Untraceable Read Free Page A

mistaken, the Great Smoky Mountain National Park is over 500,000 acres. At this rate - ”
    Carl whips out his ancient desk calculator and punches on the keys. He turns it to face me, displaying large block numbers that I could probably see from 1.2 miles away.
    “- it’ll take you 25,000 days to search all of that land. And that’s if you search every day for 65 years. Forget sick days and vacation time. You’ll be 79 years old. Think how much trash you could clean up in that amount of time. Might even be able to save the earth.”
    I drop my head and try to breathe, even though panic is cinching my insides. My fingers graze over the black leather bracelet Dad gave me last year. I stare at the flyfishing symbol engraved on the little silver circle. Two words are embedded into the flat surface. Fly High . My eyes sting, but I pinch back the tears. “Please.”
    Carl comes out from behind the desk. I can’t decide what he resembles more, a Q-Tip or a teaspoon. When he passes by a statue of a man holding the North Carolina flag, it plays “Dixie.” Carl stops in his tracks until it finishes, as if he’s respecting the national anthem. I almost expect him to salute.
    When it’s done, he pulls me to my feet and positions my body in front of the smudged mirror hanging on his wall. “Grace, honey, look at yourself.”
    I stare at my scruffy reflection. My hair is knotted and jutting out in all directions like I’m Einstein. Lines of dirt are smudged down my pointy nose and a deep scratch marks my jawbone, covering my cheek in dried blood. I flip over my hands and notice the grime caked under my nails. My spirit sags, weighing me down.
    Maybe he’s right. I’m going nuts.
    Carl cups both of my shoulders with his hands and stands behind me, looking over my shoulder in the mirror. “I’m getting worried about you. Don’t you think this might be going a bit too far?”
    Without saying anything, I study his eyes. They’re similar in color to mine, except mine resemble algae; his are more of a muted pine green, which reminds me of the deep forest. Which reminds me of my dad. My throat swells, making it hard to swallow. I drop my head and focus on my muddy boots to avoid Carl’s stare. A frayed thread on the toe teases me. I fight the urge to bend over and tug on it.
    No sense in making anything else in my life unravel.
    Carl steers me back to my seat and sits in a chair next to me. “Sweetheart, maybe it’s time you drop this for a while and focus more on your future.” He catches my eye and smiles a little. “Maybe get your head out of the woods.”
    Carl’s on a roll for the dumb jokes today, 0 for 3. A quote from Dad’s wilderness survival course pops into my head. Never let an animal see your fear. Problem is, Carl can smell the stuff a mile away.
    I raise my chin a fraction of an inch and decide to use my first secret weapon. “Please, Carl?”
    He snorts, “It’s Captain to you.”
    I flash my second tactic. My ex-boyfriend, Wyn, says my puppy eyes get him every time. “Sorry … Captain .” Ever since I’ve known Carl, he’s insisted everyone call him Captain. Including his family. I bet he secretly wishes everyone would salute too.
    Instead of falling into my pity trap, Carl returns to his chair in silence.
    Time to pull out a new tactic of persuasion: The Art of Brown Nosing. Though I must say, I’ve never been very good at it. I clear my throat. “Captain, with your position and reputation, I know you can do something. Maybe convince the USFWS to keep my dad’s case open. For just a little longer. Maybe test for fingerprints or something?”
    “First of all, don’t blow smoke up my ass, Grace. It’s not you.” Then he waves the air, as if I’m an annoying fly. “Secondly, this is not a CSI marathon. No matter how much you want there to be something out there, doesn’t mean there’s anything to find, especially if we haven’t found it already.”
    My brain takes a second to process his