Okay Bye Quotes

Saying good-bye is basically an invitation not to see a person again. It's making it okay for that to be the last conversation you have. So if you don't say it--if you leave the conversation open--it means you'll have to see them again." ~Roger Sullivan

Okay, this was kissing. Serious kissing. Not just a kiss before moving out, not a good-bye, this was Hello, sexy, and wow, she’d never even suspected that it could feel this way.

It was the wife, John thought. And she was giving this tough guy a tongue-lashing. And the man was taking it. "Okay. I love you. Bye." Tohrment flipped the phone closed and put it in his pocket. When he focused on John again, he clearly respected his wife enough not to roll his eyes and make some macho, shithead comment about pesky women.

We have to be what we are, so we don’t have to present a false image. If you love me the way I am, “Okay, take me.” If you don’t love me the way I am, “Okay, bye-bye. Find someone else.” It may sound harsh, but this kind of communication means the personal agreements we make with others are clear and impeccable.

WHY ARE YOU NOT ANSWERING YOUR PHONE?!? OH MY GOD, DID YOU SEE THE ARTICLE? I AM FREAKING OUT, WHY ARE YOU NOT ANSWERING YOUR PHONE?!? Please call me, I’m starting to act like Tizzy around here. It’s getting ugly. Oh, hi, Mr. and Mrs. Cuttler, in case you get this first. Everything’s fine, I’m just trying to get ahold of Audrey. Okay, bye. AUDREY, CALL ME BEFORE I HAVE TO RESORT TO SKYWRITING

Her ability to use language, that thing that most separates humans from animals, was leaving her, and she was feeling less and less human as it departed. She's said a tearful good-bye to okay some time ago.

I never really know the protocol for this kind of situation. It's like when you're in line at a store, and a grandma starts telling you all about her grandchildren or her arthritis, and you smile and nod along. But then it's your turn to check out, so you're just like okay, well, good-bye forever.

Would Alona be gone before I even got a chance to say good-bye? A real good-bye? One last kiss and the chance to tell her that she’d made my life better even as she’d made me crazy? That we were better together than I would ever be by myself, but that because of her, I would be okay? Not great, but okay, and I owed that all to her? No. I needed to see her one last time.

Okay, outside," the clerk said. "Conversation outside. Bye! Have a nice night!

His mother got her purse. His father reached for the door. "Scooter," he said, by way of good-bye, "have fun with your friends." But Hale was shaking his head. He put his arm around Kat's shoulders. "She's not my friend, Dad. She's my girlfriend." Hale's parents must have walked away, but Kat wasn't looking. She was too busy staring up at Hale, trying to see into his eyes and know if he was okay. The sadness that had lingered for weeks was fading, and the boy that held her was the boy she knew. A boy who kissed her lightly.

maybe you’re sleeping and I suppose I could just say this in the morning, but now I can’t sleep and I’m just lying here so I might as well get it over with, and well . . .I’m sorry about this afternoon, J.D. The first spill honestly was an accident, but the second . . . okay, that was completely uncalled for. I’m, um, happy to pay for the dry cleaning. And, well . . . I guess that’s it. Although you really might want to rethink leaving your jacket on your chair. I’m just saying. Okay, then. That’s what they make hangers for. Good. Fine. Good-bye.” J.D. heard the beep, signaling the end of the message, and he hung up the phone. He thought about what Payton had said—not so much her apology, which was question-ably mediocre at best—but something else. She thought about him while lying in bed. Interesting. Later that night, having been asleep for a few hours, J.D. shot up in bed He suddenly remembered—her shoe. Oops.

He interrupts her again. "I will stay without complaining..." "You have no choice!" "...if you'll do two things." The teasing has long left his face. He is dead serious. I should leave but I can't. I know I'm about to witness a historic event, and I lurk next to the door, my eyes glued to Charlotte and Ambrose. "Okay," Charlotte says, matching his gravity. "Promise me you'll come back." Charlotte is silent. "And give me a kiss good-bye." "What?" Charlotte blurts. "You heard me." She stands stock-still for a good couple of seconds before raising her fingertips to her mouth. Her eyes glitter with tears as she sits back down on the side of his bed. And taking his good hand in hers, she leans forward and kisses him. It is a slow kiss. It is a lingering kiss. It's the kiss she's been waiting for for years.

Part of me wishes I could see him; I want to make sure he's really going to be okay, that he's recovering well and eating enough and getting sleep at night. But another part of me is afraid to see him now. Because seeing Adam means saying good-bye. It means recognizing that I can't be with him anymore and knowing that I have to find a new life for myself. Alone.

In the elevator up to Kelley's apartment, Emira checked her phone. OH OKAY BYE BITCH, Zara texted. TRAP TRAP TRAP TRAP GET THAT L.L.BEAN DICK GUR.

I called them up, "Ya, I have ten boxes; can you come pick them up?" "We need to know the weight and the girth." "Okay, good-bye." So I called back. "We need the weight and the girth." "Okay, I don't know what the weight is, and um, I don't know what girth means... So now what's the procedure?" So this guy talks to me like I'm four years old. "Well do you have a bathroom scale?" "Uh, ya but if I put the box on the scale it's gonna cover up the NUMBERS!" What, do I take it off really quick? Ah, zero: I'm not fast enough. What's he talking about? So then he gives me his Mister Wizard Formula, "How about if you stand on the scale and weigh yourself and get off the scale. Pick up the box, get back on, weigh you and the box together, and subtract your own weight." I'm going, "Slow down. Hold on professor." I know this guys never tried this, because I tried it and you still can't see the NUMBERS! Then I had to hang up in the middle of his girth formula.

