Uncontrollable (The Nature of Grace, Book 2)

by S. R. Johannes

Mom shakes her head as tears break through their barrier and stream down her cheeks, smudging her makeup. Even though she’s upset, her voice still comes out strong and solid. “Birdee, you can’t come in after a few months and philosophize this away and expect everything to be okay! You haven’t been here. You don’t know what it’s been like without Joe around. You left us, remember?”

  I stand trembling, waiting for Birdee’s response. Looking between the two people I love most.

  Birdee frowns and stands her ground. “You listen here, Mary Wells. Joe was my only son, and I’m hurting just as much as you are. I raised that boy on my own after his daddy died, so don’t you dare lecture me about pain.”

  Her face remains stoic, but I recognize the strain in her voice. Birdee pauses to collect herself. “Just because Joe died, doesn’t mean we all have to stop livin’. We need to go on. For him.”

  Mom tosses the dishrag on the counter in defeat. “That’s fine, but I’m leaving town. This is not a good time.”

  “There never is,” Birdee answers.

  I stare at Mom. “Wait. You’re leaving town? When? Why?”

  Mom collapses against the counter. “Jim, I mean Dr. Head, wants me to work for him full time. But to do that, I have to go to Asheville for a training seminar on medical filing and insurance stuff. I’ll be back right before Christmas.”

  I add the time up in my head. “But that’s a few weeks away. That’s way too long.”

  Mom rubs my arm. “I know it’s not the perfect time, but this is a chance for me to get outta that diner and work a full-time job during the day while you’re at school. That way I can be home with you more at night and on weekends.”

  Birdee steps up and squeezes my shoulder. “Now, Chicken. Don’t get your boy shorts in a twist. That’s why I’m here.” She nods to my mom. “And I’ll watch her closer than I do my own Petey.”

  At the sound of his name, Petey squawks from the corner. “I’m watching you.”

  Mom and I can’t help but smirk.

  Birdee calls to him over her shoulder, “Mind your own business, Petey. No one needs a dodo’s opinion.”

  Mom glances between Birdee and Petey, as if not wanting to interrupt an important conversation. Eventually she sighs, the universal sign of defeat. “You promise you’ll keep tabs on her?” Birdee nods, then Mom stares at me. “And you’ll be extra careful?”

  I hold up three fingers, a habit left over from being a Girl Scout years ago. “I promise.”

  Petey pipes in, “I promise.”

  Mom grins and strokes his little head. “Fine.”

  I run over and hug her. “Thanks, Mom. I swear I’ll be fine.”

  “You’d better.”

  Birdee hugs us both. “Don’t worry. We all will be.”

  Survival Skill #3

  Survivor’s guilt may cause you to alienate friends and family, which may lead to isolation, loneliness, and denial.

  Sometimes I think the whole town hates me.

  All 4,097 of them.

  I haven’t been into town in a while. I even quit working at Tommy’s store to avoid all the stares and comments. Tommy too.

  Mom’s taken the most heat. Working at the diner, she’s forced to put up with the looks and the whispers. Somehow everyone – even the tourists – seems to know or has heard about our town and Dad’s case. If Mom had more money, we probably would’ve moved, but for now we’re stuck here. I’m sure that’s why she’s trying this new job with Dr. Head. To get away from everything I’ve been avoiding for months.

  Today I’m forced to endure the haters, as the temporary space of Agent Sweeney’s USFWS office just happens to be in Carl’s old building. Right in the middle of town. Walking down the sidewalk, I keep my eyes on my feet as I pass by Mr. Field’s old boarded-up general store. When I reach the post office, the new postman, who replaced Louie when he was convicted, doesn’t even acknowledge my existence. I pick up speed and notice another store newly boarded up. And it’s right next door to Tommy’s Fishing Shack.

  At least his place is still open – for now.

  I shield my eyes with both mittened hands and press my face against the frosted window. Tommy is at the register counting money before he opens for the day. The store appears to be exactly the same as it was on my last day working. Not that it would be different in just a few months. But since everything else in my world has changed, I assumed this place would’ve too.

