“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.”

“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.”

“Sweetie. Look at me.”She did, but it was difficult now, when she could never remember a time she hadn’t wanted to look at his beloved face. She blinked, trying to forcethe fresh torrent of tears back where they belonged. It just wasn’t possible. No, there was no emptiness now. She was bursting at the seams, overflowing.“Don’t cry,” he said gently, swiping her cheeks with his thumbs. “You cry and I want to break something. Or someone. What is it?”

“His voice dropped to a low murmur, and he leaned down so that he was almost whispering in her ear. “You see, there’s this woman.”She wasn’t going to look at him. She wasn’t.“Normally, one might say that there was a beautiful woman—but I don’t think she qualifies as a classical beauty. Still, I find that when she’s around, I’d rather look at her than anyone else.” He set two fingers against her cheek, and Minnie sucked in a breath. She was not going to look at him. He’d see the longing in her eyes, and then…“There’s something about her that draws my eye. Something that defies words. Maybe it’s her hair, but I tried to tell her that, and she told me I was being ridiculous. I suppose I was. Maybe it’s her lips. Maybe it’s her eyes, although she so rarely looks at me.”

“It is an important distinction to note that she looked not only as if she had taken good care of herself, but that she had good reason to have done so. (...) She looked to be in such total possession of her life that only the most confident men could continue to look at her if she looked back at them. Even in bus stations, she was a woman who was stared at only until she looked back.”

“No one could see her objectively anyway. Even those who saw her for the first time, before she had opened her mouth to sing. Found her radiant, as if her talent could not be contained in her voice and so poured like light though her skin. Then all that could be seen was the weight and the gloss of her hair and the pale pink of her cheeks and her beautiful hands.”