“Of course I told him about you," Liesel said. She was saying goodbye and she didn't even know it”

“She was saying goodbye and she didn't even know it.”

“The truth is that she told me she couldn't love me. When she said goodbye, she was saying goodbye forever. And yet.I made myself forget. I don't know why. I keep asking myself. But I did.”

“Hair the color of lemons,'" Rudy read. His fingers touched the words. "You told him about me?"At first, Liesel could not talk. Perhaps it was the sudden bumpiness of love she felt for him. Or had she always loved him? It's likely. Restricted as she was from speaking, she wanted him to kiss her. She wanted him to drag her hand across and pull her over. It didn't matter where. Her mouth, her neck, her cheek. Her skin was empty for it, waiting.Years ago, when they'd raced on a muddy field, Rudy was a hastily assembled set of bones, with a jagged, rocky smile. In the trees this afternoon, he was a giver of bread and teddy bears. He was a triple Hitler Youth athletics champion. He was her best friend. And he was a month from his death.Of course I told him about you," Liesel said.”

“One day I told him about the boys of the neighborhood, about their mocking.He said, "That's because they don't understand.""They should understand, I said. I didn't want to cry, but I was crying."If your mother had diabetes, what would they say?""I don't know.""This is like diabetes. She's not well. That's all."Was that what he told himself? That she was not well? That she might get better? I don't know.”

“Goodbye," she said.When I didn't say it back, she rested her hand on the top of my head. The weight was strange and gentle. "I love you," she said. "And when I tell you goodbye, I don't mean forever or for long. Just that I'm going home now, and so are you.”