“I know all this.”
“Then why can’t you do more to stop it? You live there. Chief Reed is your nephew. He should set them free.”
Tommy places his hat back on his head and frowns, shaking his head. “Those bears wouldn’t stand a chance in the wild anyway.” My mouth hangs open, and he puts up his hands in defense. “I’m not saying it’s right. I’m just saying, it’s bigger than me. There’s nothing I can do. Reed isn’t going to impact the whole reservation for an old man like me.”
I flop down in a chair. “I know. It’s just so hard to watch something so awful and be so helpless to change it.”
Tommy pats my shoulder. “I know, I’m sorry. It’ll work itself out. You’ll see.” He squints at me. “Maybe this will make you feel better.” He reaches behind the counter and pulls out a long wooden box.
I trace my finger over the three intricate carvings decorating the lid—a bear, a wolf, and an eagle. I look up at him in surprise. “You made this?”
He nods and smiles proudly. “With my own two hands and a load of love. I know you’re into animal totems, so I did some research.” He points to the pictures. “The bear, or yona, tells you to be aware of your limits. The wa-ya, or wolf, will help you develop strength in your decisions. And the eagle, we-ha-li, says that you can soar to great heights.”
I gawk at him. “This is awesome, but I thought you didn’t believe in that stuff.”
He shrugs. “This gift isn’t about me. It’s about you. Are you going to open it?”
I slide back the lid to reveal a knife set resting atop soft, purple-velvet padding. Tiny turquoise and red beads line up in perfect rows, decorating the deerskin sheath. I ease the knife out of its pouch and hold it up to the light, admiring the craftwork. Tommy even carved “Elu” into the shiny blade. “It’s beautiful.”
He lightly runs his finger along the ridge. “Hand cut from steel. Strong, like you.”
I throw my arms around his neck. “I love it … and you.”
Tommy half bows. “Gv-ge-yu-hi too, Elu.” Then he eyes me. “Well? What are you waiting for? Get back to work. I’m not paying you to stand around and chitchat.”
I salute. “Right away, Chief.”
Tommy shuffles off to the back office as I tuck the present into the side pocket of my backpack and assume my position behind the counter. As I wait for customers, the soft music, a blend of beating drums and sorrowful chants, sways around me. The end of summer is so slow in this town. My eyelids grow heavy from a lack of sleep. I flip through my notebook, reread my notes, and doodle little flowers in the corners. My tummy protests. Only one more hour until my break: sugar, caffeine, and a catnap.
Someone whistling a song breaks my trance.
At first, I think it’s the music. Until a big burly man with a pockmarked face steps in front of me. I recognize him from Mr. Fields’ store. He’s decked out in a Cabela shooting shirt with suede patches on both shoulders and expensive-looking pants. Dude screams hunter from a mile away. Rich one, too.
He speaks with a thick country drawl that even I find hard to understand. “Yew work here?” Before I can answer, the man frowns and, for some reason, speaks slower and louder. “I … SAID … DO YEW … WORK … HERE?”
Obviously, he’s confused because I’m not deaf or stupid.
I suppress a deep sarcastic urge to answer, Noooo, I’m hanging out behind the counter wearing a store apron and a name badge. Instead, I simply reply, “May I help you?”
He places both hands on the counter and leans in a little too close for my comfort. “You got any guns?”
Survival
Skill #10
If lost, do not be impulsive. Patience can be the difference between life and death.
I smother my sarcasm and motion toward the back wall where rods are obviously on display. “Sorry, sir, this is a fishing shop.”
He removes his hat and glances around the store until his muddy-brown eyes fixate on a glass case. “Let me see them knives.” Without waiting, he moves around the counter and eyes the locked display. “How about that one?”
“Sir, that’s a limited edition. What kind of knife are you looking for?”
He leans in and reads the sales tag of the weapon he’s admiring. “A Browning Russ Kommer Custom Limited Edition Knife.”
He chuckles as I unlock the case and take out the box. “This is custom made. Hand carved with a black ash burl handle.”
