I spin around and face her, steaming mad. “Hi Pot, my name is Kettle.”
She gives me a stern look. “Damn it, Grace, I’m your mother, and you will respect me. This is my house you’re living in, and my hard-earned money you wasted when you didn’t show up for your session the other day.”
This time, I yell back. “I’ll pay for the stupid session! I make my own money, in case you forgot.”
She shakes her head. “That’s not the point. You need to tell me where you’re going and what you’re doing. You’re only sixteen.”
My mouth gapes open. My mother’s MIA for months and now, the one time I’m happy, the one time I don’t check in, she wants to be my mother again? I don’t think so. “So, what … you can stay out all night, but I can’t go camping without sending home a freakin’ status report every hour?”
She screeches. “I don’t have to answer to you, I’m an adult!”
I squawk back. “Then act like one! Because you haven’t since Dad went missing.”
Mom screams in my face. “You mean, the day your dad died!”
I yell even louder. “Uh, news flash … he’s not dead!”
Before I know what’s coming, Mom’s hand comes out of nowhere and makes contact with my face. Shocked, I touch a hand to my stinging cheek and stare her down. She’s never slapped me before.
Mom takes in a deep breath, and her shoulders hunch forward. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that … I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
I shield my face and turn my back so she doesn’t see me tear up. “You never do.”
She speaks in a monotone voice as if she’s a computerized robot. “That’s it, Grace. I’ve tried to reason with you. But you seem determined to fight me every step of the way. I can feel you slipping away. It’s like you’re a different person. Out of control.”
I cross my arms with my back still facing her. “Oh! Now you care. You sure you’re not mad because you can’t control me anymore? Or is it because you can’t control yourself?”
She sighs, and her voice becomes monotone. “That’s it. You’re grounded.”
Spinning around, I scream in a high-pitched voice. “What?!” Balling my hands into a fist, I dig my nails into my palms. Squinching my face, I challenge her. “You can’t ground me.”
Mom cranks up her volume again. “The hell I can’t!”
I shrug as if I don’t care. “Whatever. It’s not like you’ll be here to enforce it anyway.” The second the words spill out of my mouth, I wish I could reel them back in.
She frowns and raises her eyebrows in a question. “Oh, really? If that’s what you think, I’ll just take your bike with me.”
I grit my teeth, holding back what I really want to say for fear I’ll be slapped again. “You wouldn’t dare.”
She leans in close to my face. “Watch me.”
We stand there in a stare down, waiting for the other to cave. I crack first and break eye contact, like a dog submitting to his Alpha.
Mom switches her voice into a softer tone. “Listen, Grace. I’m sorry about everything. I never meant to let you down. I know I’ve made mistakes. Your dad’s death has been hard on both of us. Maybe we can find a way to put all this behind us and start over.”
“He’s not dead,” I mumble.
She continues pretending I didn’t utter a word. “So when you’re ready to apologize, come talk to me.”
I throw out my last dagger. “You mean, if you’re available.”
Mom tightens her lips into a thin line and stomps out of the room, slamming the door behind her. I smash my face against the glass and make foggy clouds on the window as I watch her dragging Luci into the back of her truck. After fifteen minutes of wrestling with my bike, Mom tears out of the driveway, leaving a cloud of dirt behind her.
I throw myself onto my bed and punch a pillow. It isn’t fair. I’m more responsible than she is, and I’m grounded? She has no business touching my bike. I can’t wait to leave this crappy house, crappy town, and crappy life.
As tears blur my vision, I flop down on my bed and stare at a line of glowy stars pasted along the white-pocked ceiling. Mo’s constellation pops into my head. The thought of him relaxes everything stirring around inside. Then I realize being grounded means I can’t be with him. Mom’s already messed up my life. I’m not about to let her screw that up too. My night wth Mo was the best thing that’s happened to me since all this happened.
