“It was my fault,” Mel said, sobbing in Aunt Cassie’s arms.

They were up in their little room.

Steve had cleaned and bandaged the wound on her leg. The cut wasn’t so deep after all. The claw hadn’t hit muscle or bone. Mel would have a scar, but nothing like Steve’s.

And she didn’t feel any pain. She just felt confused and angry. Mostly at herself.

It was her fault. That’s what most people at the chalet thought.

“What was she doing out there?” Greg had shouted. “Stupid girl!”

Mel thought Steve — gentle, quiet Steve — was going to punch the guy.

“Don’t you dare call her that,” he hissed. “This whole place … what you’re doing here. It’s wrong. It’s a miracle that she wasn’t killed.”

That shut Greg up. But the worst was what Mel heard as Cassie was taking her upstairs. They passed the three men Mel had seen on the porch.

“It was unbelievable,” the mustache man had said. “A girl and a grizzly … and then a porcupine scares it away! You can’t make this stuff up!”

They men had laughed, as if Mel had put on a show just for them. The memory of it made Mel sob harder. Cassie held her tight, rubbing her back.

Finally, Aunt Cassie pulled away and gripped Mel by the shoulders.

“All right,” she said. “That’s enough.”

Her voice sounded stern. “No more of this. It is not your fault. The people who work here have been feeding grizzly bears! How could this be your fault?”

“But if I hadn’t run off —” Mel started, but Aunt Cassie cut her off.

“No,” she said, wiping Mel’s tears with a bandanna.

“And another thing …” Cassie said. She gripped Mel’s chin, gently but firmly, and looked her in the eyes. “The car accident. That’s not your fault, either.”

Mel stopped crying. She stared at Cassie in surprise.

“Yes,” Cassie said, her voice softening. “I know that’s what you think. I know that’s why you won’t talk about any of this, why you’re not able to let go of that night.”

Mel sat back. “How do you know that?”

“Because I know you,” Aunt Cassie said, gripping Mel’s shoulders. “And maybe I would have felt the same way if I was eleven, and my mother … my incredible mother … was killed before my eyes. I would want to make sense of it. I would want to know why. Why? And maybe I would think it was better to blame myself than to think there was no reason … that it was just an accident.”

Cassie gave Mel a squeeze.

“But it’s not right. You must stop thinking this way. You know what your mother would say to you if she knew you were blaming yourself? You know how mad she’d be?”

Mel pictured Mom … her fiery temper. And to her own surprise, she let out a little laugh.

Not that it was funny. But it felt good to laugh, like taking a big breath when you’ve been underwater for too long.

A few minutes later, Steve knocked on the door, then popped his head inside.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

Cassie looked at Mel.

Mel nodded.

Cassie turned to Steve. “It will be.”

They left the next morning, and were back at the cabin by three o’clock.

Mel asked Cassie and Steve not to tell Pops what had happened with the grizzly. Cassie didn’t approve. But Mel convinced them that it would be too much for Pops. At least right now. She promised she’d tell him and Dad when they got home. The whole story.

But they did share with Pops all they discovered at the Granite Park Chalet. They turned their cabin into an office for Cassie. For three days, the sound of Pops’s old typewriter filled the cabin.

The editor of National Geographic was waiting for the article. On Saturday, they all drove into town to mail it.

They stood in front of the mailbox and Cassie handed the big, fat envelope to Mel.

“You do it,” she said with a smile. “This was all your idea.”

“Let’s do it together,” Mel said. They each held one side of the envelope and pushed it through the slot.

They stood there for a moment, and Mel felt a rush of hope.

But that hope died the next day, when Steve came rushing to the cabin. And what he told them was more shocking than anything Mel could have imagined, and far more terrifying.