Sabine stood up, satisfied that her friends were safe and content. When she moved, Calla lifted her head. Her eyes focused in Sabine's direction. Despite the distance between them, Sabine Could have sworn Calla was looking right at her. The white wolf's ears flicked back and forth. She lifted her muzzle and howled. The sound filled Sabine with a mixture of sweetness and sorrow. The other wolves joined the song, their familiar voices blending in the winter air. Sabine watched them from another minute, then she turned and walked back to Ethan. "Everything okay?" he asked. She handed him the binoculars. "They're happy. So I'm happy." ... She turned, listening to the song carried on the stiff winter breeze. Nev's voice rose about the other wolves' as the chorus of howls wove through the air. Sabine wondered if somehow they knew she was here, and if they might be saying good-bye or if they were asking her to stay.

A voice on the other end squealed and said distinctly, "Kee-kee!" "Yeah, it's Kee-kee," Keller said, startled. "Um, I'm glad you're okay, kid. And, see, I didn't go bye-bye after all. So you may think you're pretty smart, but you still have something to learn about precognition, hotshot. Right?" Keller added, "You know I thought for a minute once that you might be the Wild Power. But I guess you're just a good old-fashioned witch baby." Iliana, who was passing by, gave her a very strange look. "Keller, are you having a conversation with my baby brother?

The words make sense, but deeper than the words is the truth. She's right. If Mabel's talking about the girl who hugged her good-bye before she left for Los Angeles, who laced fingers with her at the last bonfire of the summer and accepted shells from almost-strangers, who analyzed novels for fun and lives with her grandfather in a pink, rent-controlled house in the Sunset that often smelled like cake and was often filled with elderly, gambling men—if she's talking about that girl, then yes, I dissapeared.

We'd all be leaving one another, going to other places in the fall; and now that the season was changing, rushing towards graduation, everything we did felt like a long good-bye or a premature reunion. We were nostalgic for a time that wasn't yet over.

Okay. Some things were made of hope. But not this thing. This thing he was doing, that was made of surrender. He did it anyway. At least when you surrendered, you had time to kiss the people you loved good-bye.

His words were: hello, good-bye, yes, no, please, thank you, okay, sorry, and suck my dick. He

Okay...Good-bye, Deja. Have a beautiful life.

The only okay that last forever is okay-bye

On the fifth day I knew Kaidan would have made it home. I held my breath and called him. I listened to every charming word of his voice mail, then hung up. That evening I sat on my bed and called again. This time I left a message. “Hi, Kai, um, Kaidan. It's me. Anna. I'm just trying to see if you made it home safely. I'm sure you probably did. Just checking. You can call me anytime. If you want. Anyway. Okay, bye.” I hung up and buried my shamed face into a pillow. Now I was leaving messages after he'd made it clear he wanted zero to do with me? Next thing I knew I'd be frequenting his shows to give him psycho stares from the back, and then doing late-night drive-bys to see what girl he was bringing home. The thought of him with another girl made me writhe in discomfort and curl up in the fetal position. Day six was our first day of back-to-school shopping. We still had a month before school began, but the state issued a tax-free day, so stores were having big sales. I eyed all the teensy skirts and fashionable shirts dangling on mannequins. I tried to imagine Kaidan's reaction if I came dressed like that to one of his shows, some guy other than Jay on my arm. Ugly stalker thoughts. I was full of them. Two weeks passed, and I was still tripping over chairs to grab the phone every time it rang, like now. This time it was Jay.

I never really know the protocol for this kind of situation. It's like when you're in line at a store, and a grandma starts telling you about her grandchildren or her arthritis, and you smile and nod along. But then it's your turn to check out so you're just like "okay, well, good-bye forever.

But the main reason was that waking her would’ve meant telling her good-bye, and telling someone good-bye when you’re planning on walking into hell would’ve felt kind of…final. It was the same reason I hadn’t gone into the hut to find Mom, and why I’d skirted around Archer’s tent. I’d been nearly to the shore when I’d heard him softly call, “Mercer.” Kneeling in the doorway of his tent, his hair a mess, his Hex Hall uniform ridiculously wrinkled, he’d nearly broken my heart. And when I ran to him as soundlessly as I could and practically dove on top of him, I’d told myself that our kiss was just your normal boyfriend/girlfriend saying good morning thing. Even when he pulled me inside, the tent warm and cozy and smelling like him, I hadn’t let myself think that might be the last time I’d see him. And when he’d pulled me closer and murmured, “Mercer, I love-“ I had covered his mouth with my hand. “Don’t say that. Not now. Say it sometime when there is absolutely no chance of death on the horizon, okay?” He mumbled something beneath my palm, and I rolled my eyes as I pulled it away from his mouth. He dropped a kiss on the tip of my nose. “All I was going to say was that I love this tent you made for me. But I guess I can tell you again later. When you get back.” Curling my hand around the back of his neck, I’d pulled him down to me. “You better.” A blush creeping up my neck from the memory, I swung my gaze away from his tent and back toward the lake. I was coming back. I was going to be fine, and getting down into the Underworld to collect demonglass wouldn’t be hard at all. Maybe I’d make it back before lunch. Of course, I couldn’t make it back if I never left.

What about Rose and Freecloud?” Tam asked. “Don’t expect we’ll see much of them today,” said the shaman with an exaggerated wink. “Okay.” “If you know what I mean,” he added, winking again. “I do,” Tam assured him. “Because they’re having—” “Bye,” she said. “—sex,” Brune finished, but she was already headed for the stairs.

