What I know now about life is this: your mother is a part of everything you do and everything you are.

....both had learned that everything could change in an instant, and that the heartfelt vows of people in love were fragile words that, once shattered, could cut so deeply you'd bleed forever.

Promises were a lot like impressions. The second one didn't count for much.

I always thought it was what I wanted: to be loved and admired. Now I think perhaps I'd like to be known.

Then he left her there, standing alone, surrounded by word ghosts; things she could have said.

Lately he'd been seen going out less and less, becoming that strangest of animals in a small town: a loner.

Before this trip and all that she'd learned about the three of them, she would have gotten angry or changed the subject. Anything to obscure the pain she felt. Now she knew better. You carried your pain with you in life. There was no outrunning it.