Page 50 of Silent Shadows

“You hunt Bigfoot.”

“I research unexplained phenomena.”

“Same thing.”

I grin despite myself, nudging her with my elbow, and I relish how I can feel her warmth.

“Look, I get why it’s hard for people to wrap their heads around. But at the end of the day, I do think most people get belief wrong. Belief isn’t supposed to replace logic.”

“Then what is belief?”

The question catches me off guard a little.

I stare into the fire, letting the silence stretch too long before answering.

“Possibility, I guess. Or a willingness to expand your idea of what may be possible.”

I feel her eyes roaming my face. “You didn’t tell me your ‘why’ for all this.”

And because I can’t keep my mouth shut, I nod and keep talking.

“When I was a kid, my parents used to take us camping all the time,” I say. “At least once a month, at home in Oklahoma, Arkansas, Texas, random middle-of-nowhere places.”

Daisy shifts and pulls her blanket tighter. “Your parents were into this stuff too?”

“You could say that.” I smile before I can stop myself. “My mom believed in literally everything. Aliens, ghosts, psychics. Didn’t matter. Bigfoot was her favorite, though.” I pause, taking a long breath before my eyes meet Daisy’s again. “We went on a vacation once just to find him in this area, actually. She just thought the world was bigger than people let themselves believe.”

Daisy’s expression softens. “And your dad?”

“He was more grounded,” I say. “But he loved that about her—how excited she got about things. Sometimes, he would bring up Bigfoot just to see her light up. He bought her books, stickers, you name it. Once he got her this wooden Bigfoot keychain, and she hung it on our rearview mirror.”

The memory hits harder than I expected, warming me as if I’m in the backseat during a ‘90s summer all over again. I swallow, and I know Daisy notices. She inches closer, her knee touching mine.

“We used to sit around campfires like this and tell stories,” I continue. “And for a little while, it felt like anything could be real.”

The fire hisses and settles. Daisy’s watching me differently now. Like she’s really taking me in. Which is somehow worse for my nervous system.

“They died when I was a teenager,” I say before I can decide not to.

The words fall heavier than everything else.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

I shrug because I still don’t know what to do with sympathy half the time. “Car accident.”

And there it is. The shift. The thing that always sits underneath this. Under all of it.

I exhale slowly. “Afterward… I don’t know. Believing in this stuff felt like a way to keep their memories alive.”

Silence settles after that. It feels more intimate than flirty banter ever could.

Daisy pulls her legs tighter beneath herself. “I kind of get that.”

I glance up.

“My mom died when I was little,” she says quietly.

Something in me tightens. “I didn’t know that.”