Learning to Breathe Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CONVERSATION GUIDE

  CONVERSATION GUIDE

  CONVERSATION GUIDE

  Teaser chapter

  Praise for the Novels of Karen White

  Pieces of the Heart

  “Heartwarming and intense . . . a tale that resonates with the meaning of unconditional love.”—Romantic Times BOOKclub (4 stars)

  “A terrific insightful character study.”—Midwest Book Review

  “A wonderful, touching story that will touch the heart of everyone who reads it.”—Writers Unlimited

  “An amazingly emotional read!”—The Best Reviews

  “Kudos to Karen White for penning a wonderful, heartfelt novel that will be thoroughly enjoyed by fans of women’s fiction.”

  —BookLoons

  “Pieces of the Heart touches the heart and does not let go even after the last page has been turned. Karen White is an author on the rise.”

  —Book Cover Reviews

  Written by today’s freshest new talents and selected by New American Library, NAL Accent novels touch on subjects close to a woman’s heart, from friendship to family to finding our place in the world. The Conversation Guides included in each book are intended to enrich the individual reading experience, as well as encourage us to explore these topics together—because books, and life, are meant for sharing.

  The Color of Light

  “[White’s] prose is lyrical, and she weaves in elements of mysticism and romance without being heavy-handed. This is an accomplished novel about loss and renewal, and readers will be taken with the people and stories of Pawleys Island.”—Booklist

  “The reader will hear the ocean roar and the seagulls scream as the past reluctantly gives up its ghosts in this beautiful, enticing, and engrossing novel.”—Romantic Times BOOKClub (4½ stars)

  “A story as rich as a coastal summer . . . dark secrets, heartache, a magnificent South Carolina setting, and a great love story.”

  —New York Times bestselling author Deborah Smith

  “An engaging read with a delicious taste of the mysterious.”

  —New York Times bestselling author Haywood Smith

  “Karen White’s novel is as lush as the Lowcountry, where the characters’ wounded souls come home to mend in unexpected and magical ways.”

  —Patti Callahan Henry, award-winning author of When Light Breaks

  Praise for

  Karen White

  “The fresh voice of Karen White intrigues and delights.”

  —Sandra Chastain, contributor to Blessings at Mossy Creek

  “Warmly Southern and deeply moving.”

  —Deborah Smith, author of The Crossroads Café

  “Karen White writes with passion and poignancy.”

  —Deb Stover, award-winning author of Mulligan Magic

  “[A] sweet book . . . highly recommended.”—Booklist

  “Karen White is one author you won’t forget. . . .This is a masterpiece in the study of relationships. Brava!”—Reader to Reader Reviews

  “This is not only romance at its best—this is a fully realized view of life at its fullest.”—Readers & Writers Ink Reviews

  “After the Rain is an elegantly enchanting southern novel. . . . Fans will recognize the beauty of White’s evocative prose.”

  —WordWeaving

  “In the tradition of Catherine Anderson and Deborah Smith, Karen White’s After the Rain is an incredibly poignant contemporary bursting with Southern charm.”

  —Patricia Rouse, Rouse’s Romance Readers Groups

  “Don’t miss this book!”—Rendezvous

  “Character-driven and strongly written . . . After the Rain . . . marks Karen White as a rising star and an author to watch.”

  —Romantic Times BOOKClub

  New American Library Titles

  by Karen White

  The Color of Light

  Learning to Breathe

  Pieces of the Heart

  The Memory of Water

  The Lost Hours

  On Folly Beach

  Falling Home

  The Beach Trees

  Sea Change

  After the Rain

  The Time Between

  A Long Time Gone

  The Sound of Glass

  Flight Patterns

  The Tradd Street Series

  The House on Tradd Street

  The Girl on Legare Street

  The Strangers on Montagu Street

  Return to Tradd Street

  NAL Accent

  Published by New American Library, a division of

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street,

  New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto,

  Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2,

  Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)

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  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices:

  80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  First published by NAL Accent, an imprint of New American Library,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  First Printing, March 2007

  Copyright © Karen White, 2007

  Conversation Guide copyright © Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 2007

  All rights reserved

  REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA

  LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA:

  White, Karen (Karen S.)

