Forgetting How to Breathe Page 10

  “You left me,” he said.

  The note. With all that had happened, she’d forgotten about her note. “No, Tag, I didn’t leave you,” she said gently and reached for his hand. He pulled it away. She felt a stab of pain. “I mean, not forever.”

  “You left me. Just like Mama did.”

  “No! Tag, no. It’s not the same thing.”

  “Yes, it is. You don’t care. You only care about yourself.”

  “But I …” her protest died on her lips. “You’re right.” The truth of it settled into her bones. She’d been so focussed on Mama that she hadn’t thought enough about Tag. He needed to know that the people he loved didn’t always leave. She sighed. “I was a jerk.”

  Tag seemed to consider this, then he sat beside her. “Do you think Mama’s ever coming back?”

  She drew in a deep breath before answering. “I don’t know.” Tears stung her eyes. “But probably not.”

  They hugged each other. “I made her mad, Tag. The night before she left.”

  “She was always mad, Tia. She didn’t go because of that.”

  The simplicity and truth of her brother’s words brought bigger tears, ones that were impossible to hold back. She hugged him tighter.

  “You can’t leave me anymore, Tia.”

  “I won’t,” she said, clearing her throat. “I promise.”

  “Okay.” He pulled away, smiling like sunshine. “Can I go see the baby horse now?”

  She ruffled his hair. “Of course.”

  As Tag went into the barn, Tia wiped away her tears. Cathy joined her, taking Tag’s place on the bench. Tia took a deep breath, willing her nerves to settle.

  “I heard what you said to Tag. About the possibility that your mother may not come back.” Her voice was gentle. Not what Tia had expected. “That must have been hard to say to him. Is that what you believe?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Tag showed us your note.”

  She swallowed. “I thought I could find her, you know? It didn’t seem like anyone was looking hard enough.”

  “You must have felt so alone. Why didn’t you come to us?”

  “I think maybe … I was angry and afraid that if I let myself be a family with you, if I let you help me like a mom, it was like I was saying … I don’t know. That my mom wasn’t as good. And that felt awful. I’ve been awful. To you. I’m sorry.”

  “Oh, Tia. Not so awful as you think.” Cathy drew her into a hug. It felt good and right. She hugged back.

  “Will you help me?” Tia asked. “I need to know they won’t stop looking for her.”

  “They won’t,” Cathy said. “We won’t. Yes, we’ll help.”

  Something warm sparked in her belly and spread up and through every part of her. “Thank you.”

  Cathy gave her one more squeeze, then pulled away, bright-eyed. “Should we go inside? I’d like to see this foal.”

  Together, they re-entered the barn and joined Bob, Grandpa Bebe and Jennifer next to Disa’s stall. The office door was open and Tia could see Tag, Summer and Daye playing some sort of game that involved circling around the desk. Scout sat in the doorway, panting, his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. He looked happy.

  Scout had known right from the beginning that this was his home. Animals were smart that way.

  “He’s beautiful,” Cathy breathed, looking at the foal. “What’s his name?”

  Grandpa Bebe looked to Jennifer, who smiled and nodded. “What would you call him, Tia?” Grandpa Bebe asked.

  “Me? Isn’t there some sort of Icelandic naming rule?”

  “You’ve earned the honour,” Jennifer said. “Besides, there are the names we put on the registration, and then there are the names we actually use.”

  “A rose by any other name, and all that,” Bob offered.

  A rose made her think of flowers, like the sunflowers Mama had grown in her garden, and later the tiny blossoms she’d plucked from between sidewalk cracks. “Maybe not a rose, but—” She looked at him again, the proud arch to his neck. “Do you know the Icelandic word for ‘Prince’?”

  Jennifer grinned. “I believe that is Baldur. A fine name!”

  The swirling, giggling force that was Summer and Daye spun out of the office and sprinted down the aisle toward the door, followed closely by Tag and Scout. As soon as they were out, the door swung open again. It was Tag. “Grandpa Bebe! It’s the silly buttheads! They opened the gate again.”

  “Oh, those horses!”

  A few minutes later, they were all laughing, herding the horses back up the drive and into the paddock.

  As they returned to the barn, Tia hung back as the others went inside. Her hand on the door handle, she turned, taking in the ranch, the woods and the sky, and she remembered when she’d first come upon it, how it’d felt like walking into a painting, where anything might happen. And something had.

  Maybe this wasn’t the family she and Tag were born into, but it felt good and warm and safe.

