“You don’t have to con­trol ev­ery­thing,” she says. “You can’t con­trol ev­ery­thing.”

“Ten years ago, he was the hard­work­ing salt of the earth. All he want­ed was to go to Heav­en. Sit­ting here to­day, ev­ery­thing that he worked for in the world is lost. All his ex­ter­nal rules and con­trols are gone.”

“Ev­ery­thing you re­mem­ber is wrong.”

“The on­ly thing I know is ev­ery­thing you love will die.”

“Ev­ery­thing they be­lieved in turned out to be wrong.”

“I don’t ex­pect you to un­der­stand,” Adam says. “You’re still the eight-​year-​old sit­ting in school, sit­ting in church, be­liev­ing ev­ery­thing you’re told. You re­mem­ber pic­tures in books. They planned how you’d live your whole life. You’re still asleep.”

“Most ev­ery­thing else I know is from the mess­es these peo­ple leave be­hind.”