As soon as I think of Mo, the bullet pops into my head. I run to get my bag. In all the drama, I’d completely forgotten about it. I dig through the front pocket of my backpack until my fingers touch the cold metal. After pulling out the cylinder, I twirl it in the light. The bullet is long and thin with a steel point on one end and a welded seam running down one side. A long scar.
Maybe I can find it online. I race downstairs to the kitchen where I left my laptop and sit at the table. For the next several hours, I skim through pictures of bullets from rifles, pistols, and shotguns. Some look familiar, but I can’t tell from the blurry photos. Dad used to have a book about guns in his office. Maybe that would be better.
I walk down the hall and stop in front of the office door. My breathing quickens. I haven’t been inside this room since before Dad disappeared. I cup the knob to stop my hand from shaking and slowly turn. The door clicks and swings open. The room is dark and chilly. Even musty.
Like a tomb.
Reaching in, I flip on the light. As the room lights up, my heart darkens. Everything is in its normal place except for one thing. Dad. I move in front of his mahogany desk and wipe my hand across the silky surface, streaking through a thin layer of dust that’s collected while waiting for his return. When I sit down in his old tweed chair, Dad’s scent overwhelms me. I vault out of the chair and back away before noticing the old sweatshirt hanging on the back. My body trembles as I clutch the garment and raise it to my nose.
The faint scent of pine needles mixed with wood teases my nose. Tears fill my eyes. I miss his smell. Something I never thought about before he left. Emotions clog my chest, creating shallow breaths. I flop back down in Dad’s chair and lay my head on his shirt. Touching his pens, I can almost picture him writing, taking notes. Next to his antique phone sits a brass frame holding a picture of our family, hugging and laughing. I clean the glass with the edge of my t-shirt.
If it wasn’t for these grainy pictures collecting dust around the house, I don’t know if I’d remember as much as I should. Somehow, even though I fight it, the details are peeling away. The little things are fading, no matter how hard I try to hold onto them. The day Dad disappeared changed everything I believed about families, about the woods, about my life. Like dynamite exploded under the foundation of my world. The ashes of my memories are all that remains.
Charred, disintegrating, and floating away.
I focus away from the photo and skim the bookshelf. For some time, I flip through books on hunting rifles and ammo and find some facts to note. Eventually, I make my way back to Dad’s desk and comb through the drawers for paper to write on. When I pull out a few sheets, a manila folder lies hidden underneath.
Curious, I take out the file full of articles and pictures.
One news clipping discusses how bear parts are a hot commodity in Asia used to make food and medicine. Anything from bear claws, gall bladders, and bile. A few pictures slide out and drift to the floor. I drop on my hands and knees to collect them from under the desk. My stomach churns at the graphic images of mutilated bears, all missing four paws. Bears locked in cages with tubes running from their bodies, collecting bile. Photos showing a row of bear hides and boxes of bear parts confiscated by customs. Then I come across a stack of stapled memos from the U.S. Fish & Wildlife Service and skim through the headings:
Bile and body parts, taken from bears using horrifically inhumane means, feed an illegal trade in bear products, which extend worldwide.
Poachers will hunt and remove bears from their natural habitat and
deliver them into a life of pain and suffering in the bear farms.
Wild bear gall bladders are of higher quality than those of farmed bears.
It is the black bear in North America that has become the victim of poachers looking to turn a quick profit in the Asian medicine market.
Bear Poachers Busted as Congress Considers Federal Bear Bill.
I never heard Dad talk about this level of bear poaching before. Not to such an extreme. At the bottom of the paper stack is a letter. When I read the name, my breath catches in my throat.
Chief Reed.
Basically, he politely threatens Dad if he “continues creating a stink about the bear pits.” Evidently, Dad’s constant chatter is “real bad for business.”