“Yeah, I can read.” The man gives me a nod without even looking at the knife. “I’ll take it.”
I hesitate at the thought of someone dropping this much money on a knife. Must be nice to just walk in and buy something off the rack without caring about the price tag. “Sir, it’s a thousand dollars.”
He waves me off and browses through the display of GPS watches. “Okay, go ahead and ring her up.”
“Sir, are you sure? We have other ones that are cheaper. But just as good.” I have no clue why I’m talking this guy out of buying, and my piggy bank out of a large commission.
He frowns. “I said, I’d take it.”
“Okay.” I feel a bit guilty for protesting in the first place. Tommy really needs a big sale. My hands shake as I punch in numbers on the register. This transaction is as much as the store makes in a week. Maybe even a month. I can feel the man staring at me. Without looking up, I recite his total. “That’ll be $1,007.37. Do you want a bag?”
He pulls a wad of cash from his back pocket and counts out ten one-hundred-dollar bills plus a twenty. “Nah, I’ll just take it with me.” The man chuckles as he takes the box. When the receipt pops out the top, he rips off the little piece of paper and turns away from the counter. The whole time whistling the same song that I still can’t name.
I call after him. “Sir, your change?”
He doesn’t even bother to look back. “Keep it. This place needs it more than I do.”
Before I can protest any more, the wooden wind chimes on the front door clap together, announcing his exit. I sit on the stool, staring at the money before dropping it in the donation jar on the counter for Save the Bears.
A few seconds later, Wyn struts up and leans on the counter. “Hey you.”
I can’t help but grin. “What are you doing here?” I look at my watch. There’s no way he could have eaten lunch in thirty minutes. Poor Skyler, she probably had to have her Cobb salad and water all alone. The thought lifts my spirits.
Wyn winks. “I thought I’d stop by to bug you before I head out.”
“Oh, lucky me.” I glance through the window to see if the redneck is still in the street. “Hey, did you see the big dude that walked outta here?”
Wyn thumbs over his shoulder. “The jolly red giant? Yeah, why? Was he bothering you? ‘Cause if he was, I can take care of him.”
I scoff because he isn’t nearly as tough as he talks. I happen to know he’s been afraid of spiders since the first grade. Freaked out every time we watched Charlotte’s Web in class. I snicker. “Oh? And what will you do? Talk him to death?”
“A real man never gives away his fighting strategy.”
I rub my eyes and give a fake yawn. “Of course you don’t. Anyway, the dude just came in here and slapped down a thousand big ones for a really expensive knife. Barely blinked.”
“Must be nice.” Wyn plays with the fishing lure display. It topples over, spreading hooks and flies all over the ground.
I groan. “Smooth move, Slick.” We both bend over to pick up the pointy hazards and almost knock heads.
He doesn’t move back. Instead, he hovers an inch from my face. “Did you ask Tommy about that hill?”
“Sidehill? He’s never heard of it.”
“Want me to ask my connections?”
I put my hand over his face. “If you mean Carl, no. He probably knows it’s in the file, and he’ll wonder why you’re asking.”
“Speaking of file, I put it back already.”
I prick my finger on a hook and suck on the bead
of blood. “That was quick.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t want to carry it around town. Captain was out for lunch, so I went for it. Almost got nabbed too. And if I had, don’t think for a second I wouldn’t have taken you down with me.”
I plant a fake punch on his chin. “I know you better than that.”
“I hate it when you’re right.”
“I love it.” I flash him a big smile and return the display to its upright position.
“Well, I’m going to go meet … I mean, I gotta go.” He’s obviously about to meet Skyler and just didn’t want to say the S word.
“Okay.”
He turns around to walk away then glances over his shoulder. “Hey, you up for a game night tonight? Haven’t hung out in a while. I need to get my revenge for the last time we played Scrabble.”
I pretend to fiddle with the little boxes of impulse buys on the counter. “You seem pretty confident for someone who lost.”
