Winterkill (36 page)

Kane studies me a moment. “You think that's true?”

I chew on my lip. I think about Pa telling me how he chose my ma and didn't care what anyone else said. I think about holding on to that rope in the killing cold. Think about heading back into the warmth. And Pa's face, the very last time he looked at me. “I think . . .” I bring my eyes to meet Kane's. “I think he'd want me to be happy,” I say, “however that looks.”

Kane smiles. And my stomach dives as he leans in to kiss me.

When he pulls away, I trace a finger across the nick on his temple, where the shotgun shrapnel grazed him. He grabs my hand and brings it to his mouth, drowning me in his black eyes. We stand there clasped together in the bright afternoon, the earth swelling and warming all around us.

The Lost People are gone now, but the breeze pulls wisps from my plait, creeps soft fingers along my neck, whispers in my ear.

And it sounds like hope.

La fin

Sincere thanks to my inimitable agent, Michael Bourret, for championing my book and finding it the very best of homes. Thank you for advising me to go with my gut. I'm so glad I did: it partnered me with the kindest, smartest, rockstarriest agent I could imagine.

Deepest thanks to my incredible editors, Maggie Lehrman at Amulet and Alice Swan and Rebecca Lee at Faber & Faber, for asking the questions that transformed this manuscript and for guiding my choices so graciously. I feel so fortunate to have had your advice and expertise.

Thanks to the entire team at Abrams/Amulet, including copyeditor Nancy Elgin and proofreader Kat Kopit, who treated my book with swoon-worthy fastidiousness, and the marketing team, including Nicole Russo and Jason Wells, and cover designer Maria Middleton. Thanks to the entire team at Faber for all of the enthusiasm and support, including
acquiring publisher Leah Thaxton and cover designer Emma Eldridge.

Many thanks to Lauren Abramo and the foreign rights department at DGLM for sharing my book with readers around the world, thereby ensuring
international fanciness.
Thanks also to Caspian Dennis and Kate McLennan at Abner Stein Agency for securing my Faber home.

I owe an enormous debt of gratitude to my critique partner, the talented Dana Alison Levy, who reads my work, helps me see it with new eyes, and is always around for a phone call to commiserate, celebrate, or
mull
. Thank you for your tiny-armed hugs and giant help, TD.

Thanks to all of my wonderful early readers: Bethany Griffin (who advised me to go with her gut. Apparently we share a gut?), Sarah Harian (who loved this book at a critical moment), Angela Sparks, Rachael Allen, Jennifer Walkup, Lindsey Culli, and Debra Driza (who all offered wonderful feedback and encouragement). Amazing writers and women, all!

Special thanks to my best friend, Amanda Marshall, for early reading and general cheerleading (also for not looking askance when I announced that day in the mall that
I shall write fiction for a living
).

Massive thanks to Jaki Campeau for childcare at the drop of a hat, for your encouragement and support. I am so lucky!

Thank you to Josie C. for gifting me the blanket-dream story back in grad school.

Thank you to Dr. Rosalind Kerr for teaching me to be careful with my words.

Moral support awards go to Kim Iampen (holder of my hand) and my Edmonton girlfriends and Rimbey girls (fillers
of my metaphorical and literal cup). Giant thanks to Pamela Anthony (photo-safari-er and checker of reality) and Joel Higham (designer of all things pretty and genius).

Merci beaucoup á Marc Piquette pour votre patience avec la conjugaison et la traduction. Merci á Thérèse Romanick pour répondre á mes appels aléatoires. Vous êtes très gentilles!
Thank you to Becky Pickard for
les trembles.

Thanks to my online writing friends, particularly the litbitches, who provide a landing pad for all things manic and hilarious, writerly-related and not. Without you I would be a lonely little writer indeed.

Thank you to my entire family for your love and support.

I'm particularly grateful to my mom and dad for instilling in me a love of reading and for encouraging me in my fantastical imaginings (also for adoring and entertaining my children when deadlines get crunchy).

My baby brother, Tim, deserves special thanks for setting my feet on this path and encouraging me down it by being willing to speak all things world-building whenever I need. My brother Jeff, too, for listening to my rants.

I'm filled with gratitude for my husband, Marcel, who always believed I could do it, and who provides me the time and support to keep writing. I love you.

To Matias Alex and Dylan Asha, who make each day joyful and new: thank you for being the wonderfully weird little creatures you are. You are beyond my best imaginings.

Finally, thank you to my big brother, John. My grief could fill an ocean, but my gratitude for the strength you showed is equally deep. You were true Bravery. I miss you.

KATE BOORMAN
is a writer from the Canadian prairies. She was born in Nepal and grew up in the small town of Rimbey, where she developed a fondness for winter. She has a master's degree in Dramatic Critical Theory and a résumé full of assorted jobs, from florist to qualitative research associate. She lives in Edmonton, Alberta, with her family, and spends her free time sitting under starry skies with her friends and scheming up travel to faraway lands.