It's the third day of summer vacation and we're standing near the security gate at the airport. My flight leaves in an hour, but the security line is short, so I'm not worried about rushing.

"It's only got a few hours on it," he goes on, "so don't waste them calling your friends or anything."

"Jeez, Dad, I know."

So, yeah, I'm getting on a plane. Heading to California to see what I can find there, if I can find me there, or maybe just another version of me, a better version. Because we can always be better, right?

All I know is this: There's a piece of me missing. It's been missing since Mom and Jesse went out there, and I tried to fill the hole with Leah and that didn't work out so well. So now I'm opening up my own safety valve, like the pioneers did way back when. Going west. Because maybe that part of me that's missing is in California.

Anyway, like Dad said, it's one thing to run away. From Leah. From the Council. From the endless debates. There's nothing wrong with running away. The trick is running back.

"You better get in line," Dad says. He's right-the line's gotten a little bit longer while we were saying goodbye.

I give him a hug. He pats me on the back. Before I go, though, I fish around in my pocket and hand Dad the key to Brookdale.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" he asks, surprised.

"Just hold on to it for me. And Dad? Whatever you do, don't send it to me in California."

He closes his fist on the key and shakes his head slowly. "Why not?"

"Because this way, I have to come back for it."

Author's Note.

Every day, soldiers, marines, airmen, and sailors return from overseas with injuries that take time to heal. In some cases, it takes a lifetime.

If you'd like to support them, consider donating to the Yellow Ribbon Fund. The Yellow Ribbon Fund a.s.sists the families and friends of servicemen and servicewomen so that they can visit the wounded as they recuperate at Walter Reed Army Medical Center and Bethesda Naval Hospital.

In addition, the fund also offers mentoring and internship programs to returning servicemen and servicewomen so that they can begin to reintegrate with the civilian world.

Many of those who return from combat overseas are amputees or have sustained otherwise life-altering injuries. Having their friends and families with them while recuperating is the best medicine in the world. The Yellow Ribbon Fund helps make that possible.

Visit the fund at www.yellowribbonfund.org. Even if you feel like you can't do much on your own, you can always consider organizing a fundraiser at your school, church, or community center.

And don't forget-in just about every community in the country, there are many, many residents now serving overseas. Ask around; you'll find it's easy to get names from those who live around you. Then go to your local post office and ask about sending a care package-it will be well appreciated by those serving in the field.

Acknowledgments.

It is both safe and accurate to say that this book would not exist (at least not in any form worth reading) without the persistence and a.s.sistance of my agent, Kathy Anderson, and my editor, Margaret Raymo. Ladies, without you this book would have been half as long ... and nowhere near half as good. Thank you.

Thank you, too, to Lois Szymanski, who told me the story that inspired the book.

The Award for Redundancy Award goes to Robin Brande and Molly Krichten, both of whom read multiple drafts and never complained. (At least, not to me.) Special thanks to Zac Tine and Eric Lyga for reading that first, awful draft.

Extra-special thanks to Liz Dubelman because I've never thanked her in print and she deserves it.

Last but not least, I want to thank Kenneth C. Wright Sr. His stories of his days as a Marine in Vietnam and his quiet dignity in reliving them made me understand what real support entails, not just the easy and superficial kind. Thanks for doing a thankless job.

end.