Rodeo nodded and sighed.
“I know. I just don’t think I can stay here, and—”
“Me, neither,” I interrupted him. His eyebrows went up in surprise. “Coming back here was … something I had to do. And I’m glad we did. But it’s hard, being here. I don’t think I could walk past that torn-up park every day.
“But I want to take them with us. Mom. And Ava. And Rose. I’m not leaving ’em behind, not ever again. We’re a family again. Okay?”
Rodeo’s eyes were red and watery, but he looked ’em into mine and nodded.
“Okay.”
“And I don’t just wanna leave here. I wanna go somewhere. Not running away. Looking. Looking for a home. A home without four wheels. That’s what I want. Okay?”
Rodeo blinked at me. Then he nodded, a deep, slow nod.
“Okay,” he said. “Okay. We’ll find it.”
And I leaned over and grabbed my dad in a hug, and my dad hugged me back.
“Good,” he said. “Now, let’s go in and help your grandma with the dishes.” He let me go and stood up and walked away from me, toward the back door glowing warm with yellow light.
“One more thing, Dad.” He turned to me and I said, “For god’s sake, will you cut off that beard now?”
My dad took a step back toward me and he leaned down and said into my eyes, “Absolutely not,” and then he smiled and I knew I was smiling back.
CHAPTER
FORTY-EIGHT
And so here we are now. Rambling still, but maybe not roaming. Wandering, but also looking. We ain’t drifting so much as waiting. Like a dandyflower seed, blown free by a breath from the sweetest little girl the world ever saw, floating with the sunshine but looking for soil, looking to take root, looking to flower. That’s us. That’s me and Rodeo. That’s me and my dad.
And you know what? Driving toward something is better than driving away from something. Way better.
I do cry sometimes. But I don’t have to hide it anymore. When I feel sad, when I miss my mom or my sisters, I can just cry. And my dad puts his arm around my shoulder. And sometimes he cries with me. And it’s awful. And I love it.
Yeah. Maybe I’m a little broken. Maybe I’m a little fragile. But I think of Val, and Salvador, and Lester, and I think it’s all right. Maybe we’re all a little broken. Maybe we’re all a little fragile. Maybe that’s why we need each other so much.
Every morning, Rodeo asks me where I want to go. And if I have an opinion on the matter, I tell him. And I know that the next time I tell him I want to visit Poplin Springs, Washington—and there will be a next time, absolutely—then that’s where we’ll go.
I don’t take care of my dad anymore. We take care of each other.
Back in my room, under my bed, there’s a box. Inside the box is a treasure. A whole pile of treasures, actually. Sometimes I sit and look through them. Sometimes we sit and look through them together.
I started a new tradition for us, too. Most nights before we go to sleep, we each tell a memory. One a day. A memory about our family. It can be a big memory or a small memory, a sad memory or a happy memory. It doesn’t matter. Sometimes, I write them down and put them in the box.
I remember the night before we made it home. How I was afraid that once I got there, my mom and my sisters would feel gone. Well, they are gone. But, lord, they aren’t gone at all. Not even close. Not anymore. Not ever again.
And then one day, we see it. That green highway road sign with the name of a town on it. A town we visited years ago, and liked. Loved, even. A small town, with nice folks. A town we’ve maybe been working our way toward but pretending we weren’t. A river runs through it, always moving, but always there. It’s got a bakery with big, round sourdough loaves that are absolute heaven with a smear of butter on ’em. It’s got a middle school with a big soccer field. And, over by the laundromat, it’s got a taco truck. There’s even a drive-in movie place in the summer. It’s a fine place. A place that’s worth a shot, maybe.
And the sign, it’s telling us that town is ten miles away.
The sun is coming sideways through Yager’s windows, and she’s humming all around us. To be honest, there’s still a faint smell of goat to the place, but we’re used to it, and even if we weren’t we wouldn’t mind, because she was a darn fine goat and traveling companion.
Ivan is sitting on the dashboard, eyes half-closed, gazing out at the highway.