  Learning to breath/Karen White.

  p. cm.

  eISBN : 978-1-101-04226-7

  1. Single women—Fiction. 2. Life change events—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3623.H5776L43 2007

  813’.6—dc22 2006032476

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  This a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the aut
hor’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Version_2

  With love to Tim,

  for all that you do.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Writing a book is never easy, nor is it ever entirely a solitary process. Not only do I rely on the love and encouragement of my family, but also on the expertise and moral support of two talented authors who have the task of reading and critiquing my work before anybody else sees it.

  So, as always, I’d like to thank the usual suspects: Tim, Meghan and Connor and also Susan Crandall and Wendy Wax. This would be a very lonely road without you!

  Thanks also to my mother, Catherine Anne, and her sisters, Aunts Lulu, Janie, Gloria and Charlene, who have always been a great example of what a sister should be like. Your connection to each other was the basis for the strong ties between the O’Brien sisters in this book. And I promise that any other similarities are completely fictional!

  CHAPTER 1

  The brittle, yellowed paper of the sealed envelope felt light and inconsequential in Brenna O’Brien’s hand. Her fingers brushed the elegant, faded script on the front, and she marveled at how something so full of possibility could seem so fragile. Closing her eyes, she considered her thirty-three years for a moment, and realized how much her life resembled the unopened letter: unfulfilled possibilities and potential disappointments kept safe inside the heart of a woman who dared not lift the seal.

  Slowly slipping the antique letter back inside the acid-free sleeve of her scrapbook, she closed the cover and turned toward her dresser. She slid open the top drawer, listening to the rustle of forty-two silver chains, shimmying against each other. Recalling her date the previous evening, she fingered through the pile of chains, then pulled out her Saint Jude medal and hung it around her neck. After last night, the patron saint of hopeless causes would be her constant companion.

  Blotting perspiration from her forehead with a tissue, she grabbed her purse and headed for the door of her small apartment inside the large, antebellum home she shared with her landlady and two other tenants. Downstairs, she taped a note to Mrs. Grodin on her apartment door about her nonfunctioning air-conditioning unit, then continued out the main door of the old house. She blasted the air conditioner in her bright yellow VW Bug as soon as she started the engine, halfheartedly wondering if there was a way to fit in the backseat to sleep.

  Pulling out onto Magnolia Drive, she drove the four blocks to her sister’s store, passing the neat shotgun cottages and pastel-colored houses lined up like little old ladies dressed for church that defined the town of Indianola, Louisiana. Fat bundles of pink and red blossoms hung heavily from the crape myrtles that filled the median on Main Street, creating a backdrop to the old shops and restaurants that lined the sidewalks on either side. She waved to people she had known all her life as she drove past the library, Indianola Elementary, and the house she had grown up in and where her eldest sister, Kathleen, now lived with her family.

  It was unremarkable in its familiarity, a pleasing frame around the picture of Brenna’s life of nothing special. Except for those two brief years after she’d turned sixteen and her world had shimmered with possibility, her life had become as simple and uncomplicated as a slice of white bread. Perhaps this was her penance for a sin committed by her birth, but weighing it over in her mind, as she did so frequently, she always came to the conclusion that this was the life she was meant to live. She had learned well the lessons of Catholic guilt and atonement at her father’s knee, and it was now as much a part of her as breathing.

  Easily parallel parking her car in front of Mary Margaret’s Motivations and Grocery Emporium, she stepped out, paused for a moment to garner emotional strength, then entered her sister’s shop.

  The bell above the door tinkled as Brenna breathed in the rich aromas of brewing coffee and heavy incense. Mary Margaret spent a month in India on missionary trips with her husband each year, bringing back all sorts of scents, spices, and general gewgaws to sell in her store. Not that there was much business in Indianola for statues of Shiva or miniature carvings of people posed in positions from the Kama Sutra. These last, Brenna knew, were kept in a drawer behind the counter, as it wouldn’t do for the Baptist minister’s wife to be displaying such things on the shelves in her shop.