“Persistence is a state of mind.”
“So is crazy.”
“You would know.” He widens his eyes. “Anyway, it’s not about winning. It’s how you play the game that really matters.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, right. You don’t believe that anymore than I do.”
He flashes me a wide Cheshire-cat grin and shrugs. “Yeah. I know, but it sounded real sportsmanlike. So are we on?”
I check my watch. Break time. “Can’t. All I can think about when I get home is food and bed.”
His gaze turns soft for a brief moment. A few uncomfortable seconds pass between us until he breaks through the awkward silence. “Okay, maybe next time then?”
I straighten a stack of invoices, trying to hide my disappointment that he’s leaving again. “Uh, yeah … sure. I’ll call you.”
His face flushes a bit as if he’s hot, and he abruptly heads for the door. “If you’re lucky, I’ll answer.” He waves over his shoulder without looking back. As he walks out, he rubs the back of his head, which tells me he’s smiling. Somehow, even when I can’t see his face, I know exactly what’s going on just by his gestures. I know him that well.
After Wyn leaves, a mixture of emotions stirs around inside me. Why is it guys always seem cuter after you break up? In Wyn’s case, he’s never been hot cute, just adorable cute. But mostly, I’ve always digged his sense of humor. He makes me laugh even when I don’t want to. On paper, we’re probably the perfect pair. A comfortable blend. So different, not alike in most ways, yet still go together somehow. Like peanut butter and jelly or cookies and milk.
I rubberneck out the window, watching him kid around with shop owners as he passes them on the street. It’s funny how people act when Wyn’s around. The men slap him on the back as if they’ve always been great friends. And the women smile and giggle. Wyn makes everyone happy. And when he’s around me, my world is brighter even if it is upside down.
Just then, a little dark cloud rolls through, and her name is Skyler. She sneaks up behind Wyn and covers his eyes with her hands like a bad game of guess who. Doesn’t she have a life? When he spins around, she gives him her best fake smile. I swear, she even sticks out her boobs.
Maybe I should have punched them harder.
~~~~
I sit at my usual booth in the diner and wait for Mom to bring my double order of caffeine and Cinn-O-Bun. Chrome booths with cracked yellow seats fill the large space. A long counter is off to one side of the room, ending at the kitchen, while a buffet borders the far wall, filled with potato salad, mac and cheese, and jellos and puddings. Even though the diner is old, it’s usually packed this time of day. After all, it’s the only place in town with decent food. And that’s not saying much.
Mom finally strolls up with a pencil over one ear and a tray on her hand. Instead of taking my order, she slides a plate full of real food in front of me and annoyingly pinches both my cheeks. “Eat up! You’re getting too skinny.”
I scoff at the ridiculous comment. “You’re not eating with me?”
She stares at the top of my head, unable to lock in eye contact. “Can’t, too busy.”
I duck around, trying to capture her gaze. “You want to hear about my session?”
Mom smiles at someone as they walk in the door. “Be right with you!” Then she addresses me. “Can it wait until later? I’m slammed today. We’re a person short.”
I mumble, “Sure.”
I try not to look too dejected, but before I even answer, she scoots off to take care of her patrons.
Only instead of waiting on tables, she walks back into the kitchen and starts chatting with Kenny, the short order cook. I stare down at my stale turkey sandwich with mayo, a wilted salad, and a milkshake. Somehow, Mom’s forgotten her daughter is vegetable-resistant and lactose-intolerant.
She’s lost it.
Finally, we have something in common.
I slide the drink away and nibble on the bread like a chipmunk. Scanning the room, I observe all the people stuffing themselves. Up at the buffet, people scoop all-they-can-eat onto a plate, determined to get their $6.99 worth. Dad loved the buffet here. Then again, he loved anything on sale.
I soak in my surroundings and listen to the buzz around me. I study each person, noting peculiar things about them most people wouldn’t catch. The way they walk. The way they laugh. One lady slips on a smudge, and a man drops food on the floor then pretend he didn’t. It’s amazing what you see when everyone assumes no one is watching.
