Bigfoot Believer

by Caroline Lee

  Sighing, she left the Old Town and stopped by her truck, just to check on Rajah. He hadn’t moved since she’d arrived, but she opened the window and made sure he had food—the leftover McDonald’s breakfast sandwich she couldn’t finish. The real reason she’d gotten to the ranch so early this morning was so she wouldn’t be tempted to visit the overlook where she’d met Nick. That had meant waking up when it was still dark and breakfast from a drive-through.

  Still, it had been worth it to see the sunrise over the lake at River’s End Ranch. She hadn’t drawn it this time, but would like to come back to paint that particular scene sometime. Once the sun was high enough in the sky that the rays no longer managed to reflect off both the water and the snow-capped peaks behind it, she lost a little interest, and began to wander through Old Town.

  Now though, she knew Rajah was fed and could go for a walk if he needed, so she had hours to explore.

  The mountains seemed to call to her. Okie, Okie.

  She wanted to paint them, but not today. Today she was just wandering.

  Wander, wonder, over, under, western world’s wandering wonder.

  The silly refrain bounced around her skull as she hiked, in time to her backpack’s beat against her shoulders.

  She was grateful she’d packed her water bottle and some granola, because it was hours later before she realized how long she’s been gone. There was something so invigorating about being up on the mountain. She didn’t go far, and never left the carefully tended hiking path, but she felt like she was in a different world up there.

  Mountains always did that to her—made her feel invisible, like she was standing on top of the world looking down. Today, she made sure to hide her face from any of the other hikers, and didn’t have to pretend a great interest in vistas from the overlooks.

  Up on the mountain, she was part of the vista. Part of the beauty, part of the art.

  Part of the art. Art part. Not invisible. The art is visible, and I’m just a part.

  When her rumbling stomach reminded her of the promise of ice cream—was she ready to see Nick again?—she headed back down the trail. On the way towards Old Town, she passed a cottage…one that looked like some kind of art all by itself.

  It was quaint, yes, but it was the garden which made her stop still, then sidle up to the fence and make sure no one was watching, before she took the chance to gape. Gnome statues were everywhere, doing all sorts of things. That one was reading, that one was trying to kiss his friend while holding a bouquet of flowers behind his back…that one looked like a hula dancer, while that one was covered in butterflies—were they real or fake?—and that one was…well, it looked like he was peeing into the bird bath, but it was hard to tell from this angle.

  What kind of magical place is this?

  The whole garden seemed inhabited by fairy-tale creatures of all sizes, and Okie was sure she saw a fairy or two peeking out from under flowers or behind trunks. Statues too? Pieces of art, surely.

  Who lived here? Who would take such care of little pieces of art like this? Okie glanced at the cottage, but there was no answer there. Just a rabbit in the window, his front paws—is that what rabbits called them?—braced against the window pane, twitching its nose at her.

  A rabbit lives there? Or is the person who lives there really a rabbit?

  Then another rabbit joined the first at the window, and they seemed to have a little conversation, noses twitching, before both jumped down.

  Or maybe two rabbits. Maybe more!

  She smiled softly at the silly notion and hitched her backpack higher on her shoulders, before giving a respectful nod to the largest of the statues—a very handsome smiling gnome—and turning back towards Old Town.

  Her phone buzzed at five minutes ‘til four, but she didn’t pull it out of her pocket, because she was focused on getting to her date—meeting, it’s just a meeting—on time. She had just bounded up to the boardwalk, feeling energized and rejuvenated after her day on the mountain, when she saw him.

  Nick had stepped out of what she guessed was his office, and was heading towards her and Sadie’s, his dark head bent over his phone. She took a moment to appreciate him as he walked, his dark jeans pressed neatly and his jacket slung over his arm. He wore a button-up shirt similar to the one he’d been wearing when she’d met him, and his hair was neatly trimmed.

  She hadn’t yet gotten close enough to tell exactly what colors his eyes were—purely artistic interest, she told herself—but his hair was a deep, rich brown. Almost black.

