Kate placed her hand on her mother’s. They both understood; every at-home mom in the world understood. Ultimately there were prices to be paid for the choices a woman made. “You’re my hero, Mom,” Kate said simply.
Daylight expanded with each breath.
Now Leni was old enough to know that like all fairy tales, theirs was filled with thickets and dark places and broken dreams, and runaway girls.
Men tell stories,” I say. It is the truest, simplest answer to his question. “Women get on with it. For us it was a shadow war. There were no parades for us when it was over, no medals or mentions in history books. We did what we had to during the war, and when it was over, we picked up the pieces and started our lives over. Your sister was as desperate to forget it as I was. Maybe that was another mistake I made – letting her forget. Maybe we should have talked about it.
In love we see who we want to be; in war we see who we are.
Grief this deep was a silent, lonely thing.
Antoine took her in his arms. The scent of jasmine was intoxicating, and she knew suddenly, certainly, that from now on, whenever she smelled jasmine, she would remember this good-bye.
The truth was that the biggest danger of all was in her own home.
Lost. It makes it sound as if I misplaced my loved ones; perhaps I left them where they don’t belong and then turned away, too confused to retrace my steps.
She felt the end of the kiss as deeply as she’d felt the start of it.
The more she got, the more she wanted, the more afraid she was of losing it, and the harder she worked.
Love is a gift from God – what we do with it is up to us.
She collected grudges and heartaches the way she’d once collected Barbies, never sharing, never abandoning.
Time spent together created an intimacy that didn’t quite spill over into friendship.
Who you mom is and how she lives her life isn’t a reflection of you. You can make your own choices. And there’s nothing for you to be ashamed of. But you’ll have to dream big, Tully.
She sat there a long time, talking to her daddy as if he were sitting right beside her.
Mama loved him too much to leave him. Still, even now, with her face bruised and swollen. Maybe what she’d always said was true, maybe she couldn’t breathe without him, maybe she’d wilt like a flower without.
Wild. That’s how I describe it all. My love. My life. Alaska. Truthfully, it’s all the same to me. Alaska doesn’t attract many; most are too tame to handle life up here. But when she gets her hooks in you, she digs deep and holds on, and you become hers. Wild. A lover of cruel beauty and splendid isolation. And God help you, you can’t live anywhere else.
It was a gray, not-quite-rainy day, the kind where the sky was so low it seemed to bump you in the forehead when you dared to venture outside.
Mama had called Leni the great love of her life and Leni thought maybe that was always true for parents and their children.