No, it’s okay.” She didn’t know what she was saying. “I was going to—I mean, I’ll just . . . bye.

Lena," he says, and saying her name feels like a somersault. "Vaclav," she says, and saying his name feels like singing in public. "I'm really glad you called." "Me too." "Me too." "Okay, bye." "Bye.

And soon a cold realization hit me: The time for giving up hope and 
letting go was now. It would be my parting gift to her. And as I cried 
into Mom’s ear and held her hand, and told her it was okay to let go, that I’d be fine, I felt her chest rise one last time. There was no long 
continuous beep like you see in the movies. Just a deafening silence 
and my echo of good-bye skipping down the side of her ear like a coin 
down a deep well.

Dalt's in sixty?" I asked. "Done," he said. "You want to bring the board?" "Depends...you okay with humiliation?" "Bring the board." "See you soon." I hung up and ran to the shower. Thirty minutes later I was out the door, cribbage board in hand." "Bye, Piri!" I shouted. I was already in my car and pulling away when I saw Piri appear on the threshold, tossing a cup of water out after me, "so luck would flow like water in my direction." Madness.

We’d all be leaving one another, going to other places in the fall; and now that the season was changing, rushing toward graduation, everything we did felt like a long good-bye or a premature reunion. We were nostalgic for a time that wasn’t yet over.

It was May already. We’d all be leaving one another, going to other places in the fall; and now that the season was changing, rushing toward graduation, everything we did felt like a long good-bye or a premature reunion. We were nostalgic for a time that wasn’t yet over.

Just as Drake turned six weeks old, I decided I wanted to lose some baby weight. Chip and I were both still getting used to the idea that we had a baby of our own now, but I felt it was okay to leave him with Chip for a half hour or so in the mornings so I could take a short run up and down Third Street. I left Drake in the little swing he loved, kissed Chip good-bye, and off I went. Chip was so sweet and supportive. When I got back he was standing in the doorway saying, “Way to go, baby!” He handed me a banana and asked if I’d had any cramps or anything. I hadn’t. I actually felt great. I walked in and discovered Chip had prepared an elaborate breakfast for me, as if I’d run a marathon or something. I hadn’t done more than a half-mile walk-run, but he wanted to celebrate the idea that I was trying to get myself back together physically. He’d actually driven to the store and back and bought fresh fruit and real maple syrup and orange juice for me. I sat down to eat, and I looked over at Drake. He was sound asleep in his swing, still wearing nothing but his diaper. “Chip, did you take Drake to the grocery store without any clothes on?” Chip gave me a real funny look. He said, “What?” I gave him a funny look back. “Oh my gosh,” he said. “I totally forgot Drake was here. He was so quiet.” “Chip!” I yelled, totally freaked out. I was a first-time mom. Can you imagine? Anyone who’s met Chip knows he can get a little sidetracked, but this was our child! He was in that dang swing that just made him perfectly silent. I felt terrible. It had only been for a few minutes. The store was just down the street. But I literally got on my knees to beg for Jo’s forgiveness.

This is what cinema is all about. Images, sound, whatever, are what we use to construct a way which is cinema, which is supposed to produce effects, not only in our eyes and ears, but in our "mental" movie theater in which image and sound already are there. There is a kind of on-going movie all the time, in which the movie that we see comes in and mixes, and the perception of all these images and sound proposed to us in a typical film narration piles up in our memory with other images, other associations of images, other films, but other mental images we have, they pre-exist. So a new image in a film titillates or excites another mental image already there or emotions that we have so when you propose something to watch and hear, it goes, it works. It's like we have sleeping emotions in us all the time, half-sleeping, so one specific image or the combination of one image and sound, or the way of putting things together, like two images one after another, what we call montage, editing - these things ring a bell. These half-asleep feelings just wake up because of that - that is what it is about. This is not to make a film and say: "Okay, let's get a deal, let's tell the story, let's have a good actress, good-bye, not bad," and we go home and we eat. What I am dealing with is the effects, the perception, and the subsidiary effects of my work as proposals, as an open field, so that you can get there things you always wanted to feel and maybe didn't know how to express, imagine, watch, observe, whatever. This is so far away from the strong screenplay, the beautiful movie, etc., that sometimes I don't know what I should discuss. You understand, this is really fighting for that "Seventh Art" which is making films.

Good Morning. This is Mr. Gold of Paramount Pictures Corporation. We are carrying out an authorized survey of the territory for a forthcoming "A" picture of the famous Confederate raid of 1861 which resulted in the capture of General Sherman at Muldraugh Hill. Yes, that's right. Cary Grant and Elizabeth Taylor in the lead. What's that? Clearance? Sure we've got clearance. Let me see now...yes, here it is. Signed by Chief of Special Services at the Pentagon. Sure, the Commanding officer at the Armored Center will have a copy. Okay and thanks. Hope you'll enjoy the picture. 'Bye.

Okay, bye, ladies!” Susan said, waving to Emma and me as we left her house. “Remember, in two weeks make sure you’ve read Fifty Shades of Grey! And bring notes!” I waved goodbye to everyone. By the end of the night, we hadn’t spoken one word about Little Women, but I felt extremely belittled by these women.

