Free The Sasquatch Hunter's Almanac by Sharma Shields

strategic to snap him out of his dreamland.
    She began with a neutral phrase— an amazing idea —meaning to add, however, that she disapproved, and also to say, with some derision, that the whole business was batty.
    It was too late. He had already lunged from his knees to embrace her. Gladys cried out as though expecting to be slugged, and then she felt herself wrapped in his familiar, spindly arms. She stopped breathing for a moment, baffled and overwhelmed. When he pulled away, there were tears rolling down his cheeks—actual tears! She had never seen him cry, except when his father had died, but even then there had been only an ugly open quaking of the mouth, a facial bleariness. But now he cried from relief, as freely as a child.
    â€œI worried so much,” he said, “about what you would say. I thought you would fight me tooth and nail. What a shock this must be to you, Gladys. But I feel—” He stopped here, releasing her and bringing clasped fingers to his heart. “I feel that if I don’t do this, I will die. I will die a sudden horrible death. Have you ever felt that way about something? That you must either commit fully to the task at hand or die an agonizing death?”
    He was not really asking the question of her, only marveling over his own appetites, and so Gladys said nothing, although what she thought was, Yes. I felt that way about marrying you. All of those long years ago. Perhaps not so much because of an extraordinary love for him but because it meant that she would be released from the tedium of her girlhood, a life that had been comfortable enough but as shineless and unsupportive as an old, beat-up pair of shoes. She had wanted stability, status, success. And Eli, to his credit, had so far brought her those things.
    And now what? Would she lose everything?
    â€œI do support you,” Gladys said, through gritted teeth. “But what of Amelia?” she asked. “What of her future?”
    Eli rose to his feet. “I don’t want you worrying about money, Gladys. I won’t leave you in the poorhouse. I still have my license, after all. I’ll keep a few patients from the practice. The patients will come here, to the house, for treatment. Just a handful of them, enough to keep us comfortable. You won’t want for anything.”
    â€œBut just enough? What does that mean?”
    â€œYou know, dear, it wouldn’t hurt us to live in a smaller house, in a more modest neighborhood, with more modest things.”
    Gladys blanched. “You can’t mean you’d sell the house?”
    â€œFact is,” he continued, fidgeting, “this could be a gold mine. If I can prove his existence, just think of it. The money. The fame! Imagine if I produced a verifiable corpse! There’s nothing we’ll want for. And I believe I know how to find him. I believe I have an advantage. I practically know him personally.”
    Gladys hesitated. Her husband was mad, she feared, but she was comforted by his promises of money and fame. She was not ashamed of her desire for wealth. She was a grown woman, after all, and deserving. And she wanted the best for her daughter. She wanted the best clothes for her, the best education. God forbid the child should attend public school or community college.
    Gladys felt herself giving in; she had no choice but to accept his empty promises. His Northwest ape! His Sasquatch! It was ridiculous, Gladys knew. But watching him as he paced excitedly back and forth, she was temporarily appeased by his ardor.
    â€œOkay, then,” she said. “You have my blessing, Eli. Godspeed.”
    To her own ear, she sounded Shakespearian. She was pleased with herself. Eli, even more pleased, kissed her flush on the mouth, and the kiss becalmed her. She was the perfect wife, and he was the adventuresome husband who would win them glory.
    Why not? The world was filled with strange things. Maybe he would find one of them.
    The