Untraceable

Survival Skill #37

If you have a map or a compass, you will most likely be able to move toward help.

~

From behind a tree, I watch a shadowy figure hover under the leafy cover.

Against my better judgment, I call out to the shape. “Mo? Is that you?” Please let it be you.

A silhouette emerges from the spindly cover.

I immediately recognize the movement and flick on my flashlight to reveal a friendly face. My heart sinks and a sliver of frustration pops out in my voice. “Tommy! What are you doing here?”

He shines his light in my face. “I should be asking you that question.”

I shield my eyes. “How’d you find me?”

He shrugs. “I tracked you. Have you forgotten I taught your dad everything?”

“I don’t understand. Why would you do that?”

He wraps me in a hug. “After you ran out of the shop, your mom came by. Said you stole Luci after being grounded. She didn’t know where you were.”

I huff. “I can’t steal something that belongs to me.”

Tommy places a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “She’s worried about you. Wyn is too. He came into the store right after your mom left. When he found out you’d left on your bike, he told me everything that’s been going on. Said you found something on Carl’s computer that upset you.”

I nod with tears streaming down my face.

Tommy hugs my shoulders. “Come on. Let’s get you inside so we can talk this out.”

“Where?”

“Let me be the leader for once.” He twitches his eyebrows and offers a strong hand. My mind races. The events of the last few weeks spew out in random order. I scroll through a list of crazy theories about Mo’s disappearance. About Les. About Dad.

Tommy breaks my concentration. “What do you think?”

Slightly disoriented, I squint in the moonlight. As my eyes adjust, I slowly make out some kind of hut made from woven saplings, mud, and poplar bark. “What is this place?”

“My home away from home.” He motions me inside. “Ehiyha.”

“Thanks.” I push the door open first and stand in a pitch black room. Behind me, a bright lamp flickers to life, instantly brightening up the cozy space. The room is scattered with rustic furniture made from pine logs. Lanterns swing from metal rods, and a stone fireplace frames one wall.

Tommy slides out a small wooden chair from under the hand-carved table.

I lower myself into it and relax. “Did you build this?”

He makes his way around to the other side and places his hands on the back of a chair. “This hut’s been a part of the Qualla Boundary history and in my family for years. Since the Trail of Tears. Ama and I made some changes to make it more livable. Even built the furniture ourselves. It was our special place to get away.” Looking sad, he walks to the fireplace in the corner and hangs an iron kettle in a rod before sitting down next to me.

“How come I never knew about this place?”

Tommy glances around the space and shrugs. “Not many people know about it. If they did, it’d probably end up a tourist site. Small chance of finding it out here in these woods so I just kept it quiet. Your dad knew about it though.”

My heart performs a belly flop when he mentions Dad. Reminding me of my situation. He and Mo are gone. And it’s all my fault. If I’d gone with Dad that day, he might be here. If I hadn’t followed Al to his campsite, Mo wouldn’t be in this mess either.

Tommy pours some steaming water into a cup and drops in a tea bag. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on? Maybe I can help.”

Everything spills out in a random sequence. I ignore punctuation and don’t even breathe between sentences. Some of what I say, Tommy’s heard, but some of it’s new. The whole time I talk, he doesn’t say a word. Not a doubt. Not a question. He only nods. Like everything makes sense. Which, of course, is impossible. None of this makes any sense. I stop when there’s nothing else left to say. My shoulders slump forward in exhaustion.

Tommy exhales, telling me he’s held his breath this whole time too. He whistles. “Wow. You’re in deep, Elu.”

“I know. What do I do?” To burn off the adrenaline pressing against my chest, I stroll around the open space, studying the Cherokee artifacts that decorate his walls.

He shakes his head. “Maybe I should’ve helped more? Then you wouldn’t be in this position.”

I stop at his desk and eye an old picture frame, hanging on the wall. “It’s not your fault Dad’s missing.”

He mutters behind me. “Maybe.”

I call out over my shoulder. “What do you mean? What does any of this have to do with you?”

Leaning in, I inspect the art surrounded by an old gold frame. The paper is so old, it’s now sporting a yellowish-brownish hue. It’s some kind of old map.

Tommy doesn’t answer.

Just as I’m about to try and convince him, something catches my eye. My stomach sinks, and the room begins to tilt.

I spin around and face Tommy in disbelief. “Oh my God. It was you?”