Hills. There were so many hills around the beach. Why couldn’t they get to the hills?

The back has a printed GREETINGS FROM MALAYSIA centered on the card, and there’s a stamp and all the mail things. They sent it two days before the wave. Just enough time for the card to get safely out.

Dad’s handwriting—that sure hand. Cursive, of course. Always cursive. Very professorial. And a little note from Mom at the bottom in her swooping print. Blue ink, where his is black.

Hi, ladies!

Don’t mind us, we’re just over here in Paradise doing absolutely nothing and loving it. Wish you were here to soak up the sun with us—

N: you and Micah would love it.

M: Remind me to tell you a physics joke an Australian guy here told me.

Love you both from here to the farthest exoplanets—

Dad

Hi, beautiful girls! Guess what? I overcame my fear of the deep and snorkeled! I also cut off ALL MY HAIR. A German lady at our guesthouse did it. Can’t wait to show you! Be good and don’t do anything I wouldn’t.;) xo Mom

The door opens behind me.

“Nah?”

I don’t think. I just stuff the postcard down my shirt and stand, unsteady. It’s not because I don’t want to share this with her. It’s because I know that it will kill Mae, never hearing that joke Dad wanted to tell her.

I turn to face my sister.

“Yeah?”

“We have to finish packing.”

I stand. Walk. Ignore the searching look Mae gives me. Enter the almost-empty house. It echoes now, when we talk. It will be filled again, soon, with different things and people. It sold almost right away. To a nice family from Thousand Oaks. I hate them.

The things we decided to keep are in storage or in boxes going to Boston.

There has been a lot of stuff to deal with. Part of me doesn’t want to let go of a thing. Part of me wants to burn all of it.

I am so angry.

At Dad.

At Rebecca Fucking Chen.

At the wave.

At Micah for not being a little more noble.

There is one item we can’t do without: Mae and I both insist on bringing Mom’s soup pot with us. It’s my carry-on for the plane. I pack two books—The Little Prince and Mom’s copy of Acorn. Mae takes some of Dad’s physics books.

When we’ve packed the last box, it looks like the Grinch has been in here, stealing Christmas. Empty but for hooks and nails in the wall, bits of trash on the floors. It would break Mom’s heart, I bet, to see how quickly our family can disappear.