  Maybe one day she’d find the courage to stare long enough into his eyes to be able to tell their color.

  Maybe one day—

  She bit off the thought with a little yelp when she realized he’d come to a stop and looked up from his phone. Instinctively, she dropped her gaze to his shoulder, but not before she saw the little smile tugging at his lips. In the time she’d known him, she knew he didn’t show much emotion. It was one of the reasons she felt so comfortable around him; she didn’t understand most other humans and how they had different reactions to things than she did. It was easier to be friends with someone who didn’t confuse her by showing emotion all the time.

  But he’d smiled. He’d seen her and smiled. What did that mean? Why had he done that?

  “Hi, Okie,” he said as he moved towards her.

  Hi? He’d said “hi” and smiled! What was she supposed to do? Her brain managed to be frantic and completely blank at the same time.

  “Hi!” she finally blurted, still not sure what the proper thing to do was.

  He stopped in front of her and waggled his phone. Playing with it was his nervous habit, she remembered. It was good to remember things like that, so she’d recognize them again.

  “Glad I caught you. I got wrapped up in a project—we’re upgrading the phone systems—and I forgot to double-check with you about the time. I just emailed you.”

  That must’ve been why her phone buzzed. Okie relaxed slightly, one mystery solved.

  “Four o’clock is fine.” She wasn’t sure what else to say.

  But he grinned again, softer this time. “Okie-dokie. Ice cream?”

  He gestured towards the Saloon, and it took Okie a moment to realize he’d been agreeing, not calling her by her old nickname. How long had it been since she’d shared that story with someone?

  How long had it been since someone had asked?

  Probably since she’d left the foster care system.

  Over sundaes—Nick insisted on getting her the largest one when he found out she’d skipped lunch—they talked more about Bigfoot. Okie asked all the questions she could think of after her hours spent perusing his site. He couldn’t be stumped, which proved either he was a true enthusiast, or he was just a conscientious web admin.

  His Bigfoot website was what had brought her to the area, and she was totally enthralled by the idea of a giant being tramping around these mountains. She wondered if Bigfoot had been out there today, while she was watching, being part of the art. Or had he been on McIver’s Mountain when she’d painted it the first time?

  Impossible to know. Invisible.

  Just like her.

  “So what did you do today?”

  Nick’s question startled her out of her thoughts, and she blurted the answer without thinking it through, which was unusual for her.

  “I walked up the mountain. One of the mountains. The big one.” She waved towards the front of the Saloon.

  His expression remained impassive, which was normal for him. “Did you paint anything?”

  “No.” Shrugging, Okie fiddled with her empty bowl. “I liked being there. Being inside the painting.”

  Part of the art.

  He hummed thoughtfully and neatly scraped the bottom of his bowl. “My mom taught me that art should be appreciated from a distance. Stand back and study it, the way the artist intended.”

  “Your mom?” She found herself leaning forward, excited at this hint into his past, his in
ner self.

  “She’s an art historian. I grew up in Minot, North Dakota, where my dad was stationed.”

  “Is there a lot of art there?” She’d traveled through the Dakotas, and didn’t remember a lot of art museums.

  “A museum and a few galleries. There’s one in Grand Forks too, and that’s only three hours away.” That faint grin tugged at his lips, but it wasn’t a real smile. “Which is why I like digital art. It’s online, just like most of my life.”

  She nodded, able to appreciate and understand that point of view. Still… “Even in digital art, you can study it up close. You can stand inside it. You can paint what’s inside. In you…”

  Trailing off, she frowned, not sure how to explain it. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, staring at her spoon. “I’m not good with words.”

  When his hand covered hers, she jerked with surprise. It was the first time he’d touched her, other than that initial handshake. She resisted the urge to pull her hand away, because having him touch her like that was…nice.

  Nice Nick. Nice Nick.

