Page 74 of Silent Shadows

“What?” I ask, scared I said too much.

“You know the Loveland Frogman?!”

I blink. “Obviously.”

“Oh, my God.”

“What?”

“No, I just…” She laughs harder now. “I fully thought that was something very few people knew about. I had a phase in seventh grade where it was all I cared about. I begged my dad to bring me to Ohio. He told me I was being crazy and to let it go,” she pauses, her smile dropping. “He has never taken much interest in anything I do, but he cares that I’m successful, I guess. Anyways, I can’t believe you know about it.”

“Well, it is a legitimate regional cryptid case study,” I say, in an attempt to validate her curiosity. How the tables have turned.

“You just said ‘legitimate cryptid case study’ with your whole chest.”

“Keep it in your pants, Bennett.”

She’s fully grinning now, sunlight catching her face through the trees. Then I remember I’ve been rambling.

And worse, she’s been listening.

Heat crawls up the back of my neck.

“I’m talking too much,” I say abruptly.

“You always say that right after saying something interesting.”

“Nobody thinks this stuff is interesting.”

“Well…I do.”

The words hit harder than they should.

Our pace slows, the trail narrowing as it climbs higher into the trees.

“Did you ever question why I came here?” she asks, eyes wide and honest.

“Well, yes. You’re wildly successful. So why the pivot?”

“I don’t know. It got tired. I missed the part of myself that got to be weird and talk about the things that are actually on my mind, not just whatever is trending. I want to be more than sex tips and celeb interviews. I kept finding myself pulled towards things people consider fringe, like what we’re doing here. I think people are resistant to it because it seems fake or like it’s all just confirmation bias, but the thing is, I don’t know that there are any answers out there and I don’t think I care. I’m just so curious about anything bigger than—” she shakes her head and looks up—“this.”

I stay quiet, letting her talk. I always let her talk, but this feels different. More than just narrating her own life. More like sharing with me.

“Marissa—my producer I’m always talking to—she caught me reading a Bigfoot article while interviewing this country artist. I didn’t even realize I was doing it. And, well, my listenership reflects that. The network I built is doing great, just not The DL with Daisy.”

The way Daisy says her podcast’s name is dripping with annoyance, and she even uses air quotes when she says it. But beneath the annoyance and disdain, I hear hurt and confusion. A slight quiver in her voice she tries so hard to hide.

She plays with one of her rings, sliding one on and off. “I thought I needed something different. My career, too. Needed a new pond—a lot like Frogman,” she says, attempting yet again to deflect with humor. But I get what she means.

“So how did all of this happen?” Daisy asks. “The crew, I mean.”

I glance toward her, picking up on her quick change of subject and tone. She's always more comfortable when she's the one asking the questions.

“You all fit together so well,” she notes.

I snort softly. “That’s generous. We’re a disaster.”

“But you’re a connected disaster.”