  “Hey, Mary Margaret—it’s just me.” Brenna eased her way down a crowded aisle toward the front counter, past the chewing tobacco and insect repellent and an eight-armed goddess from whose outstretched fingers hung Mardi Gras beads and a sack of beef jerky sticks.

  “Hey, yourself, baby sister,” Mary Margaret said as Brenna emerged from the jungle of retail offerings. “Grab a seat and I’ll get you some caffeine.”

  Gratefully, Brenna perched on the vinyl stool directly under the air-conditioning vent, and watched her sister sprinkle a dark powder into her cup before pouring the coffee. Although ten years older than Brenna, Mary Margaret appeared much younger than her forty-three years. With her light brown hair in a single braid down her back, and wearing a bright purple-and-gold sari, she could be a high schooler ripped out of the sixties and dumped in the new millennium. Although she wore a white T-shirt underneath to hide her stomach, it never ceased to amaze Brenna that the minister’s wife could be allowed to roam around town in such a getup.

  Without turning around, Mary Margaret asked, “Did you go to confession this morning? I hear you and Chester Anderson were out late last night.”

  Brenna rolled her eyes. “Did Mrs. Grodin call you this morning?”

  Mary Margaret turned around to face her sister, a steaming cup in her hands. “Nope. Mr. Northcutt from across the street called me to report that he had seen Chester kissing you on the front porch of Mrs. Grodin’s boardinghouse at around twelve o’clock in the morning.”

  “Mr. Northcutt needs to get a life. I refuse to be his only source of entertainment. Luckily Chester only slobbered on my ear, because I turned my head. And, no, I will not be going out with him again.”

  Leaning forward, Mary Margaret lifted the chain from Brenna’s neck and raised an eyebrow. “Hopeless causes, hmm?”

  Brenna raised her own eyebrow in response. Taking the proffered cup, she raised it to her nose, sniffed deeply, and changed the subject. “Is Richard still fending off the church ladies?”

  Mary Margaret leaned her elbows on the counter, clasping her beringed fingers under her chin. “Well, they finally stopped telling him that he was going to hell since he married a Catholic. Now they just take issue with my brews and potions. Not that they’ve never taken advantage of any of them, of course.” She winked. “I’d starve without their business.”

  Brenna took a sip of her coffee and studied her sister carefully—the way her skin glowed and her hair shone and her soft, willowy body reflected joy and contentment. Slowly Brenna put her cup down, feeling the old familiar heartburn that had nothing to do with food.

  “Was it all worth it? From Daddy’s disowning you to all the anonymous hate mail—have you ever regretted marrying Richard?”

  Mary Margaret stayed where she was, but her bright blue eyes darkened. “Not for a moment. Not even once in the last ten years.” Reaching over, as if Brenna were still a little girl, she pushed her sister’s hair out of her eyes. “You take the good with the bad—for that’s the stuff that life’s made of.” Pausing, she squinted closely at her youngest sister, like a surgeon before cutting. “Your date
must really have been bad. I’ll pass the message along to Kathleen that she’s been fired from the blind-date business.” She gave Brenna a discerning look. “Your hair needs cutting—you’re hiding those gorgeous green eyes. And what have you been using to clean your face? Looks like you could use a good exfoliator.”

  “Soap, water, and a rag,” Brenna answered. “I seem to be at the age when I’m getting pimples and wrinkles at the same time. Do I put the zit cream on top of the wrinkle cream or is it the other way around?”

  The bell over the door chimed and they both turned toward it, but whoever had entered the store had already disappeared down one of the aisles.

  Mary Margaret turned back to her younger sister. “I have something that I just brought back from India that I think would be perfect. It neutralizes the oils in your skin while deep-cleansing the pores and moisturizing the places where your skin needs it most.”

  Brenna smoothed the floral chiffon of her nearly transparent blouse, a gift from another sister that neither suited her body nor her taste, and tried to act more animated than she felt. “If it’s free, I’ll try it.”

  An innocent smile crossed Mary Margaret’s face. “Hang on just a minute while I go in the back to get it. It’s kind of rare, so I don’t keep it out. But I swear you’ll love it.”