A good conversation always involves a certain amount of complaining. I like to bond over mutual hatreds and petty grievances.

The baby woke up before you did. I took him to the other room to let you get a little more sleep. We've been watching a game." "Did he cry?" "Only when he realized the Astros were having another first-round play-off flame out. But I told him there's no shame in crying over the Astros. It's how we Houston guys bond.

It's drugs, isn't it"? Tara was so innocent. She got pulled into that glamorous lifestyle with all her rich friends...all that cocaine dust floating around, she probably inhaled some by accident, and then -' 'There's no such thing as secondhand cocaine snorting, Mom.

Some are nice and some aren't. Some are smart, and others are about as bright as a wet match in a dark cave. In other words, pretty normal.

Yes, but you need to learn your maths." "I don't need to, really. I already know how to count to a hundred. And I'm sure I'll never need ore than a hundred of anything.

Once he had taken hold, he did not let go. It was not a handshake, it was a possession.

What are you thinking?" he asks. I know Gage hates it when I cry - he is completely undone by the sight of tears - so I blink hard against the sting. "I'm thinking how thankful I am for everything," I say, "even the bad stuff. Every sleepless night, every second of being lonely, every time the car broke down, every wad of gum on my shoe, every late bill and losing lottery ticket and bruise and broken dish and piece of burnt toast." His voice is soft. "Why, darlin'?" "Because it all led me here to you.