“I know,” he said, very softly. “Let’s go home. Let’s go home, and you can tell me whatever you want, and I’ll believe you.”

“Let’s go home,’ Homer said, ‘to Hell.”

“Please, let me take you home. You’re drunk.”“I am not.” I shoved him, spilling some kind of delicious poison on him. “Go home and have a wild time with Ms. Scarlet. In the bedroom. With the—”“Okay, you’re starting to talk board game. Let’s go home, babe. I’ll get you into bed.”

“If you want, I can carry you—” “I’m fine,” she said shortly. “Let’s go.”He’d said that wrong. He should have said, “I want to carry you.”

“I haven’t heard you laugh like that in quite a while. I was glad to hear it. I’m tired of seeing you in pain.” he said. “I’m going to do my best to keep you from ever hurting again. That’s a promise,” he said, softly.I believed him. I leaned over to give him a kiss.“I love you,” he said once we’d separated. “Now let’s go home.”

“Do you ever want to go home?' I asked Paul.He brushed an ash from my face. 'It's the century of the displaced person,' he said. 'You can never go home.”