Twice Shy, Sarah Hogle [100 books to read in a lifetime .txt] 📗

know this sounds ridiculous. And illogical. “Mick Fleetwood was about forty years old when I was conceived, and also, he’s Mick Fleetwood. I know he’s not my father. And yet.”

He arches a brow. “And yet?”

“It’s funny what the human brain does with one little puzzle piece when it’s missing the rest of the picture. My parents met at a Fleetwood Mac concert. She was more of a Johnny Cash girl, but her friend had an extra ticket.”

Wesley’s eyes are fixed on the forest floor, a wrinkle in his brow. “Mm.”

“That’s all she’s told me about him. Fleetwood Mac’s the only piece of information I’ve got, so even though my dad was probably some scrawny teenager, all my life I’ve pictured the middle-aged guy on the cover of the Rumours album.” Which I bought with my first paycheck, and have memorized. “I think he must have blue eyes, though, because mine are blue and Mom’s are green.”

“My parents have been together since middle school.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, it kind of sucks for all their kids that our parents found their perfect match so young. They think it should be that easy for everyone. All I ever hear when I visit is that the clock is ticking and I’m going to die alone.”

I wince. “You’re not going to die alone.”

He shrugs. “I’m fine with it if I do.”

I sense that he’s starting to clam up, so I change the subject, digging my compass out of my pocket to pretend I know what I’m doing when I aim it this way and that. I got the thing from a box of Lucky Charms when I was a kid. “You sure we’re not gonna run into Bigfoot today?”

He knows what I’m doing, but it works—he grants me a sidelong almost-smile. “You haven’t been paying attention in class. Sasquatches don’t live in Appalachia.”

“Sasquatches, the Loch Ness Monster,” I remark, unable to hide my curiosity. “Do you believe in them?”

“Will you laugh at me if I say yes?”

“I would never.”

He considers this. “Then I might believe in them. Or I might believe in the possibility of them. Wouldn’t it be incredible, if these creatures are real and they’ve successfully eluded humans all this time? I mean, humans have taken over everything. We cage animals, we pillage, we destroy.”

I raise my eyebrows.

“Meanwhile, here are these other ancient beings who just want privacy, and they’ve outsmarted us,” he goes on. “A giant middle finger to the assholes who’ve ruined their habitats.” He frowns, coming to a standstill. “I’m sorry for saying assholes.”

I shake my head, suppressing a laugh. “It’s fine.”

“I don’t like to swear in front of ladies.”

“It’s fine. I swear all the time. Anyway, you were saying . . . ?”

“I got carried away. I won’t curse again.” I throw him a dour look and he continues: “Okay, so these people who hunt for Nessie, who have their own TV shows dedicated to getting video evidence of the supernatural, it’s all a money grab. They desperately want to find them, for money and clout, but if they find Sasquatch, if they find Nessie, that means the end of those creatures’ way of life. They’d never have peace again. If they’re legitimate, scientists would get tons of funding to do a real search, forcing them out of hiding. It’s not in their best interest to be found—which means the hunters don’t care about these creatures, really. It makes me happy to think they’re out there existing, that they’ll never be found by those they don’t want finding them.”

“You don’t want to find them?”

“I do want proof,” he admits, “especially of the Loch Ness Monster. That’s my favorite myth; there’s a ton of evidence to back up its existence, and not just the existence of one, but probably more. Maybe even more than a handful. But, I only want proof because I really need to know these myths most of the world doesn’t believe in have gotten away with it. That they’ve pulled off the greatest trick ever, living so stealthily that they’ve become legends and to believe otherwise nowadays makes everyone skeptical. I want to believe there are still wonders out there left unspoiled.” His face hardens. “But I wouldn’t interfere. I wouldn’t so much as take a picture of a Loch Ness Monster. I’d never violate its right to privacy.”

“You wouldn’t tell anyone?”

“I wouldn’t tell a soul. Not a single soul, not for a billion dollars.” He glances at me, expression unsure. “You want to laugh.”

He is wholly misinterpreting my smile. I have never adored a speech more than I adore Wesley’s talking ardently about mythical creatures with longing in his gaze. I have never had reason to hope the Loch Ness Monster exists, and now I’m 100 percent invested. I need Nessie to be real, for Wesley.

“Not at all,” I assure him. “I believe in things, too. Like, all the UFOs that have been spotted? I think we probably have aliens walking around on Earth.” I shrug.

His eyes light up. “Right? It makes sense! I think extraterrestrials are here, too. Maybe hiding in plain sight, looking the same as we do, or possibly shielded from the visible spectrum by advanced technology. Or, the government has them in captivity but they’re not telling us because it’ll expose the inhumane experiments they’re performing on them.” He slows down. “Look.”

It’s the entrance to a caved-in mine. The mine’s drawn on the map, too, right next to the first X. It’s barbed-wired, boarded up with a rotted beware sign. I wouldn’t have noticed it, obscured by a mass of thorny vines.

I whistle. “Nice catch.”

We drop our bags and stretch our limbs, my muscles sore already. After I strike gold and become a billionaire, my first purchase is going to be a track extending all the way out here, with one of those San Francisco trolleys to go with it.

“So. Aliens. Area Fifty-One,” I mention as we forage with our noses to the ground. I’m pleased I can contribute more to the alien conversation, wanting to keep the