Unable to absorb any more, I return the file to the desk and scan the empty room, imagining Dad sitting in the squeaky chair with his feet propped up on the edge. That’s when I notice the fireplace. I walk over and kneel in front of the soot and half-burned logs. Little pieces of paper with charred edges hide in the soot. My breath catches in my throat as I pick up a small piece. It’s the remains of Mom and Dad’s wedding picture. On second glance, there are several more, all burnt. My dad would never do that. I frown. Only one person could’ve done this. Mom.
In that one moment, I hate her. Why would she do this? She’s Miss Scrapbook.
Mom’s betrayal and Chief Reed’s letter fill my mind. Followed closely by the disgusting images of mutilated bears.
I take out the bullet and twist the cylinder between my fingers.
What does it all mean? There seem to be several pieces from different puzzles scattered around me. But none of them match to make a complete picture. Or at least one that makes sense.
Just then, someone bangs on the front door. My heart bounces around in my chest, clambering for steady rhythm. I sneak out of my dad’s office and tiptoe over to the door.
Just as I peer out, a face pops up in the window.
Survival Skill #31
As a survivor, you must get a rescuer’s attention by sending a message they can easily understand.
I scream as Wyn presses a piggy nose against the glass.
Sliding off the chain lock, I swing the door open. “Dude, you gave me a heart attack.”
“Why?”
I stand there, holding the door wide open. “Your face scared me.”
Wyn strolls by me without being invited. “Gee, thanks.”
“Anytime.” I slam the door shut and follow him into the living room.
“Man, it’s been ages since I’ve crashed your pad.” He walks around the house looking at things before he jumps into another subject. “So, where yah been? I’ve been calling you the last two days.” He doesn’t face me.
I try not to stutter. “Oh, my phone isn’t charged. I keep forgetting to plug it in.”
He points at the bag of Spicy Cheetos on the counter. “I see you’re eating a nutritiously balanced meal.”
“Yup! Carbs, fat, and protein.”
He wrinkles his face. “I don’t get the protein part.”
“Cheese!” I shove a fistful of cheesy nuggets into my mouth.
“That’s disgusting.”
I flash him an annoyed look. “Surely, you didn’t come over to discuss my eating habits. Why are you here?”
“Well. Your mom called my house last night looking for you. She was kinda wigged out.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, sorry about that. She’s a little drama these days.”
He studies me in an odd way. “Seems to run in the family. Saw your bike in her truck at the diner. Is it broken or something?”
I scoff. “Believe it or not, she grounded me.”
“Seriously? What are you, ten?”
“My point exactly.”
Wyn sits down with one foot up on his leg and bounces his knee. “So where were you?”
I twist my hair into a bun. “Uh … no place special. Just out and about.”
He probes further like he knows something is up. “Not really your style to stay out that late by yourself, is it?”
I suddenly feel like I’m under a spotlight, and everything I’m hiding inside is glaring. Leaning back, I put my feet up on the coffee table, trying to appear casual. “Didn’t know I had to check in with everyone. The rules around here change as much as Joan River’s face.”
“That was bad.” He moves next to me on the couch. “So you’re not going to tell me either?”
I rub my hands across my pants. “Nothing to tell. I was out searching for more clues and decided to camp out.”
Wyn scoots down to get more comfortable, but his face is still tense. “And? Find anything?”
“Actually, a lot. Nothing makes much sense, but I have a theory forming.”
He sits back with his hands behind his head and stares at the ceiling. “Okay, let’s hear it.”
“You sure?”
“I’m all yours.”
I stand and pace, playing with my hair as I talk. “I found an article about Al. Evidently, he got nabbed for hunting in Tennessee. Got off on a technicality though. He probably came down here and started killing bears. I’m guessing Dad caught him and tried to bust him. Obviously, Al didn’t want to go to jail so he must have kidnapped my dad and hid him somewhere.” I slump back down next to him. “What do you think?”
He thinks for a moment. “I guess it sounds plausible.”
“Nothing else makes sense. I just need to find enough evidence to keep them behind bars so we can get them to crack and tell me where they’re keeping Dad.”
Wyn shakes his head. “Crack them? Wow, you are watching too much TV.”
