Page 34 of Trapped with the Mountain Man

Yet, here I am – losing her. But dropping her off safely in town is better than having to rescue her from the wilderness again.

Obviously, I was wrong about her. She’s not cut out for this sort of life. She doesn’t fit here and she’s got her own shit to work out. There’s not enough room in that cabin for two people’s damage. And if we’re already fighting like this, it would only get worse. No point in dragging it out, I guess.

The final patch of dirt road sneaks up on me, even though I’ve driven this road hundreds of times. The thick canopy of pine trees parts as the tires hit the first stretch of asphalt. Abby shifts uncomfortably. I glance over at her and have the sudden urge to say something – anything – before we get to the district office. But I’m not sure what to say.

Before I have a chance to think of anything, we turn onto Main Street and find ourselves at the center of a cluster of news vans. There must be close to a dozen, some local and some not. A couple of crews are filming but most are just loitering around their vans.

All this for a storm? For one hiker caught in a downpour? Am I missing something?

For the first time since we climbed into the truck, Abby’s gaze isn’t fixed in the opposite direction, staring out the window. Instead, her face is down and her shoulders hunched inward. As we drive past them, the news crews seem to spring to life, grabbing cameras and cords.

“What the hell is all this?” I mumble under my breath.

Abby’s face tells me that she knows. This is for her.

But why?

I rack my brain for any piece of information she gave me that would explain this. I think about the shooting, but there must have been dozens of other teachers at that school. They can’t be hung up on chasing this one teacher halfway across the country.

We pull up in front of the district office, a low-slung beige block building with a few steps leading up to it. By the time I hop out of the truck and walk over to the passenger side, we are swarmed with reporters. I open Abby’s door and hold out my hand to help her out of the truck. She doesn’t take it. I can’t tell if it’s out of distraction or rejection.

She looks more exhausted now than she did when I found her in the woods that first day. I’d love to say I wore her out, but something tells me the look on her face has nothing to do with me.

In an instant, Abby is swept away. A woman who looks a lot like her pulls her into a tight hug, while a hysterical older woman encircles them both with her arms. News crews swarm around them. One reporter turns their attention to me instead, but I disappear up the steps before they have a chance to speak. When I look back, Abby is just a spot of dark hair in the crowd.

The office is quiet. One of the summer interns is sitting behind the front desk. He glances up at me and issues a lazy greeting.

“Hey, Mr. Shaw.”

I grumble a greeting back. I have no idea what this kid’s name is and I can’t see his name badge from here.

“What’s all this?” I ask, motioning to the circus out front as I walk over to the desk.

“Crazy, right? It’s all for that teacher. They’ve been camped out for two days now.”

That teacher?

A hand lands firmly on my shoulder. I glance back to see Ryan Ehler standing behind me, smiling widely.

“Hey man, you lost?” he asks.

Ryan loves to give me shit for rarely coming into the office.

“Maybe,” I say, exchanging a bro-ish handshake with him, “looks like I walked into The Twilight Zone.”

We both turn and stare out the window. I know Abby is somewhere in the middle of it all, but I can’t see any trace of her now.

“Let’s go get some breakfast, man. If we don’t get you out of here now, those reports will be coming for you next.” Ryan tilts his head toward the back of the building. I follow him down a long hallway and out the back door. From there, we stick to the alley and eventually end up at Dot’s Diner a couple of blocks away.

The smell of bacon erases any memory of the sad bowl of oatmeal I already ate. We find a table away from the window and order coffee and food without looking at the menu. There’s a running joke that this place is the satellite office for the Forest Service because we all spend too much time here. Visits to Dot’s have become fewer and farther between for me lately, but I used to come here all the time. It’s the type of place that’s just dive-y enough to keep the tourists out. The locals like to keep it that way. It’s a cardinal sin in Gatlinburg to ever recommend Dot’s to someone from out-of-town.

“So, how was it having a house guest?” Ryan asks as the waitress sets down two steaming cups of coffee between us. He’s grinning like he can’t wait to hear this story.

“Fine,” I shrug.

Ryan looks at me over his cup, pausing to raise one eyebrow. “Fine? You gotta give me more than that, man. You just spent three days stuck in a cabin with one of the Broads, and all you can say is that it was ‘fine’? Where’s the misery? Where’s the outrage?” He laughs and takes a sip of coffee.

“It wasn’t that bad.”

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