On a cold evening in December, Rachel stares at the log in the fireplace, murmuring strange syllables, eyebrows furrowed in intense determination. "Rachel?" her mother asks from behind. "Here are the matches."

Rachel turns around, obviously not expecting to see her mother there. "Oh. Thanks, Mom." There's an inexplicable sort of sadness and loss in her eyes as she leans down to strike the match.

"D407," a voice calls from behind the counter at the DMV. Her number. Rachel approaches the counter, stopping across from a tall man. "I passed," she says, handing him a few letters addressed to her, her social security card, her birth certificate, and the application she completed a little over half an hour ago. She begins rifling through her bag to find money for the fee. "So now I get my permit?"

"You're the girl who went missing three years ago," he marvels for a moment. But then he recovers. The man spends a few moments scanning through the stack of papers she set in front of him. Occasionally, he pulls out a stamp or makes marks on the back of the application. He pauses, a puzzled look on his face. "Well, yes, but I noticed one mistake on your application. Your birth certificate says you were born in 1996?"

Rachel nods. "Yes."

"But you checked the '18 or over' box. According to your birth certificate, you should be seventeen for several more months."

Rachel's eyes widen. She opens her mouth and then closes it.

"I'm assuming that was just an accident?" the man prods when she hasn't responded for a few seconds. Then he cracks a smile. "Or did you just want the extra privileges? If it weren't for the birth certificate, you could have fooled me."

"No," Rachel says, her voice quieter than before. "It was just a mistake. Sorry. I'm seventeen."

"Rachel," her father says. "We want you to choose our next vacation, we really do. You deserve a break after all the publicity you've been getting. But Utah?" Worry lines appear between his eyebrows. "It was a beautiful place, but that was where... we can't risk..." His voice won't let him continue.

Her mother chimes in, trying to be gentle. "We don't understand, dear, that's all. Why would you want to go back?"

She holds back a sigh. "I just want to see the arches again."