The sun is thinking of setting, but she won’t just yet. She’s gonna light our way right into town. She’s gonna leave us enough light to get there. And then there’ll be the coolness of night. And then we’ll wake up to a new day.
I look up at the Holy Hell Bell, and it’s gleaming like St. Peter’s gates up there in a sun ray and I think about standing up and ringing it, but I don’t, because it ain’t that kind of moment. It’s just not. It’s rich and it’s full and it’s a certain deep kind of happy, but it’s already ringing with its own quiet music.
And then my dad says, “Give me a once-upon-a-time, Ella.”
And I smile. And I rub my eyes. And I take a little breath, and then a big one.
And I’m almost silenced by how much story there is to tell in this world. Almost.
I stand there, looking out at the world we’re driving into. None of it had to happen. Not one bit. Sunrises and sunsets and ice cream cones never had to exist, shooting stars and acoustic guitars and holding hands, good books and warm blankets and goodnight kisses—none of them ever had to be. Mama and Ava and Rose never had to live and breathe; they could’ve never come to be. Rodeo and me and Yager and Lester and Grandma and Salvador and Val and Ivan could’ve never come to be. All of it, every little bit, could’ve never happened, and I could’ve never seen it and I’d never even know I hadn’t.
But it did. And I did. Oh, I did.
There is so much happiness in the world.
There is so much sadness in the world.
There is just so much in the world.
“Well,” I say, and I squeeze my dad’s shoulder, “once upon a time, there was a girl and her dad.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The biggest fiction in any book is that there is usually only one name on the cover. I’m in debt to so many folks for all their help and support along the way in getting this story out into the world.
Thanks to my agents, Pam and Bob, for finding Coyote a home and fighting for her every step of the way.
To my amazing editor, Christian, whose yes made this book possible and whose intelligence and sensitivity made the story immeasurably better.
To all the hardworking folks at Henry Holt and MacKids, thanks for making lots of beautiful books, including this little one.
To Celia Krampien, for bringing Coyote and Ivan to life and giving my story such a wonderful, perfect cover.
To all the other kidlit writers and storytellers with whom I’ve connected in real life or online … it’s so great to be in a community with you, doing this work.
To all the teachers and librarians out there who share books with their students, and who make it possible and joyful to make a living writing stories for young people.
To all you readers who pick up a book when there are so many other things you could be picking up—you kids reading on buses and sidewalks and park benches and couches and beaches, in cars and beds and classrooms and airplanes and restaurants: I see you and I am you and I thank you.
And last, but not remotely least, to all my friends and family, who have always been in my corner. Thank you, times a million.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Dan Gemeinhart lives in a small town smack-dab in the middle of Washington State with his wife and three young daughters. He was lucky and grateful to be a teacher-librarian in an elementary school for fourteen years, where he got to share awesome books with awesome kids. He loves camping, cooking, and traveling. He also plays guitar (badly) and reads (constantly). His house is always a mess. He is really pretty darn happy.
Visit him online at dangemeinhart.com, or sign up for email updates here.
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
Copyright © 2019 by Dan Gemeinhart
Lyrics to “Be Set Free” printed with permission of Langhorne Slim
Henry Holt and Company
Publishers since 1866
Henry Holt® is a registered trademark of Macmillan Publishing Group, LLC
175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010
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All rights reserved.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Gemeinhart, Dan, author.
Title: The remarkable journey of Coyote Sunrise / Dan Gemeinhart.
Description: First edition.|New York: Henry Holt and Company, 2019. | Summary: Twelve-year-old Coyote and her father rush to Poplin Springs, Washington, in their old school bus to save a memory box buried in a park that will soon be demolished.
Identifiers: LCCN 2018021834 | ISBN 9781250196705 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781250196712 (eBook)
Subjects: | CYAC: Automobile travel—Fiction. | Fathers and daughters— Fiction. | Single-parent families—Fiction. | Grief—Fiction.
Classification: LCC PZ7.1.G46 Rem 2019 | DDC [Fic]—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018021834
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First hardcover edition, 2019
eBook edition, January 2019
The Remarkable Journey of Coyote Sunrise Page 26
