“His face searching the bus windows looked expectant, impatient, and a little anxious. It was a husband's face. Familiar, known, increasing beloved. Mary Ann, I reflected, had an awful lot to learn. And actually, I reflected, I wouldn't be in her shoes right now for all the flowers in Bermuda...having it all to learn again.”

“Upon reflection, I realize that your image of me right now might be a bit skewed. Actually, kind of fucked. I am neither a nihilist, inordinately depressed, nor jaded. Though I can be and have been all of the above, and fully expect to be again.”

“I had a dejected, brooding expression on my face, and Icould tell from the reflection in the window that it was alsoan intriguing expression.”

“I wanted to say something, at least wave goodbye. Blake couldn't see me through the dark-tinted windows. All I could to was watch him stare at the windows, searching, finding nothing. Deep disappointment fell across his face as our car pulled away.It wasn't until we had a little distance that I noticed he was holding something in his hand. My shoe.”

“Mother Mary," he breathes. "How you shine." I shake my head. "The light is yours. Right now you can't see it because you sit in shadow, but all I do is reflect you.”

“He was looking at me, jsut as I'd thought he would be, but like Bert's, his light was not what I expected. No pity, no sadness: nothing had changed. I realized all the times I'd felt people stare at me, their faces had been pictures, abstracts. None of them were mirrors, able to reflect back the expression I thought one I wore, the feelings only I felt.”