Memories were moving pictures in which meaning was constantly in flux. They were stories people told themselves.

This is college?' Schyler asked. 'or Downton Abbey?

Love. It's so close to hate, it's almost indistinguishable. But this is how it was for the two of them. Love and hate. Life and death. Joy and anguish.

That was the thing about pictures--they were worth a thousand words, but sometimes they weren't the right ones.

The rose fell into his lap, and he looked up, startled. Mimi grinned. "Hey handsom" Mimi sent. "What's up?" Jack replied, without speaking. "Just thinking of you." Jack's smile deepened, and he threw the rose back at her so that it landed in her lap. Mimi tucked it behind her ear and fluttered her eyelashes appreciatively.

Kingsley did the same, except he also removed his T-shirt, showing off his broad chest, tan and smooth. When had Kingsley had time to work on his tan? Mimi wondered.

Schuyler pulled Oliver close and hugged him tightly. "Thank you," she whispered. Thank you for loving me enough to let me go.