Don't want to get tipsy and break a hip.

But it all zipped by. One minute Marlena and I were up to our eyeballs, and the next thing we knew the kids were borrowing the car and fleeing the coop for college. And now, here I am. In my nineties and alone.

I stare at her for a long moment. I want to kiss her. I want to kiss her more than I've ever wanted anything in my life.

I tend not to think about the reading public at all, or the business, when I'm writing.

When two people are meant to be together, they will be together. It's fate.

Life goes on with fragile normalcy.

All right. Let's give you something to tell your grandkids about. Or great-grandkids. Or great-great-grandkids." I snort with glee, delirious with excitement. Charlie winks and pours me another finger's worth of whiskey. Then, on second thought, he tips the bottle again. I reach out and grab its neck. "Better not," I say. "Don't want to get tipsy and break a hip.