“At nearly two months,the idea of it as news was fading in the hearts of all but my family-and Ruth”

“Ruth had been a girl haunted and now she would be a woman haunted. First by accident and now by choice. All of it, the story of my life and death, was hers if she chose to tell it, even to one person at a time.”

“As she stood in the darkened room and watched my sister and father, I knew one of things that heaven meant. I had a choice, and it was not to divide my family in my heart.”

“Do you miss Susie?"Because it was dark, because Ruth was facing away from her,because Ruth was almost a stranger, Lindsey said what she felt."More than anyone will ever know.”

“Do you ever think of her?' she asked.They were quiet again. All the time,' Ruth said. A chill ran down my spine. 'Sometimes I think she's lucky, you know. I hate this place.'Me too,' Ray said. 'But I've lived other places. This is just a temporary hell, not a permanent one.'You're not implying...'She's in heaven, if you believe in that stuff.'You don't?'I don't think so, no.'I do,' Ruth said. 'I don't mean la-la angel wing crap, but I do think there's a heaven.'Is she happy?'It is heaven, right?'But what does that mean?'The tea was stone-cold and the first bell had already rung. Ruth smiled into her cup. 'Well, as my dad would say, it means she's out of this shithole.'~pgs 82-83”

“Like a medical procedure,' Ruth said. 'Intricate surgery is needed to patch up the planet.”

“Years passed. The trees in our yard grew taller. I watched my family and my friends and neighbors, the teachers whom I'd had or imaged having, the high school I had dreamed about. As I sat in the gazebo I would pretend instead that I was sitting on the topmost branch of the maple under which my brother had swallowed a stick and still played hide-and-seek with Nate, or I would perch on the railing of a stairwell in New York and wait for Ruth to pass near. I would study with Ray. Drive the Pacific Coast Highway on a warm afternoon of salty air with my mother. But I would end each day with my father in his den. I would lay these photographs down in my mind, those gathered from my constant watching, and I could trace how one thing- my death- connected these images to a single source. No one could have predicted how my loss would change small moments on Earth. But I held on to those moments, hoarded them. None of them were lost as long as I was there.”