He used to believe good things happened in this kind of weather.

I lost myself trying to find happiness in things that didn't love me back.

Living down your own past was hard enough. You shouldn't have to live down someone else's.

It was early evening when they walked outside, the sky the color of pink lemonade.

He'd always been fascinated by her, drawn to her the way curious people are always drawn to things they don't understand.

Some people don't know how to fall in love, like not knowing how to swim. They panic first when they jump in. Then they figure it out.

Those silly girls had no idea what they were really celebrating. They had no idea what it took to bring Agatha and her friends together seventy-five years ago. The Women's Society Club had been about supporting one another, about banding together to protect one another because no one else would. But it had turned into an ugly beast, a means by which rich ladies would congratulate themselves by giving money to the poor. And Agatha had let it happen. All her life, it seemed, she was making up for things she let happen.