“grown-ups always say that things are complicated.”
“If it’s over, then don’t let the past screw up the rest of your life.”
“Where does a story truly begin? In life, there are seldom clear-cut beginnings, those moments when we can, in looking back, say that everything started. Yet there are moments when fate intersects with our daily lives, setting in motion a sequence of events whose outcome we could never have foreseen.”
“Sometimes, things don't work out the way we want them to.”
“It's okay to be sad. Everyone gets sad now and then. Even me.”
“That's good. And speaking of spelling, tell me -- do you wrap your head in a towel after you shower?”
“He put his arms around her. “Well, in my defense, then, whatever I did seemed to work, didn't it?”
She sighed. “I suppose.”
“What do you want? A medal?”
“For starters. A trophy would be nice, too.”
She smiled. “What do you think you're holding right now?”
“Miles: Well, things are kind of complicated right now. When you’re
a grown-up, you’ll understand.
Jonah: I don’t want to be a grown-up.
Miles: Why not?
Jonah: Because grown-ups always say that things are complicated.”
Jonah walked in silence for a few steps. "It's okay if you like Miss Andrews."
Miles looked down in surprise. "It is?"
"Yeah," he said seriously. "Because I think she likes you.”
“You've always lived here, right?" Sarah asked.
"Except for the years I went to college."
"Didn't you ever want to move away? To experience something new?"
She nudged him playfully with her elbow. "No, not just that. Cities have a vibrancy, a sense of excitement that you can't find in a small town."
"I don't doubt it. But to be honest, I've never been interested in things like that. I don't need those things to make me happy. A nice quiet place to unwind at the end of the day, beautiful views, a few good friends. What else is there?”
“Can I have a Happy Meal?"
"don't you think you're getting a little old for that?"
"I'm only seven, Dad.”
“You say that every morning.”
Miles shrugged. “You're late every morning.”
“Then wake me up sooner.”
“I have a better idea—why don't you go to sleep when I tell you to?”
“I'm not tired then. I'm only tired in the mornings.”
“Join the club.”
“He looks pretty broken up about the fact he won't see me tonight."
"Absolutely crushed," Sarah agreed with a nod.
"We were supposed to rent a movie together, you know."
Sarah shrugged. "It must be terrible to be forgotten so easily."
Miles laughed. He was smitten about her, no doubt about it.”
“If you'd rather not answer, you don't have to," Miles offered. "I'm sure it wouldn't change my impression of him, anyway."
"And what impression is that?"
"I don't like him."
Sarah laughed. "Why do you say that?"
"Because you don't like him."
"You're pretty perceptive.”
“I thought you didn't like staying after school."
"I didn't at first, but I kind of like it now."
He nodded. "Miss Andrews makes me feel special.”
“So . . . do you?” He persisted.
“Yes,” she said finally with a mystified laugh. “I wrap my head in a towel.”
He nodded, satisfied. “I thought so.”
“Did you ever think about cutting back on the caffeine?”
Miles shook his head. “Never.”
“Well . . . I mean . . .”
Her eyebrows lifted and she looked at him slyly. “You want to ask me about the fan again?”
He grinned. She'd never let him live that down.”
“You get to tour some of the historic homes and listen to ghost stories."
"This is what people do in small towns?"
"We could either do that or go sit on my porch, chew some tobacco, and play banjos.”
“That was the kind of life she’d had as a child, and it was the kind she wanted as an adult. But it hadn’t worked out that way. Things in life seldom
did, she’d come to understand”
“From behind her back, Sarah brought out a set of Matchbox cars, which she handed to Jonah.
“What's this for?” He asked.
“I just wanted you to have something to play with while you're here,” she said. “Do you like them?”
He stared at the box. “This is great! Dad . . . look.” He held the box in the air.
“I see that. Did you say thanks?”
“Thank you, Miss Andrews.”
As soon as Miles approached, Sarah stood again and greeted him with a kiss. “I was just kidding, you know. You look nice, too. I'm not used to seeing you wearing a jacket and tie in the middle of the afternoon.” She fingered his lapel slightly. “I could get used to this.”
“Thank you, Miss Andrews,” he said, mimicking his son.”
“Maybe he suspected something, maybe he’d simply been around long enough to know that fairytales seldom came true”
“You’re beautiful and charming, and I can’t stop thinking about last night.” No, he
didn’t say that. Not exactly, anyway. What Sarah heard was, “Hey—how are you?”
“And you were wrong in the way you”
“sense of all this. The traffic clear, Miles made a U-turn and was on his way to”
“He'd simply been around long enough to know that fairy tales seldom came true”
“There is something terrible in the moments after waking up, when the subconscious
knows that something terrible has happened but before all the memories flash back in
“There is a path one takes when moving toward destruction. Like someone who has
one drink on a Friday night, and two the next, only to gradually and completely lose
“I realize that I don’t know where to start. Not because I’m unsure of my story, but because I’m not sure why I feel compelled to tell it in the first place. What can be achieved by unearthing the past?”
“that history almost always repeats itself. And it is almost always written by men.”
“Ah, the violence: tearing, killing, ripping. Lila, between fascination and horror, spoke to me in a mixture of dialect, Italian, and very educated quotations that she had taken from who knows where and remembered by heart. The entire planet, she said, is a big Fosso Carbonario.”
“Humor is the most faithful supporting actor in a tragedy. So”
“Objects are what we aren't, what we can't extend ourselves to be. Do people make things to define the boundaries of the self? Objects are the limits we desperately need. They show us where we end. They dispel our sadness, temporarily.”
“What a glorious boy
he had meant to be to her. Ah, Peter, we who have made the great
mistake, how differently we should all act at the second chance. But
Solomon was right; there is no second chance, not for most of us.
When we reach the window it is Lock-out Time. The iron bars are up
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