“I wasn’t sure what expression I was expecting her to wear when she saw that it was me. I’d braced myself for disgust or anger. But she justlooked at me like I was — nothing. An annoyance, maybe.”

“I wanted to talk to her because she seemed the most likely to not be manipulating me, but because she looked like the one least likely to manipulate me, she could in fact be the master manipulator, manipulating me into manipulating myself by asking for her help, ergo—yeah, I’d looked it up and it wasn’t a person—I’d fallen right into her trap. Got it? Glad somebody did.”

“I liked that about her. I liked how laid back she was, when she wasn’t trying to stab me.”

“Her violence frightened me. She always claimed that I was the jealous one, and I was often jealous, but when I saw things working against me I simply became disgusted and withdrew. Lydia was different. She reacted. She was the Head Cheerleader at the Game of Violence.”

“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.”

“This time, the anger in her voice wasn’t there, and the tears were beginning to overflow her lower lids, starting their slow tracks down her cheeks. She looked old, and tired, and like the woman I’d only ever seen in pictures taken before I was even born. She looked like someone who could have loved me.”