  As I watch Tommy work, the muffled sounds of Native American music float through the store. What once seemed like home to me now feels strange and unfamiliar. I almost knock on the window to get his attention, but I stop myself.

  Even though none of what happened with Dad or Carl was really Tommy’s fault, I can’t help but wonder if things would have been different had he just been honest with me from the beginning. His betrayal still lingers, and no matter how hard I try to let it go – how much I want to let it go – something deep inside me can’t seem to find a way.

  Mom says it will take time; I’m just not sure how much.

  Before I can leave, Tommy spots me in the window and waves from the other side. I force out a smile. He quickly grabs his carved-wood cane and hobbles to the door as fast as he can. Because he got shot saving me, they say he’ll never walk the same again.

  To be honest, nothing will ever be the same since the poaching ring was uncovered. Not the town. Not Tommy. And certainly not me.

  Tommy pulls open the glass door. “Hey, Elu! To hi tsu?”

  I immediately soften at the nickname he’s had for me since I was little. I spin around, but refrain from answering him in Cherokee. It doesn’t feel right. We don’t speak the same language anymore.

  I try to sound happy and lighthearted, “Hi, Tommy.”

  We exchange a quick, awkward hug. The kind where there’s a tiny space between you, keeping you apart. Space that’s filled with something you can’t control. Space that feels larger than it really is. Space you both pretend isn’t there.

  I stare at the cane propping him up and can’t help feeling a pang of guilt for not being able to forgive him the way I probably should. Maybe I shouldn’t be so hard on him. He took a bullet for me. So did Mo, only Mo wasn’t as lucky as Tommy. After all, Tommy’s experienced loss too, lost his wife, lost my Dad, and lost his nephew, Chief Reed. Even though Reed was in cahoots with Carl, his death caused Tommy to be ostracized from his own reservation. The one his ancestors started.

  I force out words. “How are you?”

  He holds the door with his hand. “Oh, you know, can’t complain. Same ole, same ole.”

  His voice is tight, almost making me wish I hadn’t stopped. He scans the street.

  “What are you doing here?” he asks, but he says it like, Why are you here, because we all know no one likes you and therefore you are in danger of being stoned by a crazy backwoods mob?

  I point down to Carl’s old place. “I signed up with the USFWS for a conservation program on red wolves at school. Today is Agent Sweeney’s big kickoff.”

  Tommy frowns. “Does your Mom know about this?”

  I stiffen. “Of course.” I can’t help but feel a pang of anger. Who is he to question me? I try to shake it off. “Mom’s doing some training out of town for a couple weeks, so Birdee’s staying with me.”

  Wrinkles form around his mouth, telling me he’s gone from frowning to smiling. His eyes light up. “Ahhhh! Well, then, I’m not worried about you. I know what kind of damage that woman can do if someone messes with her kin. Seen it myself.”

  His chuckle softens me a bit, and for a split second, things feel slightly normal again. Our eyes lock, and so many things pass between us, things still unspoken. Things we will never speak of again. And unfortunately, things we can never forget. A slew of emotions spin around us – regret, pain, respect, betrayal, gratitude, love, and maybe, somewhere deep down, a speck of forgiveness.

  Tommy’s eyes get a little watery, and he hugs me hard. My body remains as straight as
a board. I can’t seem to relax around him anymore. He senses it and starts to pull away. “Well, you’d better go, Elu. Let’s plan on meeting for lunch soon.”

  I squeeze him quickly. Just long enough to tell him I’ll always love him even if it doesn’t seem like it. That I forgive him; I just can’t forget. I wonder if he hears my thoughts.

  I manage to say, “Sure,” knowing that meal will probably never happen.

  He adjusts his old fishing cap. “You still got that hunting knife I gave you?”

  I can’t help but try to slice through this hard loaf of awkward. “Nope, gave it away.” At first he looks pained, so I smirk to let him know I’m kidding. “Of course I have it.”

  He appears relieved. Then his face turns serious. He glances around the town before his eyes land on mine. “Good. Make sure to carry it with you. Always.”

  No matter what, Tommy can’t help but watch out for me. It’s in his blood.

  “I will.”

  He stares at me a little too long. As if he’s about to say something I’m not ready to hear.