At the end of the line, a large man scans the dessert selections and sticks his finger in the pudding to test it. Gross! He spins around and faces my direction. That when I notice him. The redneck from Tommy’s store. He lumbers toward me, balancing two overfilled plates. I slouch down in my seat, hoping he doesn’t notice me. Luckily, he slides into the booth in front of me. I sigh in relief but continue to spy on his reflection in the window.
He chews his cud and talks at the same time. A drizzle of ketchup cakes both corners of his mouth as he stuffs in a double cheeseburger and a spoon full of mashed potatoes at the same time.
A twiggy dude with a thin mustache, already eating in the booth, leans in and speaks with a lisp. “Think we gonna get close this time?”
The redneck jams a few fries into his pie hole before he’s even swallowed the previous bite. He struggles to speak clearly. “Billy, I told yah already. All we gotta do is get us some donuts and corn. Maybe rub some honey on us. They’ll come beggin’.”
Billy scoffs. “Aw, geez, Al. I just want to catch ’em, not date ’em.”
Corn? Honey? Either these guys want to hunt bears, or they’re trying to be the next big hit on YouTube. Some people do whackadoo stuff just to get a kill. One guy even tried baiting a bear by holding marshmallows in his teeth. That didn’t go over so well with the bear or the guy’s face. Dad’s told me some crazy stories. A few sick ones too.
Al whistles the song I still can’t place. He wipes his mouth on his t-shirt. “You ready?”
Billy nods. “Bear-ly.”
Al cackles. “Ha! Good one.” I roll my eyes at how many times I’ve heard that joke up here.
Billy stuffs some of the free bread and packets of crackers into his pockets. “Let’s get goin’ then. Catch us some you know what.”
Al lowers his voice and smacks Billy upside the head. “Sshhhh.”
Both of these guys are a donut short of a dozen. For one, this is not bear season. Two, unnaturally baiting bears in North Carolina is illegal. Any way you look at it, these guys are breaking the law. Big time.
Whether they know it or not is the question.
Al snorts. “No need to waste your last brain cell worryin’. We won’t get caught this time.”
My ears perk up like a dog tuning into a high pitch. This time? I hold my breath for fear I’ll miss something important. My hands tremble under the table. There are only two people here who would bust these guys for illegal hunting.
Les.
Or Dad.
Billy wh
ispers with a slight lisp. “You sure?”
Al hisses like a deflating tire. “Positive.”
I slink down even further, praying they don’t see me as they stand to leave. After the two men pay and walk outside, I peek through the mini-blinds. They walk down Main Street and disappear into the back alley. As soon as they’re out of sight, I sprint out of the diner and bolt to the corner. Peering around the side, I watch them climb into a shiny green Dodge Ram with temporary tags.
I hesitate for a second. Should I tell Les, or should I follow them and see where they go first? What if they’re totally innocent? That’d be the last thing I need. Carl and Les would never believe me again. On the other hand, if these guys are hunting around up in these mountains, maybe they know something about my dad?
Out in the woods, these are the tiny decisions that contribute to someone losing their way. To act or not to act. To move or not to move. Those basic questions can make a huge difference.
Between life and death. Lost or found.
I bolt toward Luci.
If these idiots know something about Dad, there’s only one way to find out.
Survival Skill #11
By moving slowly, you decrease the chance of detection and conserve energy you may need later.
Dark, billowy clouds roll across the sky like tumbleweeds as I snake up the mountain, leaving a safe distance behind the truck. Once the men turn down a dirt lane, I wait a little before inching my bike around the bend. Their truck is parked off to one side, partially concealed by the trees. What Dad called a 4-5-9 or suspicious vehicle.
As Luci rolls closer, the reality of my decision to follow these guys finally clicks. This plan would definitely be a “don’t” in the Dumb Girl’s Guide to Wilderness Survival handbook. However, if I don’t chase after these idiots now, they may be gone by the time I get help.
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