“When I got close to him, he smelled clean and steamy, like a late June-rain. And I was reduced to a ridiculous, blubbering pile of melting Jell-O. Criminy.”

“The best I can manage is to pretend that I don't notice him - which is like saying I have never once noticed the sky, or the itchy feel of grass against my legs, or the pelt of wind through an open car window. He's something you just have to notice - there's no overlooking about it”

“mad at me. For Dad, parenting has become just like shooting one of his stupid insurance ads-some makeup to cover the blemishes, a flashy smile, and wham! He's got himself a regular picture-perfect family.”

“My tears are like a whole pack of dogs on leashes; no matter how I try to tug them back, they just keep barreling forward.”

“He's standing in a cluster of black T-shirts - together, they look like the wilted petals on a single dead flower.”

“I feel as exposed as a sweatshirt worn wrong-side-out, or like pocket linings dangling outside of a pair of jeans. My heart, my hope, hang in the afternoon sun.”

“His skin radiates so much of the day's heat that touching him feels like wading into the lake, opening my hand, and catching one of the white shimmers of blistering afternoon sunlight bouncing across the water.”