“He was so close she could almost hear the movement of his thoughts, the role of the tide; she had slipped inside his skin.”

“He thought about the story his daughter was living and the role she was playing inside that story. He realized he hadn't provided a better role for his daughter. He hadn't mapped out a story for his family. And so his daughter had chosen another story, a story in which she was wanted, even if she was only being used. In the absence of a family story, she'd chosen a story in which there was risk and adventure, rebellion and independence.”

“He is so beautiful," she thought, aching from the sadness that she saw in his eyes. In the late-afternoon sunlight, those eyes were almost green. She took his face in her hands and pulled him to her, claiming the kiss she had so desperately wanted the day before but had forgotten in the heat of the moment. She closed her eyes and felt him respond to her mouth, his tongue seeking hers.”

“An obstreperous urge seized him. he desperately wanted to hold on to her, to support his slipping heart, and when it slipped away, he realized she had gone away, incarcerating herself in his thought with her smile and unblemished innocence.”

“He wanted to pull her inside his skin and carry her around close to his heart.”

“She was his and he was hers. They had under-the-skin privileges.”