“Justine pulled her Jag over to the side of the road and stared out at the landscape. I twirled the dial on her police band radio until the signal was clear. She opened her thermos, passed it over to me. I took a sip. The coffee was black, unsugared. That's the way Justine liked just about everything: straight up, no bullshit.”

“For years, he’s been listening to her complain about being ignored by Justin and assuring it her it was simply a matter of time until his friend saw the light. After all, if Henry was friends with Neerja and Henry was friends with Justin then, logically, Justin would be friends with Neerja. According to Henry, their eventual relationship was dictated by the transitive property.But Neerja didn’t want to be ‘just friends’ with Justin, and she was tired of waiting for the transitive property to jump-start her love life.”

“It's the wrong choice,Gennie.""Serena," Justin said warningly, but she turned on him with her eyes flashing and her voice low with exasperation."Damn it,Justin, she's miserable! There's nothing like a stubborn, pig-headed man to make a woman miserable, is there, Gennie?"With a half laugh,she dragged a hand through her hair. "No,I don't guess there is.""That works both ways," Justin reminded her."And if the man's pig-headed enough," Serena went on precisely, "it's up to the woman to give him a push.”

“When I saw her I was in love with her. Everything turned over inside of me. She looked toward the door, saw there was no one, then she sat on the side of the bed and leaned over and kissed me.”

“Chloe thought madly about tiny FM radios that she could hide in her ear and pull her hair over to hide, about getting very badly drunk or stoned, about getting one of the loopier Wiccans at school to put her into a trance before the reading. Anything that could get her through it with her sanity intact and a straight face.”

“It wasn't until after we were pulling into the back lot of Station One that I remembered asking Hank if he wanted to have coffee and talk.Crap.I slid a quick glance his way to find him staring out the window. His expression reminded me of a conversation I had with Emma when she was six years old and I found her sitting with her knees drawn up on the back of the couch, staring out the window."Hey, kiddo, what's wrong?""I'm looking out the window.""Why?""Because that's what people do when they're sad. They stare out the window.”