When we pull back into the castle courtyard, James is waiting. And he does not look happy. Actually he looks like a blond Hulk . . . right before he goes smash. Sarah sees it too. “He’s miffed.” “Yep.” We get out of the car and she turns so fast there’s a breeze. “I should go find Penny. ’Bye.” I call after her. “Chicken!” She just waves her hand over her shoulder. Slowly, I approach him. Like an explorer, deep in the jungles of the Amazon, making first contact with a tribe that has never seen the outside world. And I hold out my peace offering. It’s a Mega Pounder with cheese. “I got you a burger.” James snatches it from my hand angrily. But . . . he doesn’t throw it away. He turns to one of the men behind him. “Mick, bring it here.” Mick—a big, truck-size bloke—brings him a brown paper bag. And James’s cold blue eyes turn back to me. “After speaking with your former security team, I had an audience with Her Majesty the Queen last year when you were named heir. Given your history of slipping your detail, I asked her permission to ensure your safety by any means necessary, including this.” He reaches into the bag and pulls out a children’s leash—the type you see on ankle-biters at amusement parks, with a deranged-looking monkey sticking its head out of a backpack, his mouth wide and gaping, like he’s about to eat whoever’s wearing it. And James smiles. “Queen Lenora said yes.” I suspected Granny didn’t like me anymore; now I’m certain of it. “If I have to,” James warns, “I’ll connect this to you and the other end to old Mick here.” Mick doesn’t look any happier about the fucking prospect than I am. “I don’t want to do that, but . . .” He shrugs, no further explanation needed. “So the next time you feel like ditching? Remember the monkey, Your Grace.” He puts the revolting thing back in its bag. And I wonder if fire would kill it. “Are we good, Prince Henry?” James asks. I respect a man willing to go balls-to-the-wall for his job. I don’t like the monkey . . . but I respect it. I flash him the okay sign with my fingers. “Golden.

I love you more than you can ever know, Julie. I’ll never forget the time we had together. So please don’t forget me, okay? Try to think of me from time to time. Even if it’s only for a moment. It would mean so much. You have no idea.” A long pause, followed by static. “I should go now. Thank you … for not picking up the phone this time. Good-bye, Julie.

So you're a comedian," he said. "Tell me something funny." "Okay. The great thing about being an alcoholic is that when you're bored at a party, you can leave without saying good-bye, and people just think you blacked out." "Are you an alcoholic?" he asked me. "That's not really the point," I responded. "And I don't like the word 'alcoholic.' I like to think of myself as an advanced drinker.

Spending one’s final days in an ICU because of terminal illness is for most people a kind of failure. You lie attached to a ventilator, your every organ shutting down, your mind teetering on delirium and permanently beyond realizing that you will never leave this borrowed, fluorescent place. The end comes with no chance for you to have said good-bye or “It’s okay” or “I’m sorry” or “I love you.

Okay. Now, don’t let any of this lower your mirth index. Think of Tamerlane.” My grandfather used to comfort my mother, during her childhood, by reminding her that they might have been related to Tamerlane. “Okay,” I said, though I had never seen how Tamerlane helped anything. “Remember, you have the best heart and mind, and whatever you do is right. Bye-bye, my sweet. Don’t forget the fruit group.

The Mice and the Cat. Once upon a time, there was a house with lots of mice. They were fat and happy. One day a cat moved in. The mice had a meeting. "What should we do? The cat will eat us! Every day that cat sneaks up behind us and chases us back into our holes.” Finally they decided on a brilliant solution. They would put a bell around the cat's neck, so whenever they heard the bell, they could rush into their holes before the cat could eat them. Then one mouse said to the others, "The solution is excellent. Put a bell around the cat's neck. But the real question is: who is going to put the bell around the cat's neck?" The moral of the story is that we all know what we need to do (join and get started), but there is great fear in doing it. I know you want to start or build a business. Would it be okay if I helped you get started by putting the bell around the cat's neck and then you can say good-bye to fear?

Oh wait.” I roll down the window. “I forgot to mention this a couple weeks ago, but your wife wants you to fuck her like you mean it.” Carter stares. “What?” “You cannot poke your baby in the eye, Carter.” He glances at his crotch. “Are you sure? I’m pretty well-endow—” “Stop.” I hold up a hand. “Please stop. My God, what is this life I’m leading?” I sigh. “Okay. Thanks for the car. I’ll take care of her, hopefully. You take care of your wife. Bye. I’m going now. Good-bye.

Bradford paused and his expression shadowed. He pulled her back and held her tight. Whispered, “Don’t say it, okay? I know what’s coming and I don’t want to hear it. Not tonight. Tomorrow maybe, but not tonight.” He wasn’t talking about Kate Breeden. They both knew that Munroe could only bear so much pain and loss before coming completely undone. She needed time away, time to heal, and she could only do that by returning to who she was: the lone operative, shut down and shut off. Munroe set the glass on an end table, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him. She truly loved him; always would. She smiled and fought back the sadness, glad in a way that she was spared from having to say good-bye, from uttering the words she never wanted to speak—although, in truth, there would never really be a good-bye, because if this was where home was, then like a homing pigeon she’d return, and Bradford had to know it, just as he also knew her reasons for leaving.

To have been raised on the streets, you have an amazing vocabulary.” “I have my sister Tessa to thank. Unlike me and my other two sisters, she liked to insult people so that they didn’t realize she was being cruel. Hence Kasen’s favorite phrase, ‘I’m gonna break Tess on your ass and call you names you’ll have to look up in order to be offended.’ ” She laughed in spite of the danger. “Your sisters sound… interesting.” “That’s a polite way of saying they’re all effing nuts. But it’s okay. Sanity waved good-bye to me a long time ago too.” The

It’s funny, really, all the ways we tell ourselves every day that things are going to be okay. That things are going to get better, or that things can’t possibly get any worse. We all have these elaborate mechanisms to take care of our disappointments, our sadness, our pain. We build these walls around ourselves, placing bricks between us and everyone else, telling ourselves that we’re just protecting ourselves, just staying safe. Sometimes the bricks are easy to see, hard things that you bump up against when you try to touch someone. Sometimes they’re subtle. A slight turn of the head, a fast good-bye, a faraway look in the eyes. Sometimes I wonder why Disney never took to Rapunzel, why they never tried to take that story and put it on lunch boxes and in video stores and on pink sweatshirts. Maybe it’s that some fairy tales don’t need to be computer animated. Maybe Randy New-man doesn’t need to sing their songs. Maybe some fairy tales don’t even really need to be told, because they live inside of us, scaring us with their witches and their evil spells, making us wonder if maybe this time the prince won’t come in time, the princess won’t wake up, and maybe for once there won’t be any happily ever after. Maybe some fairy tales are just too scary to even think about.

