Page 2 of Lost and Found

“But isn’t it out in the middle of the forest or on a mountain or something like that?” she asks me.

“Both, actually. I’ll be on Mount Rainier, so it’s not that far.” I could’ve chosen anywhere for my vacation. Isolation on a nearby mountain seemed like a good option, though. No people. No phone. No work. Just me and nature—which I know nothing about.

“Well, just promise me you won’t spend the whole time moping around and being sad. A lying, no-good cheater isnotworth your tears.”

“Don’t worry,” I assure her with a watery smile. “I won’t let him ruin my vacation.”

It’s time for the ceremony to begin, and I’m grateful for the distraction. The event whizzes by in a blur of smiles, laughs, hugs, and dancing. When the party winds down, I duck out early to get some rest before my trip.

As I drive home, I think about the blushing bride and her new husband. It was a beautiful wedding for a beautiful couple. I hope someday I can have that too.

* * *

Excitement stirsin my belly as I load up my car and leave my apartment. Ten days—tenwholedays—of books, wine, and bubble baths. The cityscape gives way to mountain views, and I roll down my windows to breathe in the fresh, pine-scented air. Traffic thins, and I relax into the seat, the tension in my shoulders dissipating the longer I drive.

When I arrive at the cabin, I’m struck by its quaint charm. It’s a modest wooden structure with a wraparound porch and a stone chimney. The kind of place you’d see on a postcard, nestled among towering evergreens. I can almost hear the crackle of a fire and the sweet scent of hot cocoa, even though it’s the middle of summer.

Inside, it’s even cozier than I expected with a plush sofa, an assortment of fluffy blankets, and a small but well-stocked bookshelf in the corner. The only bedroom boasts a king-size bed with a log frame, and the bedding is soft and luxurious beneath my palm when I graze my hand over it.

The kitchen has all the basics, including a fridge filled to the brim with milk, eggs, butter, and other essentials. And there’s a basket of fresh fruit on the counter with a welcome note tucked inside. I hadn’t expected such thoughtful provisions and make a mental note to leave a good review for the owners.

Stepping back into the living room, I notice a leather-bound journal on the coffee table. Inside it reads “Share your stories!” and I flip through the pages, skimming entries from people who’ve stayed here before. Most are filled with happy moments: anniversaries, family vacations, and solo retreats like mine. There’s one entry that catches my eye, though.

Came here to clear my head and left with a new perspective.

The mountains have a way of healing you if you let them.

Be healed, and be well.

I close the journal and set it back on the table, wondering what story I’ll contribute to the book. Then my phone buzzes and I smile when I see the name on the screen.

“Hi, Grammy. Couldn’t give me at least an hour before calling, huh?” She knows I’m teasing and that I’m glad she called.

“Just checking on my favorite granddaughter. Did you make it there okay?” She always makes that joke.

“I’m your only granddaughter,” I deadpan. “The drive was fine. Nice, really. Felt good to not be in a rush for once.”

“That’s good, dear. You won’t be in a rush for almost two weeks. You better take advantage of that,” she urges.

“I will, Grammy. I promise. I’m gonna get settled in and I’ll call you in a few days.”

“Alright, then. Be sure to send me lots of pictures!” Her affectionate tone fills me with warmth. We end the call and I power down my cell. Iamgoing to make the most of my time here.

I want what I read in the journal. To be healed and to be well.

2

WYATT

Rays of bright sunlight warm my face as a gentle breeze cools my sweat-dampened skin. I finished my chores and left dinner to simmer on the stove while I enjoy an easy stroll on a familiar path, plucking ripe blackberries and popping them into my mouth as I go.

My playful companion trots along with me, sniffing at everything we pass, despite having explored this area countless times before. We’ve lived on this mountain for a few years now, and our daily walks are the highlight of my husky’s day. I reach down to ruffle Bear’s fluffy fur, chuckling as he tilts his head and wags his tongue.

Breathing in the crisp forest air, I smile with gratitude for this simple yet fulfilling life. It’s a drastic change from the hustle and bustle of the city, but I don’t miss anything about my old life in Seattle.

The sun begins its descent, and an unexpected sound echoes off the trees. At first, I think it’s a wounded animal, but when I listen closely, I realize it’s a woman crying. My heart sinks as I hurry toward the origin, despite the increasing pain in my knee. Living alone in these isolated woods, I rarely encounter anyone besides the occasional renter of a nearby cabin, out for a hike. Today, however, the tears of this unknown woman have drawn me out of my peaceful retreat.

I come to a clearing and spot her on the ground, her curly, dark hair falling around her in a curtain that shields her face from view. She’s removed her hiking boot and sock, and is staring at her right foot. When I approach, I see her ankle is swollen and bruised. No wonder she’s crying. I bet that hurts like hell.

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