  To lighten the moment, I point to his shorts and fishing boots. “You know it’s winter, right?”

  He looks down and then waves me off. “Shoot, my people have seen much colder than this.”

  I smile. “Yeah, well it’s your old legs I’m worried about. Now you’d better get back inside before you freeze to death.”

  He chuckles. “Alright. You stay out of trouble, Elu. For once.”

  “Always,” I say, waving goodbye and walking away.

  Before I turn the corner, I look back and see Tommy standing there, watching me. I wave one more time and grin all the way to the USFWS office. It doesn’t matter if it’s ninety degrees and sunny or twenty degrees and gloomy, Tommy still wears shorts, a fishing vest, and that silly hat with all his lures hanging off the brim.

  That’s probably the one thing that will never change.

  * * *

  I study my feet until they automatically stop in front of Carl’s old office. I suck in a breath before looking up at the ancient door with the same cracked windowpane. Some of the letters in Carl Stevens’ name are still stuck to the glass, forming a chilling message.

  _A_L’ S _ _ EVEN_.

  Just seeing the letters of Al’s name makes me nauseous.

  A loud voice calls out behind me. “Gracie! Wait up.”

  I turn and see Les shuffling across the street in his nasty hiking boots. I’m still amazed they’ve lasted this long. Almost makes me want to send a letter to the manufacturer, informing them of the small miracle. Maybe Les would get a free pair. One can only hope.

  “Hey, Les.” I wait at the door as he hobbles over.

  Even though my dad’s old partner and best friend seems to have lost a few pounds, he grunts as he struggles to move.

  As soon as Les reaches the building, he hugs me, squishing me into his round belly. I squeeze him back, thankful he wasn’t killed along with Carl. I still feel bad for thinking he was involved, but Les always says we should let bygones be gone.

  He scoops his finger in his cheek and removes a wad of tobacco from the side of his mouth. He plops it into a cup. “I’ve been worried about you and your momma. Haven’t seen you around much since –.”

  I cut him off, not wanting to hear the rest, and motion to a group of kids pointing at me. “Yeah. Well, I’m not too popular around these parts.”

  He frowns and waves off the teenage gawkers. “Hey! Take a picture. It’ll last longer.”

  I can’t help but laugh at how immature he sounds, even though he’s a wildlife ranger practically Dad’s age. The small mob from school walks off.

  Les removes his hat and scratches his the sparse sprigs of reddish hair on his head. “Gotta stick up for your own.” He looks up at the building we’re standing in front of and spits onto the ground. “What are you doing at this place? Doesn’t seem like your kind of hangout.”

  I avoid looking at the door. “I’m working with Agent Sweeney.”

  “Ahhhh, the wolf thing. Shoulda known you’d be involved.” He pulls his hat back on and rubs his gray-and-orange goatee. “Your daddy would be proud.”

  I nod and drop my head. “I know.”

  “Well, let’s not keep them waiting.”

  “Wait, you’re on this project too?” I feel a bit relieved knowing I’ll have one person on my side.

  He fights with his shirt, trying to force the ends to stay in his belt. “My territory. I’ll be getting updates, but I certainly won’t be traipsin’ around with you kiddos in the winter wonderland.” He grabs the door handle and motions to me. “Ladies first.”

  I bow slightly. “Thank you, kind sir.”

  Smiling, he spits one more time and opens the door.

  The familiar bell that always announced Carl’s visitors sends a chill down my spine. Everything about that day comes flooding back.

  It takes everything I have to walk inside.

  Survival Skill #4

  Hike leaders are responsible for the safety and enjoyment of the group; therefore, it is important to choose them wisely.

  I stop for a second, and Les cups my shoulder. “It’s okay, Gracie. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

  I can’t help but cringe every time he uses Dad’s nickname for me. He’s the only one besides Dad who calls me Gracie. I force myself to take a step into Carl’s space. I glance around and remember the last time I was here. Sneaking behind Bernice’s back to crack Carl’s records on my Dad’s case. I wonder what happened to her when this place closed down.

