“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.”

“He laughed, looking down into his empty cup. “Decent people don’t expect that kind of twistedness.” He put the cup down on the floor. “And if they ever did suspect it, they’d just blame themselves for thinking too mean. You should trust your disquiet the next time. That’s what it’s there for. A man like that gets where he is by seeming. And then he makes you feel obligated to him. It’s an old trick.”

“Which made me laugh, of course. If you ever want to get truly hysterical, just get really, really scared, and then have somebody say something funny. You get caught between the laugh and the sob, and it’s hard to find your way out.”

“I? Why hadn’t I trusted myself? Because I’d trusted the woman across the street instead, that’s why. That grown up. That Assistant Principal. So in a way, it had been my fault. But in another way, not. But no matter whose fault it was, I still had bruises on my arms. And now, memories I didn’t want.”

“I forgot all about him and lost myself in the story.That's what I love about films and good books- you can climb right into them and be there. I just hate it when I'm doing that, and then somebody butts in and messes with my concentration.”

“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.”

“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.”