“She holds within her the memory of this journey, drawn out for her like a constellation in the darkness, each element of the landscape connecting her along a line that is her past. Carter may want to come here now, but she's the one who belongs, on this road, under this piece of sky.”

“For now she is small. For now she still thinks in terms of that little town, her concepts stuck, rigid. Eight days, she thinks. Eight days and she will leave. Not a day sooner. Not a day later. She wouldn’t want to risk ruining the possibility of all that her future may hold. All of it, for her, hanging on two rings on top of each other that when connected, she could trace forever.”

“But of course, it had all been her – by her and about her, and now she was back in the world, not one she could make, but the one that had made her, and she felt herself shrinking under the early evening sky”

“This is the one thing I hope: that she never stopped. I hope when her body couldn't run any farther she left it behind like everything else that tried to hold her down, she floored the pedal and she went like wildfire, streamed down night freeways with both hands off the wheel and her head back screaming to the sky like a lynx, white lines and green lights whipping away into the dark, her tires inches off the ground and freedom crashing up her spine.”

“It had not been a long journey, but the memory of it filled her like an infection. She had felt tethered by time to the city behind her, so that the minutes stretched out taut as she moved away, and slowed the farther she got, dragging out her little voyage.”

“As it turned out, she was alone after all. She prayed that he'd come back to her, because she missed him and needed her connection, her fix.”