“Me either,” Matt said.
Shannon laughed. “You’ll learn.”
“So what’s my sister’s name?” Matt asked, trying the word out loud for the first time. Sister. He had a little sister.
“We can’t decide,” Shannon said. “We had agreed on the boys’ names, but . . .”
“I still like Estelle,” his dad offered. Matt wrinkled his nose. Estelle was his other grandmother’s name. His mom’s nickname for her was Battleaxe, among other things.
“No way.” Shannon rolled her eyes, stared up at the ceiling. “It’s not 1930, okay?”
“Well, I still like it.” His dad shrugged. “Plus, you could nickname her Stella.”
“I don’t like nicknames,” Shannon said. “Just one name. Simple and sweet.”
“You haven’t liked any of the names I’ve picked.”
“It has to fit her.” Shannon was unmoved. “It has to be right.”
Matt watched the baby purse and relax her lips, as if she agreed with her mother’s assessment. A name that’s simple and sweet. Matt could think of one, even if the person who it belonged to was the opposite. He looked at his sister. It had to fit her. It had to be right.
“I know,” Matt said suddenly, beaming into their expectant faces. “I know exactly what her name should be.”
• • •
“Hmm.” Grandpa Molinari picked up a small flyer from the stack of bills and ad inserts. “Strange.” He directed his words to Matt, giving his feet a quick once-over. Matt wore his slip-on sport sandals, and though the surgeon did an excellent amputation job and everything healed nicely, with two toes missing his foot looked more like a flipper or some weird alien mutant appendage. He wondered if he’d ever get used to it. Probably not. But maybe he wasn’t supposed to. “Very peculiar.”
Matt thought he was still talking about his foot.
“What is very peculiar?” His mother kept scrubbing the same inch of countertop with the rag, like she was trying to bore a hole into it.
“Oh,” his grandpa said. “Nothing. Just this.” He held up the card, which Matt saw was a postcard. “It doesn’t have a name on it.” He flicked it onto the counter.
“Maybe it’s the neighbor’s and we got it by mistake.” His mom turned it over, examining the writing. “Well, it has our address on it. That’s peculiar.”
A waterfall, all tropical greens and blues, and the picture started a twitch in Matt’s throat. The temperature in the room seemed to double. It was hard to focus, and when he spoke his voice sounded far away, like he was calling out from the bottom of a canyon. “Where’s it from?”
“Postmark from Hawaii,” she said. “Maui.”
“Well.” His grandpa grinned. “That sounds nice. Who do we know in Hawaii?”
“Can I see it?” Matt held his hand out calmly when his mother passed it over, but the card trembled in his fingers. A small caption was written below the photograph. The seven sacred pools of Ohe’o. When he turned it over he didn’t recognize the handwriting—he didn’t have to.
There was only one sentence:
IT’S NEVER TOO LATE TO BE WHO YOU MIGHT HAVE BEEN.
“What is it, Matt?” His mom stared at him with such confusion that it took him a few moments to understand he was smiling. Smiling so wide his cheeks could split.
“It’s not a mistake.” His voice was thick, swelling inside him. “It came to the right house.” Seven sacred pools. Hawaii. Coconut palms, black sand beaches, turquoise water, and rainbow sunsets. Paradise.
Leah.
“Oh,” she said. “Okay, so who’s it for?”
When he looked up again his eyes mirrored hers, shiny as newly minted coins. He pressed the postcard to his chest, his heart thumping in time with the words. “It’s for me.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
When I was seventeen I climbed a mountain. And if I’d known how hard it would be, I most likely wouldn’t have done it. Ignorance can sometimes be bliss. Other times it hurts. A lot. Still, I’m glad I went because I learned things on that mountain that I carry with me today, although, like most life-changing experiences, you don’t usually realize it as it’s happening. Instead, you’re probably swearing and sweating and wondering why you’re so stupid.
Writing a book is in many ways like climbing a mountain—swearing, sweating, and being stupid. Thinking you’ll never make it. Wondering why you even tried. But then you get to the top and you finally understand. Of course, then you have to go back down. So it’s a good idea not to try it alone.
Special thanks to Hannah Bowman for all her support, and deep gratitude to my editor, Nicole Ellul, at Simon Pulse for her encouragement, dedication, and insight. A special shout-out to Beth Adelman for her amazing copyediting work and to everyone at Simon Pulse who put so much time and energy into this story.
I’d like to thank my brother, James Dahlstrom, who not only told me his own backcountry skiing stories, but put me in touch with a former coworker at Grand Teton National Park—park ranger extraordinaire Ryan Schuster. Ryan, thank you so much for taking time out of your busy schedule (of literally saving people’s lives) and talking to me about the finer points of mountain and helicopter rescue. If I am ever so unfortunate to find myself in a situation like that, I’m reassured that there are people like you out there, ready and waiting. I’d like to let the reader know that any mistakes about what I’ve described are entirely my own.
Thank you to Becca, Peter, Will, and Sasha for letting me steal your names!
Much thanks to my husband, Matt, whom I named the main character after. Yeah, you’re welcome! After all the years we spent together and all the traveling we’ve done, I know that even if you aren’t a Navy Seal, you’re still pretty good under pressure. If I have to end up lost in the wilderness, I guess I’d want to be lost with you.
Finally, and most of all, thank you to my daughter Sena. Soon you will be seven, and in ten years maybe you’ll want to climb your own mountain. Which means I better start getting ready.
On one last note, the National Park Service is celebrating their one-hundredth anniversary this year. This amazing American creation is probably one of our country’s greatest achievements, and if you have the chance, get out there and see our national parks.
Go get lost and found in the wild.
Just remember to bring a friend.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Melinda Braun grew up in Wisconsin and received her bachelor’s degrees in psychology and English from the University of Minnesota. She currently lives in the Twin Cities with her husband and daughter. Although she loves hiking and camping, she does not enjoy portaging canoes. Melinda is also the author of the novel Stranded.
SIMON PULSE
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ALSO BY MELINDA BRAUN
Stranded
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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The text of this book was set in Absara.
This book has been cataloged with the Library of Congress.
ISBN 978-1-4814-3822-3 (hc)
ISBN 978-1-4814-3824-7 (eBook)
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