I was a fine arts major in college, and a painter for many years. And I found that, like writing, art is very similar.

I may have been a Wayward, but my way was full of people who loved me. They were the only way I knew

In the wake of my talk with Earl, we had come to a mutual understanding about Lena, the only kind guys ever come to. Meaning, I hadn’t brought it up, and they hadn’t brought it up, and between us, we somehow all agreed to go on like this indefinitely. Don’t ask, don’t tell.

Flying or falling, it's up to us.

Aw, come on. I barely speak English, unless we're talking about the Lowcountry kind.

Knowing you don't have much time left changes things. You get kind of philosophical. And you figure things out-more like, they figure themselves out-and everything gets real clear.

I need to talk to Lena" There it was. I'd finally said it. The one thing that had kept me from being able to exhale all day. The thing that had made me feel like I couldn't sit down, like I couldn't stay. Like I had to get up and go somewhere, even if I had nowhere to go.