Untraceable

Survival Skill #9

A good knife is an essential tool that can be used as a weapon or help construct other survival items.

~

The wooden sign swings above me—Tommy’s Fishing Shack: Where Anyone Can Fly—squeaking in the breeze. As I push through the door, ready for my morning shift, the slight smell of leather finds my nose. The store is quiet and empty. Tan clothes, fishing vests, and waders hang on racks, while rows of fishing rods line the back wall. Soothing Native American music floats through the peaceful space. No matter how much time I spend here, entering the shop always feels like I’m wrapping up in an old sweater on a chilly night.

Comfy and warm.

I call out to my boss. “Tommy?”

A bass-toned voice answers me from the back room. “Elu! Be out in a second.” I grin at the Cherokee nickname he gave me when I was just a kid, or usdi. Elu means “full of grace.”

I’m full of something, but it definitely isn’t grace.

I stroll toward the front counter, staring at the old pictures hanging along the wall. Some are of Tommy posing with famous fishermen who have frequented his well-respected shop. Others showcase him with large fish he’s caught in tournaments. I always tease him about not displaying the smaller catches. Each time, he explains it away.

Only show your best side. No one wants to see the ugly one.

A picture hanging on the wall catches my attention. The second my eyes settle on it, I jerk my head to one side as if I’ve been slapped. Chewing on a fingernail, I glance back at the photo of Dad and Tommy, both wearing disarming smiles. I gnaw on the next finger as I lean in closer. Dad’s wearing his favorite t-shirt with a flyfisherman on the front that says, Fly Me to the Moon.

How could I not have noticed this before?

It’s the same shirt he was wearing the last time I saw him.

Tommy appears from the storage room with a large box in his hands. I smile at his outfit. Even when he’s on land, Tommy dresses as if he’s going fishing or just coming off the river. Shoulder-length, white hair peeks out from under a fishing hat, decorated with lures.

He glides up to me. “You’re late again.”

I give him a hug. “How do you know? That old watch hasn’t worked in years. Can’t believe you haven’t fixed it yet.” I’ve never seen him without it since his wife died. Ama gave him the gift for their 50th anniversary.

Tommy bends over and sets the box on the floor. “Time is nothing but an illusion.”

“Good. I’ll remember that next time you accuse me of being late.”

He chuckles. “Smart girl. Too smart, if you ask me.” For the first time, he takes notice of me. His face crinkles, revealing the map of his long life. “Good lord, you look tired.”

“Gee, thanks.” I brush my bangs away from my face. “Is that how you make a ge ya feel good?”

His eyes flicker in the artificial light. “Elu! You’ve been practicing your Cherokee.”

“Not really. I think I got lucky on that one.”

He stares for a minute then frowns. “All right. What’s wrong?”

I pretend I have no idea what he’s talking about. “Nothing. It’s just been a long week.”

He sits on the stack of boxes. “I’m all ears.”

I cave instantly. “I found a Cheetos bag in the woods. Gave it to Carl.”

Tommy’s eyes widen. “I don’t get it.”