Probable Impossibilities

  Chapter 8

  Saturday morning and I found the kitchen full of people again. I hoped this wasn't going to be the new routine.

  I tapped the box adding a couple more Cheerios to my already full bowl. Mom dropped a banana on the table. “Add fruit to it, dear.”

  Wasn't there some physics law about more than one thing in the same place at the same time? Just adding milk was going to be tricky.

  Desiree pulled out a knife and in seconds banana slices were artistically balanced over the mound of cereal. I began to wonder if she had moved in. Not that I minded.

  Dad came out from his grotto carrying his laptop. “Oh good. An audience. Let me set the scene. Jacques is about to escape from the hospital.”

  “What's he doing in the hospital?” Desiree asked.

  Dad waved his hand in the air. “Not important to this reading. Helen, you're the medical expert. Your input would be invaluable.”

  Mom smiled and gave him a hug on the way to the dishwasher. “Read on, dear.”

  Dad cleared his throat.

  Several nurses hurried past and disappeared into other rooms. The traffic cleared and he slipped into the hall pulling the door closed behind him. Trying to look nonchalant, he padded down the long hallway. Not an easy task in a hospital gown.

  “He's not going to get far in that outfit,” Mom said.

  Dad nodded and kept reading.

  Loud voices came from the direction of his room followed by running feet. Heart racing he scanned the hall. Taking a deep breath and hoping he wasn’t barging in to anything indelicate, he yanked open the first door he could find. A linen closet. Relief surged through him leaving him slightly dizzy. He stepped inside and pulled the door shut behind him.

  With reluctance he sorted through the laundry bin and dressed in the cleanest orderly clothes he could find.

  “Without any underwear?” Des said. “That's disgusting.”

  “What about shoes?” Nate asked.

  “Too many details,” Dad said. He cleared his throat and read on.

  Jacques pushed the cart into the hall. The only exit was past his room. Slowly he turned the cart around and retraced his path. A nurse stepped in front of the cart, and tossed in a bundle of soiled towels. “There’s more in room 213,” she said.

  He passed 213 without stopping. Four men dressed in jeans and polo tops stood talking quietly outside his room. Security for sure. He shuffled past keeping his eyes down.

  As he stepped into the elevator he heard footsteps approaching. A man's voice called, “Hold the door.”

  Jacques jabbed the button for the basement level and didn't look up till the doors closed.

  When they opened again a man in a crisp uniform rushed by. The stylized logo of a worker with a mop was emblazoned on his back. “Another one?” he said over his shoulder. “Well, there’s room in the back. Just slide it in and close up the doors if you don’t mind.” He climbed into the driver’s seat of a large van, which said Joe's Cleaning Service across the side.

  Jacques ran the cart into the back. He climbed in behind it and hauled up the ramp. The van’s engine started. He pulled the doors shut with a bang. The van began to move and he squeezed between two soft-sided carts and sank to the floor.

  Dad looked up for approval. His eyes traveled around the room and landed on me. I swallowed the last bite of Cheerios and said, “Good escape, Dad.”

  “Very logical,” Des said. “Well planned. Except for the underwear,” she added under her breath.

  My phone beeped and I looked down to see a text from Gen. She was waiting on the front porch. I put the bowl in the dishwasher and slipped out while they were discussing refinements on Jacques wardrobe.

  Gen sat on the porch swing, her eyes riveted to her phone. Without looking up she patted the wooden seat.

  I squeezed in beside her and craned my neck to see her phone.

  “Remember the video?” she asked.

  “About Bigfoot in our woods?”

  She nodded. “It's spreading.”

  “You mean he's been spotted other places?”

  “No, the story's been picked up by a blogger.”

  I sat back. The swing wobbled. “Really?”

  “Here, I'll play it for you.”

  Her fingers glided over the screen. She turned it toward me and a video began to play a short flurry of cheesy announcement music. The screen pixilated into the animation of a man behind a news desk. He looked familiar, but I couldn't place him until he started to speak. It was the deep mellow voice from the cartoon character.

  “Hello, I'm George Roge and this is the first installment of my soon to be famous video blog. I call it Probable Impossibilities. Tracking Tomorrow’s History Now. I'll start by putting my best foot forward, and it's a big foot.”

  He swung his leg up on the desk showing us a big, bare, hairy foot. A toothy grin spread over his face. “New sightings of the fabled Sasquatch have been seen near a small town in rural America. That's right. Bigfoot. Now control your laughter and prepare to be amazed.”

  He swung his chair to the side and the camera focused on the wall behind him. “Check out this video taken by an eye witness.”

  The wall faded to green and the video EGOR had sent to Gen began playing. The blogger continued talking.

  “This historic footage will be difficult for the scientific community to disclaim out of hand. Stay tuned for future updates. This is an ongoing story.”

  Gen’s eager face looked up from the phone.

  “It's just a remake of the cartoon with the same video...” my voice trailed off as I melted into those trusting eyes. “Well...it's...it's more...professional,” I ended lamely.

  “It has over 5,000 hits,” she said, “and it's only been out there one day. Do you know what this means?”

  “Our town's going to be overrun with,” I stopped short of saying nuts, and frantically searched my brain for the right adjective.

  “Opportunists,” she filled in for me. “Strangers will be looking for ways to exploit this and leave us out of the loop. The woods won't be safe anymore.”

  A shadow fell across my feet and a wave of perfume washed over me. I looked up to see Desiree and Nate.

  He leaned forward. “Are there strangers lurking in our humble woods?”

  Gen palmed her phone and gave him one of her disarming smiles.

  Desiree slipped her hand into Nate's and entwined her fingers through his. “Leave the kids alone Nate.”

  “Aren't you concerned that something might be going on in the woods?” he asked.

  “Nothing we don’t know about,” she said.

  “Do we know what others know that we don’t know?”

  Desiree's eyes sparkled. “I don’t know.”

  “Maybe some ruthless person is exploiting our resources.”

  “I’m not concerned. I get my herbs from the store.”

  “All of them?” he said.

  She pulled him toward the steps. He followed her and they laughed all the way to his car.

  Gen stared at the old Chevy Impala as it drove away. “What was that all about?”

  I shrugged. “Nate used to be fun. Now he's practical and boring unless he's talking to Des.”

  “Well, don't let it happen to you,” she said.

  “Not much chance of that while I'm hanging out with you.”

  “Don't try to change the subject with that innocent smile. We need to go back into the woods and do more research.”

  “Research?” My voice cracked as I squeaked out the word and I felt my face getting hot. She didn't seem to notice.

  “We can't let this blogger make all the discoveries,” she continued. “Who knows what his motive might be.”

  “Fame and fortune?” I suggested.

  “Exactly. Exploitation of Bigfoot. We have to protect him.”

  I was more concerned with who was going to protect us.

  “Tomorrow we head into the woods,” she decla
red.

  “Can we eat before we go? Desiree is cooking after church.”

  “Her dinners are scary,” Gen said.

  “Yeah, but I don't want to miss one of her sensational desserts.” I gave her my best grin.

  “Okay,” she agreed. “We'll be well fortified for the adventure.”