Archived Chats Quotes

For the men chatting together softly, the change was in being shown sunlight again. In being reminded that the darkness DID pass. But perhaps most important, the change was in not merely knowing that you weren't alone — but in FEELING it. Realizing that no matter how isolated you thought you were, no matter how often your brain told you terrible things, there WERE others who understood.

Having studied art history, as opposed to political history, I tend to incorporate found objects into my books. Just as Pablo Picasso glued a fragment of furniture onto the canvas of Still Life with Chair Caning, I like to use whatever's lying around to paint pictures of the past--traditional pigment like archival documents but also the added texture of whatever bits and bobs I learn from looking out bus windows or chatting up people I bump into on the road.

house with a great view. You’ll see that at the party tonight. Wish Char would be here for that, too, but we’ll all be together soon.” At least, Kate thought, Jack Lockwood, alias former father, would not be here tonight, so she could enjoy herself. Not only was she curious to see Grant Mason, but she also couldn’t wait to examine the Adena burial site she’d found on an old map in the university archives when she was back in the States at Christmas. The so-called Mason Mound was about twenty yards behind Grant’s house, and she was much more eager to see it than him. * * * The caterers Grant had hired from the upscale Lake Azure area had taken over the kitchen, and he didn’t want to disturb the setup for the buffet or the bar at the far end of the living room. So he sat in his favorite chair looking out over the back forest view through his massive picture window. The guests for the party he was throwing for his best friend, Gabe, and his fiancée, Tess, would be here soon—eighteen people, a nice number for mixing and chatting. He’d laid in champagne for toasts to the happy couple. Gabe and Grant had been best friends since elementary school, when a teacher had seated them in alphabetical order by first names. Grant had been the first to marry. Lacey had been his high-school sweetheart, head of the cheerleaders, prom queen to his king. How unoriginal—and what a disaster.

She strode through the newsroom, made her way to the back of the offices. Richardson was there, chatting it up with one of the archival interns. She caught his eyes, signaled for him to step away. He did and turned to her, concern filling his eyes. “What’s wrong?” Taylor pitched her voice low; the intern was craning her neck, trying to hear what was up. “One of my detectives just called. There’s been a missing-persons report, a girl who matches the victim description. I need to go, follow it up. Can we get together later, talk about all this?” Richardson had the audacity to look crestfallen for a brief moment, then brightened as if he realized how ludicrous that was. “Of course, of course. I understand completely. Is there anything I can do? Do you need someone from here to help?

My wife is different. She gets along with her sisters well enough, but they don’t call each other. The most consistent communication between them is a WhatsApp group that largely remains dormant, save for the pictures her sisters send to mark their children’s milestones. I once watched my wife respond to one of these messages with a red heart emoji before quietly exhaling as she archived the chat.