“Parker fixated on the envelope's precise penmanship as she lifted it. Her grandmother rarely took the time to write her own name in the return address, let alone give it the aesthetic attention that this one so seemed to demand. Once, when Parker questioned her on this, her grandmother casually asserted that she "didn't quite believe in envelopes" as if this were a debatable concept like Socialism or wearing white after Labor Day.”

“At a time when Parker might have craved the comfort of certainty, she instead held tight to her wavering thoughts; To the gravity and thrill of a new adventure; To the promise of everything and nothing all at once.”

“Her grandmother experienced them differently, as if they brought her remnants from another time, another life even, which she refused to acknowledge in any other context.”

“She looked over at her grandmother, smiling in her sleep from what she hoped was a dream about George Bailey and the angel that would eventually save him.”

“Parker and her mother exchanged small talk like a pair of strangers in an elevator. What a nice day it was and how loud the airplanes flew overhead and this statement and that observation to fill the time.”

“His words were rare, full conversations with him even rarer, as if Parker were one of his students that he did not want to indulge with conversation after class.”

“She smiled, not because she felt confident that she could think of a solution, but for the gratitude that she wasn’t quite so alone in her pursuit.”