Diana” was the first thing out of her mouth. “I’m dying,” the too familiar voice on the other end moaned. I snorted, locking the front door behind me as I held the phone up to my face with my shoulder. “You’re pregnant. You’re not dying.” “But it feels like I am,” the person who rarely ever complained whined. We’d been best friends our entire lives, and I could only count on one hand the number of times I’d heard her grumble about something that wasn’t her family. I’d had the title of being the whiner in our epic love affair that had survived more shit than I was willing to remember right then. I held up a finger when Louie tipped his head toward the kitchen as if asking if I was going to get started on dinner or not. “Well, nobody told you to get pregnant with the Hulk’s baby. What did you expect? He’s probably going to come out the size of a toddler.” The laugh that burst out of her made me laugh too. This fierce feeling of missing her reminded me it had been months since we’d last seen each other. “Shut up.” “You can’t avoid the truth forever.” Her husband was huge. I didn’t understand why she wouldn’t expect her unborn baby to be a giant too. “Ugh.” A long sigh came through the receiver in resignation. “I don’t know what I was thinking—” “You weren’t thinking.” She ignored me. “We’re never having another one. I can’t sleep. I have to pee every two minutes. I’m the size of Mars—” “The last time I saw you”—which had been two months ago—“you were the size of Mars. The baby is probably the size of Mars now. I’d probably say you’re about the size of Uranus.” She ignored me again. “Everything makes me cry and I itch. I itch so bad.” “Do I… want to know where you’re itching?” “Nasty. My stomach. Aiden’s been rubbing coconut oil on me every hour he’s here.” I tried to imagine her six-foot-five-inch, Hercules-sized husband doing that to Van, but my imagination wasn’t that great. “Is he doing okay?” I asked, knowing off our past conversations that while he’d been over the moon with her pregnancy, he’d also turned into mother hen supreme. It made me feel better knowing that she wasn’t living in a different state all by herself with no one else for support. Some people in life got lucky and found someone great, the rest of us either took a long time… or not ever. “He’s worried I’m going to fall down the stairs when he isn’t around, and he’s talking about getting a one-story house so that I can put him out of his misery.” “You know you can come stay with us if you want.” She made a noise. “I’m just offering, bitch. If you don’t want to be alone when he starts traveling more for games, you can stay here as long as you need. Louie doesn’t sleep in his room half the time anyway, and we have a one-story house. You could sleep with me if you really wanted to. It’ll be like we’re fourteen all over again.” She sighed. “I would. I really would, but I couldn’t leave Aiden.” And I couldn’t leave the boys for longer than a couple of weeks, but she knew that. Well, she also knew I couldn’t not work for that long, too. “Maybe you can get one of those I’ve-fallen-and-I-can’t-get-up—” Vanessa let out another loud laugh. “You jerk.” “What? You could.” There was a pause. “I don’t even know why I bother with you half the time.” “Because you love me?” “I don’t know why.” “Tia,” Louie hissed, rubbing his belly like he was seriously starving. “Hey, Lou and Josh are making it seem like they haven’t eaten all day. I’m scared they might start nibbling on my hand soon. Let me feed them, and I’ll call you back, okay?” Van didn’t miss a beat. “Sure, Di. Give them a hug from me and call me back whenever. I’m on the couch, and I’m not going anywhere except the bathroom.” “Okay. I won’t call Parks and Wildlife to let them know there’s a beached whale—” “Goddammit, Diana—” I laughed. “Love you. I’ll call you back. Bye!” “Vanny has a whale?” Lou asked.

That doesn’t make any sense.” “Nothing makes any sense anymore. Like, why am I talking to you? Why am I telling you this when you don’t care?” This question, at least, I knew the answer to. “But that’s why you’re telling me.” I knew it was true. If we’d had the opportunity to deliver our confessions to anyone who actually cared about their contents, there was no way either of us would’ve opened our mouths. Sharing revelations is easier when it doesn’t matter. She was quiet. I heard other girls’ voices in the background, high, wordless streams of conversation, followed by the hiss of running water, and then silence again. “Okay,” she said. “Okay, what?” I asked. “Okay, maybe you can call me. Sometime. Now you have my number.” I didn’t even have time to say bye before she hung up.

Rayna beamed as she hugged everyone good-bye and accepted their wishes for a long and happy relationship. Sage looked dazed. “How did it go?” I asked. “I think your mother just arranged peace in the Middle East while brokering a marriage deal for Rayna and me.” “I’m not surprised. How many kids are you having?” “Four. But we can’t start until she’s twenty-six, three years after the wedding. Oh, and we’re honeymooning at the minister’s beach house in Tel Aviv.” “That’s nice. I’ll have to pop in for a visit.” Sage just shook his head, still shell-shocked. “Piri forgive you yet?” Ben grinned. “I don’t think so. She put an inch of garlic on everything she served me.” “Don’t take it personally. There’s lots of garlic in Hungarian food,” I assured him. “Including my chocolate torte,” Sage added. “Okay, you can take that personally,” I admitted.

