“She turned to the sunlight    And shook her yellow head,And whispered to her neighbor:    "Winter is dead.”

“She stumbled back a step. “Carlos was the…?”“Panther, aye.”“He’s a cat?” And her boss was a dog. She shook her head. Was her next door neighbor a goldfish?”

“She shook her head and whispered, "No. No! That can't be true. Impossible!""You think things have to be possible? Things have to be true!”

“Sam…”“What?” she whispered.“Tell me what to do to fix it.”She shook her head and closed her eyes as though she couldn’t bear to see him. “You can’t fix it.”He had to. Failure here was not an option. “Let me try.”

“It's crazy isn't it?" She shook her head. "You have to believe it, but you hate it. I don't have to believe it, and I think it's beautiful." She shook her head again. "It's crazy.”

“I had seen a photograph of Sara at two. In it, her hair is platinum and falls around her face in happy disarray. She is dressed in yellow. Babyhood clings to her still and in the sunlight she appears incandescent. She is golden and delicious, sweet as a lemon drop. But her father never asks to see her.”