“With all due respect, Gwen, you’re wrong about ghosts,” Niles tells me, setting down his fork. “There have been hundreds of thousands of documented sightings around the world—many of them eerily similar in nature, even though there is no way the people who reported them could’ve heard about each other’s stories. And as to Karen’s work, they—like you—are covering a vast area of unexplored territory. What if these creatures have senses that are so far superior to that of a human, they are able to avoid being found?”
“With all the trail cams that have been set out all over the world, surely one of them would’ve caught sight of a Yeti by now,” I answer. Check and mate.
Karen shakes her head. “Not true. What if Yetis are so intelligent that they figured out how to avoid trail cams?”
“That would require them to have an understanding of what a trail cam even is, which is an impossibility for an ape-like creature with no contact with humans or our technology whatsoever,” I tell her.
Her face turns bright red, and I can tell I’m totally upsetting her, but I can’t stop now. Not with so much at stake. I have to find a way to show Ty that what I do has value, which means separating me from them.
Niles comes to her rescue with, “What if the very act of putting out the trail cam leaves a human scent that lingers for years? Not one we would detect, but one that they would detect, therefore avoid? Look at cadaver dogs—they’re able to smell human remains, even fifty years after they were buried, even at the bottom of a lake. We certainly can’t detect that, but they can. And they’re only dogs. A Yeti could have a far superior sense of smell than a dog.”
“Human bones release a gas that the dogs can smell,” I say. “If a human walks through an area of the woods, hangs up a trail cam, then leaves, they don’t leave anything else behind other than the camera. A scent, yes, but after the first rain, it would certainly be washed away.”
“But we have to go change out batteries on the cameras,” Karen says, raising her voice a little. “Each time we do, we are leaving some type of evidence.”
“Nothing that would last as long as the batteries.”
Rohan taps his glass with his fork, making a loud dinging sound. “Okay, so we’ve got to get going now. Thiago is paying our bill and it’s time to gather our things. I heard a lot of discussion around the table, but nothing about legacy, so I wanted to remind you that it was very important to Dr. Napper that you all think about your legacy. That was the whole point of this morning. Well, not the alpaca farm. That was just because they’re so cute.”
Heads nod around the table, and words of agreement are heard.
“Adorable, with the little humming noises?”
“So freaking soft and fuzzy.”
“Anyway,” Rohan says, “leaving a legacy was extremely important to Dr. Napper, and I know part of that legacy is to inspire others to do the same. So, what will your legacy be? What will people remember about you?”
Niles stands up and murmurs, “What’s your legacy going to be, Gwen? Shitting on other people’s dreams so you can get ahead?”
Karen stands too, and looks at me like I just kicked a baby alpaca. “I certainly know what I’ll remember about you.”
Savannah shakes her head at me. “I actually think you would make a coat out of puppies.”
I sit for a second, my face hot with shame. I shouldn’t have gone after them like that. I didn’t have to do that. I have one last sip of water, remembering something my dad said when we were watching the news one night: Desperation will turn even the best people into the worst versions of themselves.
And I just allowed it to do that to me.
I linger a bit at the table, then head to the bathroom, hating like hell that I’m going to have to spend several more days with people I’ve hurt. I feel suddenly very alone, and it’s all my own doing. I just want to go home and go back to my safe, ordinary life with my people.
When I walk out of the bathroom, I see Ty waiting in the hallway. My heart pounds a little faster as I look up at him, assuming he’s about to give me a hard time about what I just did. Not wanting to hear it, I say, “You really didn’t have to wait for me.”
“Thiago said I had to. You’re my buddy, and everyone else took off already.”
“I’m sure they did,” I answer, winding my way through the tables to the door. Ty quickens his last two steps so he can hold the door open for me.
Oh, stop being so gallant already.
As soon as we’re out in the bright sunshine, I pull on my hat and start up the street.
“That was certainly an interesting lunch,” he says.
Letting out a sigh, I say, “Unfortunately, I have a real gift for offending people sometimes.”
“Yeah, you sure went in for the kill back there,” he says, and I don’t know him well enough to know if he’s horrified or impressed. He’s horrified, right? Yeah, he is. Dammit.
“I just … can’t seem to help myself sometimes. I come from a long line of very logical, highly accomplished scientists who believe in good science. It’s like … our religion. I was taught to follow it with great zeal and defend it to the death.”
“Too bad they didn’t teach you how to hold back when you’re dealing with unarmed opponents. Talk about bringing a bazooka to a fist fight. That was … ugly.”