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grandfather. What was it like growing up around a man who had so many adventures?”
    â€œI don’t really know,” I said.
    â€œWhat do you mean, you don’t know?”
    â€œI mean, I didn’t even know he existed until after my mother died.”
    She looked at me so sharply and for such a long time that I was sure she was going to miss the turn in the road up ahead.
    â€œUh, Brynja…” I grabbed the steering wheel. She looked straight ahead, her whole body went rigid for a moment, and she wrenched the wheel, sending gravel cascading down the sharp drop into the sea below. She eased off the gas pedal.
    â€œSorry,” she murmured. “It’s just—I didn’t know about your mother.”
    â€œIt’s no big deal.” That was my standard line. I killed my mother, no biggie, right? But this time, as soon as the words were out of my mouth, I wished I had chosen different ones. Her eyes were hard and her look sharp. “I mean, it’s no big deal that you didn’t know. Why should you? It was a couple of years ago.”
    â€œHow did it happen?”
    â€œIt was…an accident.” That’s what they’d called it, a freak accident. Falling rock in Northern Ontario. There were signs posted along the road warning about it, but I’d never heard of it happening and I’d never seen it until that day. We were cruising along, just my mom and me, with the top down on her little convertible. My dad was away, as usual, and we were on a road trip to visit my grandmother, who lived in Toronto. Then, just like that, something crashed right onto the car. I remember hearing it. I remember thinking, Holy %@$#! The car swerved and slammed into the rock face. Despite my seat belt, I hurtled face-first into the airbag. Everything went black. When I finally lifted my head, I looked over at my mom. But all I saw was rock.
    â€œIt was an accident,” I said again. “It was a long time ago.” But I remembered it as clearly as if it had been yesterday.
    She didn’t say another word. Neither did I. I stared out the window, where there wasn’t much to look at except ocean, rock, the occasional farm and sheep. Lots of sheep, all over the place, usually in groups of three. And waterfalls. I’d never seen so many waterfalls.

SIX
    We seemed to be moving inland. I heard a bell-like sound. Brynja frowned at the display on the dash. She was low on gas. Forty minutes and another warning ding later, she turned off the main road, and the next thing I knew, we were approaching a small town.
    â€œBorgarnes,” she said. “We live between here and Reykholt.”
    That was it. That was the name of the town I couldn’t remember at the airport.
    She slowed and pulled into a gas station. She jumped out, grabbed a pump and began to fill up. I got out to stretch my legs. I was walking toward a tourist information center when I heard someone shout in a language I assumed was Icelandic. I turned and saw Brynja, gas pump in one hand, push a woman away from her. The woman was jabbering at her the whole time and came at her again as soon as Brynja had shoved her. I doubled back, and Brynja pulled up the nozzle and thrust the gas hose at me. The woman was still talking. While I stood there holding the hose, Brynja shoved her again, harder this time, and the woman went flying backward and landed on her butt on the ground. I stared at Brynja. Her face was completely transformed by anger and hatred.
    â€œWhat’s going on?” I said. “Are you okay? Do you—?”
    â€œGet back in the car,” she said, grabbing the nozzle from me.
    Right. Like some girl I didn’t even know was going to start ordering me around as if she was the Major.
    Brynja jammed the gas nozzle back into the gas tank and the numbers on the machine started spinning again.
    The woman struggled to her feet. Brynja looked at her and hissed something in