“Maybe it was the absence of thought that she loved about being out there, the world narrowing to just the pounding of the waves as the water moved in and out.”

“Once, she'd been a pro at decompressing,loved to sit on the back deckof the beach house in one of our splintery Adirondack chairs for hours at atime, staring at the ocean. Shenever had a book or the paper or anything else to distract her. Just the horizon,but it kept her attention,her gaze unwavering. Maybe it was the absence of thought that she loved aboutbeing out there, theworld narrowing to just the pounding of the waves as the water moved in andout.”

“I think love is kind of like those waves out there," she said. "You ride one in to the beach, and it's the most amazing thing you've ever felt. But at some point the water goes back out; it has to. And maybe you're lucky-maybe you're both too busy to do anything drastic. Maybe you're good as friends, so you stay. And then something happens-maybe it's something as big as a baby, or as small as him unloading the dishwasher-and the wave comes back in again. And it does that, over and over. I just think sometimes people forget to wait.”

“She moved like water, graceful and soft and lovely. Every part of me wanted to stick out my foot and trip her, just to see her stumble.”

“Maybe I don't need a relationship after all, she thought. Maybe thinking about these conversations was just as good as having them. She could sit in her Honda in the dark and experience whatever kind of life she wanted. Sometimes you think, Hey, maybe there's something else out there. But there really isn't. This is what being alive feels like, you know? The place doesn't matter. You just live.”

“I thought maybe she would have been an okay teacher. If she hadn't been guaranteed to scare the opinions right out of just about anyone at Willing who might possess one.”