Part 8 – “Things That Return”
Bryson City, North Carolina – November 10, 2009 – Just Before Dusk
Some things you bury.
Some things come back.
Howard Gleeson stood in the attic, flashlight trembling in one hand, moths dancing in the beam. Dust choked the air. Cobwebs clung to the eaves like old regrets. He hadn’t climbed these stairs in years—not since the sheriff brought Lena’s backpack home and he couldn’t bear to look inside it.
But today, something had changed.
It had started with Scout.
That morning, Howard found the dog pawing at the linen closet. Not barking, not frantic—just nudging a stack of boxes until one tumbled free. And beneath it, wrapped in a pillowcase, was Lena’s old trail journal.
He hadn’t even remembered bringing it up here.
Now, his hands shook as he opened the attic trunk marked L.G. – Maps, Journals, College.
Inside: a mess of notebooks, field guides, and folded scraps of paper. Doodles in the margins. A pressed fern from Great Smoky Mountains National Park. And then, at the very bottom—a manila envelope, slightly warped by time and mildew.
Written in Lena’s careful teenage scrawl:
“Deep Hollow Project – Don’t Lose This, Dad.”
Howard sat down on the top step.
Inside the envelope was a map. Hand-drawn, annotated in two colors. Lena’s and his. A project they’d started the summer before she turned sixteen—mapping the old Cherokee paths that still ran beneath the modern trails.
He had forgotten all about it.
But here it was—complete.
Lena had added to it in her own ink after he stopped working on it.
She had written:
“I think trails remember us. Even when we stop walking them.”
Howard’s breath caught.
Scout climbed the attic steps and rested his chin on Howard’s knee.
“I think you knew this was here,” Howard whispered. “Didn’t you?”
The dog licked his hand once. Then lay down beside him.
That afternoon, Howard called Theo.
“Got something I want to show you and the boy. Can you come by?”
Theo’s voice was warm. “Of course. He’s been itching to come back anyway.”
By the time the Jeep rumbled up the gravel drive, the sun was dipping behind the ridge, spilling long shadows across the yard. Liam jumped out with a box of cookies in hand and Scout’s tennis ball under his arm.
Inside, Howard unrolled Lena’s old map on the table.
Liam leaned in. “Whoa.”
Theo stood behind him, arms crossed, brow furrowed. “She drew this?”
Howard nodded. “We started it together. She finished it without me.”
“Why’d you stop?” Liam asked gently.
Howard sighed. “Life got… hard. And I forgot how to walk forward. But now, I think maybe I’m supposed to help someone else finish what she started.”
He looked at Liam.
“Think you’re up for it?”
Liam’s eyes widened. “Me?”
“You’re already a better trail-watcher than most grown men,” Howard said. “You’ve got the eye. And the heart.”
Liam looked down at the map again. Ran his finger along one of Lena’s drawn ridgelines.
“I’d like that,” he said quietly. “A lot.”
Theo blinked rapidly, looking away toward the window.
Howard folded the map carefully.
“Then let’s start next weekend,” he said. “We’ll hike the trail again. This time together.”
Scout gave a happy bark.
Liam laughed. “He approves.”
Howard smiled. “Of course he does. He always knows the way.”
Later, after Theo and Liam left, Howard and Scout stood on the porch, listening to the night.
The wind rustled through the dry leaves.
Somewhere in the hills, an owl called once.
Howard turned the compass over in his hands again—Lena’s boot compass, the one she’d clipped to her laces like a charm.
He placed it gently on the railing beside Scout.
“I think we’ll give this to him,” Howard said. “To Liam. He’s the one who needs it now.”
Scout rested his head on the porch boards, content.
Howard sat beside him.
“I never thought I’d get to pass anything down,” he said. “Not maps. Not stories. Not… love.”
The dog sighed, deep and satisfied.
And Howard leaned back in his chair, eyes closed, feeling—for the first time in a lifetime—what it meant to return.
Not to the past.
But to purpose.