  Luckily, the space looks completely different. Agent Sweeney has gutted the interior and had it totally redone. The internal walls have been blown out, and the old, musty furniture replaced with new, leather-smelling ones. Now the place is pretty much an open room with a few desks off to one side and a large meeting area on the other.

  I approach the rows of chairs bordered by bookshelves. A screen hangs in the front, telling me we’re about to get some kind of presentation. Old maps hang alongside bulletin boards filled with pinned notes, and the walls are decorated with mounted fish marked with species labels. Over by the window, there’s a long, thin table of tagged items, probably confiscated from poachers. I scan the items: furs, guns, and other hunter paraphernalia.

  And this is probably just from last weekend.

  Agent Sweeney stands at the front of the room, chatting with Les and two other people I don’t recognize. Every now and then, Les’ big laugh fills the room. The other kids from my class are already sitting in their seats. On the Team One side, Big Mike, the top-rated Right Guard at my high school, is crammed into a chair that’s one-third his size. I’m a bit surprised he gave up his Saturday jolt of testosterone at practice to be stuffed in here. Then again, who wants to practice in the cold besides our practice-day-and-night-in-rain-or-snow Coach Gary?

  Seth, the shortest soccer player at school who suffers from a serious case of Napoleon Complex (a.k.a. SMS for small man syndrome) is sitting opposite Mike. Seth’s small feet are propped up on the chair in front of him. Bright red hair pokes out from underneath his floppy knit cap, reminding me of how my Raggedy Ann doll looked after my dog Bear got a hold of her head. Madison, the new brainiac from New York, is sitting quietly, reading some nonfiction book titled The Return of the Wolves. She’s already updating her database of factoids. The girl probably knows more about everything than Google does.

  She glances back at me and smiles. I grin briefly and beeline to my team’s side where Wyn and Skyler are already in a PDA marathon. When he kisses her, I cringe. Gross. I squeeze down an aisle and sit a couple rows behind them, close enough to look like a team player but far enough to prevent hurling from all the cooing sounds. The mere sight of them is bad enough.

  Wyn glances over and nods. I guess it’s a step up. He’s at least acknowledging I take up space in this world. Yet, I can’t help but be completely peeved. After years of being friends, sharing secrets, and beating him in roc
k, paper, scissors, all I get is one stupid nod? Like he’s some librarian approving my membership or a grocery clerk scanning my frequent-shopper card.

  I ignore his nonverbal greeting and look away. I mean, why should I nod back? What does that even mean? Yes? Yes to what? Yes, you abandoned a friendship because of a fake doll. Or yes, you turned your back on me when I needed you the most because your bruised male ego got in the way?

  Agent Sweeney walks to the front and leans against a desk. “Well, kids, thanks for coming out on a cold day. Everyone still excited about the project?”

  We look at each other and nod while Big Mike raises his large, mitt-sized hand. “Feeling good over here, Boss.”

  Agent Sweeney claps once and points to Big Mike. “Glad to hear it. I think you’ll enjoy being part of such an important project.”

  He points to an old man standing off to one side in haggard pants and a shirt. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought he was homeless. “I want to introduce you to a couple people involved in the project. This is Jerry Porter. He’s a retired professor from N.C. State, where he taught in the Forestry and Wildlife department.

  “He’s also one of the nation’s best trackers and has spent a lot of time studying wolves out West as well as here. He’s working with the Red Wolf Coalition in this monumental task of researching the behaviors and patterns of the red wolf. We want to be sure there’s an adult in the field at all times to ensure safety, so he’ll be your guide and go-to person. If you need anything, he’s the expert.”

  Everyone clap as Porter waves. The guy’s got to be at least Birdee’s age. His thick, white mustache and green suspenders make him look more like an old Grizzly Adams than a wolf lover/retired professor with an advanced degree.

  Agent Sweeney motions to Les. “Of course, you all know Les. He’ll be looped in since this is his territory.”

  Les smiles with tobacco-stained teeth. “Howdy.”

  A pretty blonde lady, who looks very natural in her wrinkle-free cargo pants and red zipped fleece with not a fuzz ball out of place, steps forward. “I’m Katie Reynolds. District Conservationist.”