“I’m always buried in something. But I love you. I try to listen to what’s going on. If you need me, just—bring in a bucket of water, or something. Well, not water around the computers. Maybe a cattle prod. No. Not around the computers . . ..” “Ice,” I said. “Down the back.”

“And you know what? You can’t make me responsible for you and the choices you make.” I turned around and started walking toward the house.”

“She wants me to cut through all the sweetness and light in my head,” I said, “so I can see the truth.” “Which is?” Tommy asked, not turning around. “That nothing is what it seems to be.”

“I think that things happen, and if you don't do something to change them, they just keep happening. Sometimes that's a good thing, and sometimes it's a nightmare.”

“I miss you. You don’t know how much I miss you. You don’t know how my heart sinks inside me when I think how far away you are. But then, maybe you know that feeling. I hope you do. No, I wouldn’t wish that on you. But then, yes I would . . .. Forgive me for missing you that much.”

“Trust is weird,” my mother said. “People give it too easily, most of the time. Because somebody is attractive, they expect him to be good or honest. Or like pushy salesmen—somebody who carefully makes you feel like you’re emotionally obligated to trust them. Like you’re the rude one if you don’t. Trust is really something that needs to be earned. Hard earned. If somebody every says, ‘Don’t you trust me?’ Just say, “No, as a matter of fact.”

“I walked Sam up to his door and gave him a huge hug. He looked me over in the porch light and leaned over—just a little. He whispered, “You know, I’m glad you wore this costume tonight. Now I know, when you’re fifty three, you’re still gonna be lookin’ good.” So I hit him. Which really wasn’t what I was wanting to do.”