  She was holding her breath when she met his eyes. They were dark brown, with little flecks of gold around the middle. Mysterious. Quiet. Thoughtful.

  She liked his eyes.

  She liked him.

  “I think you’re good at plenty of things, Okie Pucklin,” he said softly.

  Her brow wrinkled in confusion. What was that supposed to mean? “Those are words.”

  And his lips tugged upwards again. “And you’re not good with them, right?” He didn’t wait for her to agree—she wasn’t sure what she would say—before he continued. “But I’m not good with words either. It’s kind of what I’m known for. Not speaking much.” He shrugged. “Not being good with words.”

  He still hadn’t let go of her hand, and Okie wasn’t sure what she should do. She was still frozen, but forced herself to breathe.

  “Then maybe…” Her shoulders jerked in a shrug. “Maybe it’s a good thing we’re friends?”

  “Yeah.”

  That was all he said before he sat straight once more, his hand leaving hers. And she felt a little…not lost, but maybe emptier.

  Still, it had been nice to hear that he thought of himself as…sort of like her.

  Nice Nick.

  They talked about Call of Duty and Clash of Clans and a few other games as they collected their trash and headed outside once more. He was describing the technicalities of one of his recent raids as she looked up and down Main Street. This place sure was idyllic. Like something out of a painting, which is why she supposed there’d been that film crew up on the trail today…

  There were times when a view caught her eye, then her attention, then her heart. This was one of them.

  Nick’s words faded into background noise as she let her heart be captured by the little family she’d seen.

  They were walking down the street together, and with the backdrop of the mountains, it was a beautiful scene. The love they were so openly showing one another was enough to make someone—someone who’d never experienced such love, someone like Okie—ache at the intensity. She could paint this, and remember them—remember their joy—and share it with the world. It was a little encapsulated moment of perfection, and anyone who saw her painting would be able to appreciate it.

  What made it—them—so poignant was the juxtapositions. Their backdrop was nature, and they were standing in the Old Town, surrounded by buildings from a hundred years ago. But they were thoroughly modern; the mother was petite, with her light hair dyed teal in the back, obvious when she turned to help her husband with the baby. He was much taller, with dark skin and dark curls tight against his scalp. And he carried the baby tucked up against his shoulder, one large hand confidently cupping her back.

  It was a perfect picture of an American family, and Okie knew anyone would appreciate it.

  She would have to remember this—remember them—to paint later. Inhaling, she closed her eyes, willing the image to stamp in her memory so she could pull it out later when she was alone.

  The little family looked her way suddenly, and Okie took a step back, afraid her intensity had offended them somehow. Had they known she was staring at them? No, when they began to walk her way, she realized someone had called them. Nick? While she’d been focused on them?

  Sure enough, the woman lifted her hand in a cheery wave, grabbed her husband’s hand, and began pulling her family down the street towards them. From a distance, she heard Nick say something, and she shook her head and blinked to try to focus on what it was. Oh, he was telling her who they were.

  “—my friend Jace Cunningham, and his wife and new baby. Dink—his wife—is sort of related to the Westons who own this place. Her sister married one of the brothers. Her brother—”

  Nick said other things, but the buzzing in Okie’s ears rose to such a volume it drowned him out.

  Jace Cunningham?

  The name didn’t mean much, but the man…as the little family grew closer, she squinted, trying to remember why the tall black man made her pulse pound and her stomach flip over.

  Then the trio stopped in front of her and Nick, and the man untangled himself from his wife long enough to put out a hand for Nick to shake. In doing so, he flashed a quick smile—bright, even teeth against a normally somber expression—and a jolt of memory slammed into Okie.

  “Jason?”

  The tall man blinked down at her, confusion evident in his light brown eyes, but Okie couldn’t make her throat work. Couldn’t make herself do anything besides stare up at the man who’d once been her brother.

  Who’d once named her.

  Beside her, Nick cleared his throat. “Jace, Dink, this is my new friend Okie Pucklin.”