They got to the classroom she and Jay shared this period, but it wasn’t Grady’s class. Instead of walking on, Grady paused. “Violet, can I talk to you for a minute?” His deep voice surprised her again. “Yeah, okay,” Violet agreed, curious about what he might have to say to her. Jay stopped and waited too, but when Grady didn’t say anything, it became clear that he’d meant he wanted to talk to her . . . alone. Jay suddenly seemed uncomfortable and tried to excuse himself as casually as he could. “I’ll see you inside,” he finally said to Violet. She nodded to him as he left. Violet was a little worried that the bell was going to ring and she’d be tardy again, but her curiosity had kicked up a notch when she realized that Grady didn’t want Jay to hear what he had to say, and that far outweighed her concern for late slips. When they were alone, and Grady didn’t start talking right away, Violet prompted him. “What’s going on?” She watched him swallow, and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down along the length of his throat. It was strange to see her old guy friends in this new light. He’d always been a good-looking kid, but now he looked like a man . . . even though he still acted like a boy. He shifted back and forth, and if she had taken the time to think about it, she would have realized that he was nervous. But she misread his discomfort altogether. She thought that, like her, he was worried about being late. “Do you want to talk after school? I could meet you in the parking lot.” “No. No. Now’s good.” He ran his hand through his hair in a discouraged gesture. He took a deep breath, but his voice was still shaking when he spoke. “I . . . I was wondering . . .” He looked Violet right in the eye now, and suddenly she felt very nervous about where this might be going. She was desperately wishing she hadn’t let Jay leave her here alone. “I was wondering if you’re planning to go to Homecoming,” Grady finally blurted out. She stood there, looking at him, feeling trapped by the question and not sure what she was going to say. The bell rang, and both of them jumped. Violet was grateful for the excuse, and she clung to it like a life preserver. Her eyes were wide, and she pointed to the door behind her. “I gotta . . . can we . . .” She pointed again, and she knew she looked and sounded like an idiot, incapable of coherent speech. “Can we talk after school?” Grady seemed relieved to have been let off the hook for the moment. “Sure. Yeah. I’ll talk to you after school.” He left without saying good-bye, and Violet, thankful herself, tried to slip into her classroom unnoticed. But she had no such luck. The teacher marked her tardy, and everyone in class watched as she made her way to her seat beside Jay’s. Her face felt flushed and hot. “What was that all about?” Jay asked in a loud whisper. She still felt like her head was reeling. She had no idea what she was going to say to Grady when school was out. “I think Grady just asked me to Homecoming,” she announced to Jay. He looked at her suspiciously. “The game?” Violet cocked her head to the side and gave him a look that told him to be serious. “No, I’m pretty sure he meant the dance,” Violet clarified, exasperated by the obtuse question. Jay frowned at her. “What did you say?” “I didn’t say anything. The bell rang and I told him we’d have to talk later.” The teacher glanced their way, and they pretended not to be talking to each other.

In 2008, the national Coping with Cancer project published a study showing that terminally ill cancer patients who were put on a mechanical ventilator, given electrical defibrillation or chest compressions, or admitted, near death, to intensive care had a substantially worse quality of life in their last week than those who received no such interventions. And, six months after their death, their caregivers were three times as likely to suffer major depression. Spending one’s final days in an ICU because of terminal illness is for most people a kind of failure. You lie attached to a ventilator, your every organ shutting down, your mind teetering on delirium and permanently beyond realizing that you will never leave this borrowed, fluorescent place. The end comes with no chance for you to have said good-bye or “It’s okay” or “I’m sorry” or “I love you.

I’m surprised by her offer, and confused. Do I really want to meet with her? I don’t know. “Are you there?” she asks. “Yes,” I say. “Um, can I text you in a little while? And let you know?” “Of course.” “Okay.” “Okay.” Another pause. “Well, bye,” she says. “Bye.” I click off and stare at the phone. “Who was that?” Brandon asks. “My mom.” “Oh.” He’s surprised. Brandon knows I haven’t seen my mom since I was little, but I haven’t told him about the recent developments. “I went to see her a couple of weeks ago,” I say. His eyes widen in surprise. “Wow,” he says, and squeezes my hand. “How was that?” I shrug. “It was okay.” We’re at my house now, but we stand on the porch, talking. I would invite Brandon inside, but my dad’s truck is in the driveway, and I kind of want to talk to Brandon about this in private. “But now she wants to meet me for dinner tonight.” “And you don’t want to go?” I fiddle with the key chain on my backpack. “It’s not that I don’t want to go. It’s that I don’t know if I want to go.” He nods. “It’s just . . . I don’t understand why she’s suddenly so interested in seeing me. I mean, she didn’t have any interest in getting in touch with me until I went and saw her.” “Maybe she was afraid.