  Scout bounded up, his mouth open and, with tongue lolling, he jumped up so that his paws were against her shoulders. Panting, he looked her in the eyes. Tia grinned, bracing herself so that she wasn’t pushed over. “What’s up, pup?”

  Scout licked one cheek, then the other, before settling back on his haunches by her feet. She giggled. “Good answer!”

  Horatio hurried from around the side, bleating. Tia held the door and he and Scout scooted inside.

  A croak pulled her gaze skyward as the silhouette of a raven crossed the sinking sun. She breathed deep as a breeze kissed her cheek, rustling through leaves. A warmth washed through her.

  In the fading light, the shadow that had clung to her for so long lengthened and let go.

  Endir

  Ostaslaufur

  (Traditional Icelandic Cheese Bow Tie Buns)

  Adapted from recipe courtesy of Anna Birgis Hannesson, Reykjavik, Iceland, wife of retired Ambassador Hjalmar Hannesson

  1 1/3cups warm milk

  4 tsp. instant dry yeast

  4 cups all-purpose flour

  2 tbs. sugar

  1 ½ tsp. salt

  ½ cups butter, melted

  Filling:

  1 cup cream cheese, softened

  ½ cup mozzarella cheese, grated

  In a medium bowl, add yeast to warm milk and let it dissolve.

  Add flour, sugar, salt and butter and knead until elastic. If using an electric mixer, knead on low for 4 minutes, then medium for another 4.

  Let the dough rest in a bowl covered with a damp cloth for 45 min. or until it has doubled in size.

  Roll the dough into a (approx) 24 × 10-inch rectangle.

  Mix softened cream cheese with the grated mozzarella cheese.

  Spread the cheese evenly in the middle of the long length, so that the rectangle is separated by long thirds. Fold one third of one long edge inward to cover the cheese third. Then fold the remaining third over all the way to the first edge. Put a little water along the dough edge and press to seal. Turn the dough so that the seam is down.

  Cut the 24-inch length into 1 ½ to 2 inch strips (makes 8 to 10 strips). Twist each strip to form a “butterfly”.

  Place strips on a parchment paper and let rise for 45 min.

  Bake in a preheated oven at 425°F for about 17-20 minutes.

  Enjoy!

  Takk!

  No book is an island, and this one would have been adrift without the kindness of many good and talented people. I must first express deepest gratitude to my agent, Marie Campbell, who shores me when I flag and believes in me, always.

  Like the early Icelandic settlers of Manitoba’s New Iceland, Forgetting How to Breathe had a long journey. Its seeds took root over a decade ago with one pivotal scene written while I was writer-in-reside
nce at the now-defunct Aqua Books in Winnipeg, MB. Thank you to Kelly Hughes, owner of Aqua Books; Dr. Tom Pisz, owner of North Country Stables in Yellowknife, who introduced our family to Icelandic horses; Brett Arnason, of Arnason’s Icelandic Horse Farm, who graciously answered questions, allowed me to visit, and who—by the way—was instrumental in bringing the first Icelandic horses to Manitoba in 1989; Robbie Rousseau, who reached across the ocean to family friend Anna Birgis Hannesson, who shared her recipe for Ostaslaufur; the Chan family and their exceptional photographer, David Jordan from Leeds, UK, for the breathtaking cover image. So beautiful.

  Thank you to my trusted readers: Merry Franz, Kathryn Gamble, Breanna Smith, Fred Penner and Cam Patterson. An extra thank you to Cam, who mentored me through the process of adapting this novel into a screenplay. In writing the story in a new way, I discovered unexpected elements, which fed back into the novel.

  My love and gratitude to several significant people whose names I borrowed for characters, something I often do as tribute: my mother and father, Cathy and Bob; my great-great-grandparents John and Gudny Magnus (Magnusson), who immigrated to Canada from Iceland in the late 1800s; Johan Jacobs, who is not a vet, but knows his way around a horse; Bebe Ivanochko, a fiery and inspirational champion of literacy, now gone but never forgotten; and real-life Scout-the-dog, who for many years was official greeter and unofficial mascot at Great Plains Publications. His joyous nature infused fictional Scout from the get-go.

  Thank you to the entire team at Great Plains Publications for believing in this story, and most especially my editor, Catharina de Bakker, for her patience, keen eye and deep insights.

  Final thanks, as always, to my family, my greatest support: Jim, Erin, and Sara, for laughter and love; my mother and father, Bob and Cathy; my sisters, Heather and Merry; in-laws, niece, nephews, cousins, uncles and aunts, with a special nod to my Aunt Sharon, who inspires me through her own love of books and storytelling.