  And just like that, Jason’s expression softened. She could read something in his eyes, in the way the little lines around his lips disappeared, but she didn’t know what. She wasn’t good enough at understanding people’s cues—at understanding people—to know what he was thinking.

  Right up until he handed the baby to his wife, stepped forward, and wrapped her in a hug.

  And Okie, for all that it had been ages since anyone had tried to hug her, liked it. Sure, she stiffened initially, the same way she had when Nick had touched her hand—had it been just a little bit ago? Seemed like ages—but then she remembered him. Remembered his scent and his comfort, and how he’d always been willing to listen to her ramble about things like color and perspective, even if he hadn’t cared. Even if it had taken years to figure out he hadn’t cared.

  He’d cared about her, once.

  So she wrapped her arms around his middle, and squeezed back, her eyes shut, simultaneously remembering and trying not to remember the years they’d spent together in that house.

  It felt like hours later when he pulled away, stepped back, and Okie felt herself sway. Like she’d lost her support, like she was moments from collapsing.

  That’s when Nick touched her, his hand on the small of her back. She would’ve flinched, would’ve frozen, like she did before…but she needed his support now. She needed someone. Needed him.

  Jason turned to his wife—what was her name? Dink?—and smiled. “Okie and I lived in the same foster home for a while. She was much younger, but we were buds.”

  Dink’s smile was broad and genuine as she turned to Okie. “I’m so glad to meet you! I’ve gotten Jace to tell me a lot about his childhood, but I haven’t met anyone from his past besides the Westons.”

  Dazedly, Okie nodded, still overwhelmed by the sheer coincidence and the fact Nick was still touching her. That she liked Nick touching her.

  The whole thing was really weird.

  “Wait, you’re Jason?” Nick said from beside her. “The one who gave her the nickname Okie?”

  Jason’s grin flashed again as he took his squirming daughter back from his wife. “Yep. I think she was five or so, and ‘okie-dokie’ was one of the only things she would say. I called her that, and it stuck.”
>
  And then he was gone three years later, when their foster parents decided they couldn’t handle someone with his rebellious streak. She was gone a few months after that, when the noise and the regimen and forced interactions with others almost broke her.

  “Are you visiting the ranch?” Dink asked brightly, her gaze dropping to Nick’s arm, where it disappeared behind Okie’s back. “Or visiting a particular person?”

  She was asking Okie a question. Okie needed to answer it.

  Talk talk talk talk.

  She prodded her brain into answering. “Just passing through!” she blurted, then clamped down on her tongue.

  Stupid brain. Why couldn’t she say anything right? Why couldn’t she understand what people wanted to hear?

  Nick’s voice was gentle when he answered for her, and Okie felt tears come to her eyes when she realized how well he knew her already. When she realized how much she appreciated him.

  “Okie is an artist now. She travels around doing really amazing digital paintings. I’ve purchased a few for one of my sites and talked her into stopping by the ranch to meet me.” That’s it, his tone seemed to say. “She’s not staying on the ranch.”

  Dink’s expression lit up. “Will you stay with us, then? Just for a little while, to catch up with Jace?” She turned her pretty blue eyes to her husband. “You don’t mind, do you? Now that we’ve got all this extra space…?”

  Jason’s lips twitched slightly, and Okie realized he was very much like Nick. Neither of them showed their emotions much; she liked it. It made them easier to understand, for her at least.

  “Fine by me.” Jason leaned towards Okie just slightly, hefting his daughter higher on his shoulder. “When Lacey came into our lives, we moved from our tiny house into a slightly less-tiny apartment. The second bedroom is the nursery, but since Lacey’s still sleeping in her bassinet in our room, you’re welcome to it for a little while.”

  All three of them—not the baby—turned eyes towards Okie, as if waiting on her answer. She wanted to step away, but couldn’t, not with Nick’s hand on her back. But she also had the almost-uncomfortable, very unfamiliar urge to step closer to him. As if he could help her.