“Rosie had been a little girl with a dead dad, and there was no getting around that or over that. Even a drunk dad, even an asshole, was better than a dead dad, which shouldn't reflect on you but did, and left a cannon hole in your heart. [p. 121]”

“I can't get over this. Dad isn't Sam's dad? Dad is a friend? How was I supposed to know that? People shouldn't be allowed to sign themselves as Dad unless they are your dad. It should be the law.”

“But Dad, you were a grown man, you have got to take responsibility for what you did, too! I mean, you made me eat [snotty] Kleenex, Dad! For Christ's sake, you can't do that to a little girl! You have got to say you're sorry for the stuff you did as a grown man!''Well,' Dad snorts, 'I musta done something right! 'Cause you never left any snot rags lying around the house again, now, did you?”

“I was just about to get up when Dad rushed into the kitchen. He was in pajamas, which was totally bizarre. Dad never came down to breakfast until he was completely dressed. Of course, his pajamas even had a little pocket and handkerchief, so maybe he felt dressed.”

“As I stomped across the school grounds, all I could see was Cal sitting with my dad in some manly room with leather chairs and dead animals on the wall, chomping on cigars as my dad formally signed me away to him. They probably even high-fived.”

“Your dad's not dead." I winced. "In fact, isn't he some kind of big-shot union labor guy?" He nodded. "Yup. That's who they called. Dad confirmed he died this morning.”