...the sound of our lack of conversation amplified by the echo of our footsteps on the stone around us.

Maura had decided sometime before Blue's birth that it was barbaric to order children about, and so Blue had grown up surrounded by imperative question marks.

Counter Girl (in candy shop): You two are cute. Seriously. How long have you been going out? Sam: Six years.

What do you eat?" "Baby bunnies." She narrowed her eyes, so I grinned and said, "Adult bunnies, too. I'm an equal-opportunity bunny-eater.

Inside the house, I turned on the kitchen light, revealing the photographs stuck every which way all over the cabinets, and then switched on the hall light. In my head, I heard Beck say to my small nine-year-old self, 'Why do we need every light in the house on? Are you signaling to aliens?

I tired the back door -- unlocked. Truley the Man Upstairs was smiling down on me.

If that moment had been a real thing, it would've been a butterfly, flapping and fluttering toward the sun.