“She bursts into laughter. I can tell she wasn’t expecting me to say that. But I’m so glad I did. Hearing her laugh is like listening to the best kind of symphony.”

“Hearing her laugh is like listening to the best kind of symphony.”

“Over and over I had to reassure her. “You hate me,” she would say. “Lori, I don’t hate you. I love you.” Finally it began to dawn on me. When she challenged me like that, she wasn’t making a statement. She was asking a question. And she needed to hear the answer. She needed to hear that I still accepted her. She needed to hear that I still cared for her. Over and over again she needed to hear me tell her that I loved her.”

“I asked my schoolmate Mary to write a letter to me. She was funny and full of life. She liked to run around her empty house without any clothes on, even once she was too old for that. Nothing embarrassed her. I admired that so much, because everything embarrassed me, and that hurt me. She loved to jump on her bed. She jumped on her bed for so many years that one afternoon, while I watched her jump, the seams burst. Feathers filled the small room. Our laughter kept the feathers in the air. I thought about birds. Could they fly if there wasn’t someone, somewhere, laughing?”

“I’m glad I married you too, Harper,” I whispered into her hair, “because I’m in love with you.” But she didn’t hear, gone into a dream.”

“Somebody knocked, and I’m glad it wasn’t her. I mean I want her to come, but I thought it was him, so I ignored the knock and that’s why I’m glad it wasn’t her. I wouldn’t want to have ignored the very person I wanted to show up.”