He brought them a lot of joy, whether by tossing a ball around or tickling them, teaching them how to hunt or just watching TV. Angel loved to climb into his lap and cuddle. His tensions and cares would melt away as he held her. I know there’s a saying about “Daddy’s little girl wrapping him around her finger.” Chris and Angel didn’t have that kind of relationship, exactly. She was definitely his girl--he was closer to her than probably any other female on the planet, including me. But he also held her to high standards. She couldn’t get away with being bad or taking advantage of him. She could see in his face that he was absolutely delighted by her. He “got” her humor, and he definitely got her. One day he had to leave on an overnight trip. We said good-bye and closed the door; Angel and I went into the kitchen. She had tears in her eyes. “Okay, honey?” I asked. “Yeah. I know he’s coming back tomorrow,” she said. “I guess I just miss him already.” I told Chris what she’d said later on that night when he called to check in. It was something cute she’d done. “Wow,” he said. “I feel like I’ve just been punched in the stomach.” He slid down the wall to the floor, hand to his face, devastated by his daughter’s simple statement of love. “I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad,” I told him. “I’m sorry.” “It’s okay.” We talked a little more, then he hung up the phone. The man he was traveling with said later that he looked wounded the whole rest of the trip.

more than anything.” He turned to Jean Louise. “Seven-thirty tonight and no Landing. We’ll go to the show.” “Okay. Where’re you all going?” “Courthouse. Meeting.” “On Sunday?” “Yep.” “That’s right, I keep forgetting all the politicking’s done on Sunday in these parts.” Atticus called for Henry to come on. “Bye, baby,” he said. Jean Louise followed him into the livingroom. When the front door slammed behind her father and Henry, she went to her father’s chair to tidy up the papers he had left on the floor beside it. She picked them up, arranged them in sectional order, and put them on the sofa in a neat pile. She crossed the room again to straighten the stack of books on his lamp table, and was doing so when a pamphlet the size of a business envelope caught her eye. On its cover was a drawing of an anthropophagous Negro; above the drawing was printed The Black Plague. Its author was somebody with several academic degrees after his name. She opened the pamphlet, sat down in her father’s chair, and began reading. When she had finished, she took the pamphlet by one of its corners, held it like she would hold a dead rat by the tail, and walked into the kitchen. She held the pamphlet in front of her aunt. “What is this thing?” she said. Alexandra looked over her glasses at it. “Something of your father’s.” Jean Louise stepped on the garbage can trigger and threw the pamphlet in. “Don’t do that,” said Alexandra. “They’re hard to come by these days.” Jean Louise opened her mouth, shut it, and opened it again. “Aunty, have you read that thing? Do you know what’s in it?” “Certainly.” If Alexandra had uttered an obscenity in her face, Jean Louise would have been less surprised. “You—Aunty, do you know the stuff in that thing makes Dr. Goebbels look like a naive little country boy?” “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jean Louise. There are a lot of truths in that book.” “Yes indeedy,” said Jean Louise wryly. “I especially liked the part where the Negroes, bless their hearts, couldn’t help being inferior to the white race because their skulls are thicker and their brain-pans shallower—whatever that means—so we must all be very kind to them and not let them do anything to hurt themselves and keep them in their places. Good God, Aunty—” Alexandra was ramrod straight. “Well?” she said. Jean Louise said, “It’s just that I never knew you went in for salacious reading material, Aunty.” Her aunt was silent, and Jean Louise continued: “I was real impressed with the parable where since the dawn of history the rulers of the world have always been white, except Genghis Khan or somebody—the author was real fair about that—and he made a killin’ point about even the Pharaohs were white and their subjects were either black or Jews—” “That’s true, isn’t it?” “Sure, but what’s that got to do with the case?” When Jean Louise felt apprehensive, expectant, or on edge, especially when confronting her aunt, her brain clicked to the meter of Gilbertian tomfoolery. Three sprightly figures

sighed. “I can’t say that you weren’t expected.” “I’m just going to be walking around here and taking some measurements. It says here… you own eighty acres? That is one of the most gorgeous mansions I have ever seen,” he rambled on. “It must have cost you millions. I could never afford such a beauty. Well, heck, for that matter I couldn’t afford the millions of dollars in taxes a house like this would assess, let alone such a pricey property. Do you have an accountant?” Zo opened her mouth to respond, but he continued, “For an estate this size, I would definitely have one.” “I do have an accountant,” she cut in, with frustration. “Furthermore, I have invested a lot of money bringing this mansion up to speed. You can see my investment is great.” “Of course, it would be. The fact of the matter is, Mrs. Kane, a lot of people are in over their heads in property. You still have to pay up, or we take the place. Well, I’ll get busy now. Pay no mind to me.” He walked on, taking notes. “Clairrrrre!” Zo called as soon as she entered the house. “Bring your cell phone!” Two worry-filled months went by and many calls were made to lawyers, before Zoey finally picked one that made her feel confident. And then the letter came with the totals and the due date. “There is no way we can pay this, Mom, even if we sold off some of our treasures, because a lot of them are contracted to museums anyway. I am feeling awfully poor all of a sudden, and insecure.” “Yes, and I did some research, thinking I’d be forced to sell. It’s unlikely that anyone else around here can afford this place. It looks like they are going to get it all; they aren’t just charging for this year. What we have here is a value about equal to a little country. And all the new construction sites for housing developments suddenly popping up on this side of the river, does not help. Value is going up.” Zo put her head in her hands. “Ohhh, oh, oh, oh!” “Yeah, bring out the ice-cream and cake. I need comforting,” sighed Claire. The cell phone rang. “Yes, tonight? You guys have become pretty good to us, haven’t you?! You know, Bob, Mom and I thought we were just going to pig out on ice cream and cake. We found out we are losing this estate and are going to be poor again and we are bummed out.” There was a long pause. “No, that’s okay, I understand. Yeah, okay, bye.” “Well?” Zo ask dryly. “He was appropriately sorry, and he got off the phone fast, saying he remembered he had other business to take care of. Do you want to cry? I do…” “I’ll get the cake and dish the ice cream. You make our tea and we’ll cry together.” A pitter patter began to drum on the window. “Rain again. It seems softer though, dear.” “I thought you said this was going to be a softer rain!” It started to pour. “At least this is not a thunder storm… What was that?” “Thunder,” replied Claire, unmoved and resigned. An hour had gone by when there was a rapping at the door. “People rarely use the doorbell, ever notice that?” Zo asked on the way to the door. She opened it to reveal two wet guys holding a pizza, salad, soft drink, and giant chocolate chip cookies in a plastic container. In a plastic

