch. I know she’s pieced it together. I suppose reenacting her Bigfoot sighting is the price I’ll pay for not coming clean weeks ago.
I lumber across my cabin, coming to a stop and propping my fists on my hips.
She squints, and her eyes run over me from head to hairy foot. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Uh—”
“Never mind.” Her face reddens. “I don’t blame you. I just—” She runs both hands down her face. Then she tilts her face to the ceiling, squeezing her eyes shut.
“Are you angry?” I might as well ask.
“No.” She looks at me, twisting her lips to the side as she considers her answer. “I feel stupid.” Her face falls. “I feel so completely, utterly, ridiculouslystupid. Publicly stupid. Stupid on a national scale, even.”
I’m glad Sammie isn’t here to witness her new friend Stevie swearing like a sailor. And I'm starting to wonder whether Stevie's stubbornness, all of her bullheaded assertions, might stem from a fear of looking stupid. And sharp, quick-thinking, bright-minded Stevie is anything but stupid.
But before I can remind her of that, she starts laughing. She buries her face in her hands again, smothering her breathless guffaws with her palms.
I chuckle nervously, waiting.
“Well ...” Her laughter fades, and she swipes the wetness from the corners of her eyes. “I guess Iamcrazy.” She catches her breath, shaking her head at me. “But the good news is, you’re just as crazy as I am.”
This isn’t the reaction I expected. I figured she’d be angry, or at least annoyed, that I didn’t tell her the truth sooner. “You’re sure you’re not mad that I didn’t tell you?”
“Not even a little.” She shakes her head. “I get it—it’s embarrassing.” She cringes at my suit, like she feels bad for me. “And I mean, technically, I dragged you into this. I’m mad at myself. I feel stu—”
“Don’t say that word again.” I frown. “I won’t have that. Everyone makes mistakes.”