Ignoring his comment, I think out loud. “Wonder if Carl tested the bag yet. Maybe it has new evidence to hold them.”
Wyn rolls his hands together and watches the clock. “You know Captain. If he did, he wouldn’t tell me.”
I prop my feet up on the table and lean back, mimicking Wyn’s posture. “I went over to Mama Sue’s yesterday. She’s trying to help me nail down the boot treads. Still hasn’t called though.” I crumple up the Cheetos bag and chuck it into the trash can. “Two points!” When I face Wyn, he’s staring at me with a funny look on his face. “What’s wrong? Why are you looking at me like that? You think I’m missing something?”
Wyn shifts in his seat and inches closer. Then, without warning, he leans in and parks his lips on mine.
It happens so fast, I melt into him before I realize I’m kissing him back. Hard. His breath echoes in my ears, and he tastes minty and fresh. His kiss isn’t electric like Mo’s but it’s gentle and familiar. Comparing the two kisses brings me back to my senses. I place my hands on Wyn’s chest and gently push him away. “Wyn, wait.”
He looks half surprised and half hurt, but keeps staring at my lips when he talks. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m so sorry.” I whisper back, hoping a lower volume will lighten the blow. “But I can’t do this. To you. I mean, us. It’s not fair.” I drop my head down. How could I do this. Kiss two guys in the same day. I’m disgusting.
“Why don’t you let me think for both of us?” He cups both hands around my neck and pushes my chin up with his thumbs, drawing me in again. His lips find mine, and I briefly surrender. Again. It feels so nice to be wanted, to be with Wyn like this, but I can’t help but wonder if it’s because of how it used to make me feel. That is, it takes me back to when everything was okay and Dad was safe. When I didn’t have anything to worry about.
I’m not that girl anymore.
Wyn weaves his fingers into my hair and holds my hand with the other. For a minute, I feel like I’m suspended under water, floating. Not resisting but not giving in. As I rise to the surface, I realize that maybe something is missing between us. Something small I never knew was there; yet somehow, it has become significant enough for me to finally notice.
With Mo, everything is different. Like a huge firecracker exploded in my heart. With Wyn, it’s more of a sparkler fizzing
inside before extinguishing too quickly, leaving darkness until the next sparkler is fired up. Thinking of Mo makes me feel awful. I’m a total cheater.
My eyes spring open, and I jerk back. Further this time, to a safe distance. That way, the burning embers still smoking between us can’t touch me. “Wyn, I’m serious.”
In defeat, he slouches back. “Too serious, if you ask me.”
“Well, I didn’t.”
He studies me as if probing my thoughts before attempting to speak. “Grace … I … came … here …”
I hold up my hand, stopping him before he finishes. “Wyn, wait. Don’t say anything. The last time we were together, it almost cost us our friendship.”
He slides a bit closer. “Maybe I don’t want just a friendship anymore.”
“Don’t say that.” I shift a little, trying to get comfortable. Not knowing what to say. I don’t want to hurt Wyn, but I can’t lead him on either. My life is complicated enough without this on top of it. “Come on. What about Skyler?”
Wyn rubs his chin. “What about her?” He bends forward again, teasing me. “She knows I’m still into you.”
I scoot back on the couch in a full retreat. “Please, don’t do this. You’re my best friend. I don’t want to mess this up. We broke up, and we both moved on. Let’s not go back and try to replay this differently.”
He sighs and gets up. “I wish you would’ve told me this sooner before I made an ass out of myself. I thought maybe you wanted me back. To try again. You said you needed me.”
I’m stunned. Almost unable to talk. Not sure what to say to make this all better. “I did, I mean, I do need you. As a friend.”
Wyn points to where we were kissing on the couch. “That did not feel like friends. There is still something there.”
I drop my face into my hands. “I’m just confused. I don’t want to hurt you again.”
Wyn strokes my hair. “We’ll be fine as long as you’re honest with me.”
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