Sam laughed, a funny, self-deprecating laugh. "You did read a lot. And spent too much time just inside the kitchen window, where I couldn't see you very well." "And not enough time mostly naked in front of my bedroom window?" I teased. Sam turned bright red. "That," he said, "is so not the point of this conversation.

His wife's a brand of Christian that forbids a gathering that involves young women dancing in the streets but not races where men die

It was the perfect moment to tell her. This is my last year. But I couldn’t say it. Not yet. I wanted another minute, another hour, another night of pretending this wasn’t the end.

My friend is having his period," I told the pizza guy, and handed him his tip. "He needs Britney and extra cheese to get him through it. I'm trying to be supportive.

Aren't you afraid?' 'Of what?' 'Of losing yourself.' 'That's what I'm hoping for.

I am standing here in the shed, and I'm waiting to see if my seeds are going to poke out ofthe dirt. I don't know if it's too early to look for signs of life or if, this time, winter has claimed my family for good.

There was something awful about terror trapped behind silence. About latent emotions that couldn't be acted out." "Cole's thoughts on page 248 of Linger.