So, Cameron," Steph continued, "auditions for the school play are next week. You should come. We need more males of the species to try out." "Not my thing," Cameron said. "okay, so you don't want to be onstage. You could be backstage." "With Jenna," Gil said helpfully. "She's the stage manager-" Ethan talked over Gil. "But if it's not our thing," he said, "it's not your thing. You don't even have to have a thing if you don't want." "Right," Katy said, "no thing required." Cameron didn't respond, didn't even act like anyone was waiting for him to say anything. He just ate his lunch, scooping spaghetti onto a piece of bread and folding the bread over into a sort of sandwich before putting it in his mouth. I was fascinated by the most mundane little details of him-how he held his paper napkin in his left hand while he ate with his right, the space he took up when both his elbows were on the table. I was suddenly aware that I'd been staring at him, and everyone else at the table was staring at me. They were all done with their lunches. I wondered how much time had passed. "Um," Katy said to me, "are you all right?" Steph caught my eye and smiled slowly. "Oh,yeah." I concentrated on my half sandwich trying to think of something witty to say, but I was in total Jennifer Harris territory now, spacing out and forgetting how to make simple conversation. Cameron picked up his empty tray. "Nice to meet you all. See you later." He lifted a finger toward me. "Bye, Jennifer." We watched him leave, then Gil said, "How come he calls you Jennifer?" I crumpled up my lunch bag. "because that used to be my name." "Really?" Ethan said. "I didn't know that." "I changed it a long time ago." "He's shy," Steph said, still watching the spot where Cameron had been sitting. Katy smirked. "Not with Jenna." Ethan surprised me by coming to Cameron's defense. "That's because they've known each other forever. I'd be nervous, too, if I were meeting all you retards for the first time." "Good point," Junior Dave said.

You don’t have to decide anything now. If you will allow me to be near you for a time, then we can see.” He rested his head back, and they looked at each other, their faces inches apart. He always was so good at looking at her. And it occurred to her just then that she herself was more Darcy than Erstwhile, sitting there admiring his fine eyes, feeling dangerously close to falling in love against her will. “Just be near…” she repeated. He nodded. “And if I don’t make you feel like the most beautiful woman in the world every day of your life, then I don’t deserve to be near you.” Jane breathed in, taking those words inside her. She thought she might like to keep them for a while. She considered never giving them up. “Okay, I lied a little bit.” He rubbed his head with even more force. “I need to admit up front that I don’t know how to have a fling. I’m not good at playing around and then saying good-bye. I’m throwing myself at your feet because I’m hoping for a shot at forever. You don’t have to say anything now, no promises required. I just thought you should know.” He forced himself to lean back again, his face turned slightly away, as if he didn’t care to see her expression just then. It was probably for the best. She was staring straight ahead with wide, panicked eyes, then a grin slowly took over her face. In her mind was running the conversation she was going to have with Molly. “I didn’t think it was possible, but I found a man as crazy intense as I was.” The plane was moving, that scatty slow motion that seemed to go both forward and backward at once. Jane kept looking back and forth between the window and the man next to her, checking to see if he was really there. Was this a better ending than tallyho? “So,” he said, “is New York City our final destination?” “That’s home.” “Good. There’s bound to be work for an attractive British actor, wouldn’t you think?” “There are thousands of restaurants, and those waiter jobs have high turnover.” “Right.” “Loads of theaters, too. I think you’d be wonderful in a comedy.” “Because I’m laughable.” “It doesn’t hurt.

Christopher Cerf has been composing songs for Sesame Street for twenty-five years. His large Manhattan townhouse is full of Sesame Street memorabilia – photographs of Christopher with his arm around Big Bird, etc. ‘Well, it’s certainly not what I expected when I wrote them,’ Christopher said. ‘I have to admit, my first reaction was, “Oh my gosh, is my music really that terrible?” ’ I laughed. ‘I once wrote a song for Bert and Ernie called “Put Down The Ducky”,’ he said, ‘which might be useful for interrogating members of the Ba’ath Party.’ ‘That’s very good,’ I said. ‘This interview,’ Christopher said, ‘has been brought to you by the letters W, M and D.’ ‘That’s very good,’ I said. We both laughed. I paused. ‘And do you think that the Iraqi prisoners, as well as giving away vital information, are learning new letters and numbers?’ I said. ‘Well, wouldn’t that be an incredible double win?’ said Christopher. Christopher took me upstairs to his studio to play me one of his Sesame Street compositions, called ‘Ya! Ya! Das Is a Mountain!’ ‘The way we do Sesame Street,’ he explained, ‘is that we have educational researchers who test whether these songs are working, whether the kids are learning. And one year they asked me to write a song to explain what a mountain is, and I wrote a silly yodelling song about what a mountain was.’ Christopher sang me a little of the song: Oompah-pah! Oompah-pah! Ya! Ya! Das is a mountain! Part of zee ground zat sticks way up high! ‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘forty per cent of the kids had known what a mountain was before they heard the song, and after they heard the song, only about twenty-six per cent knew what a mountain was. That’s all they needed. You don’t know what a mountain is now, right? It’s gone! So I figure if I have the power to suck information out of people’s brains by writing these songs, maybe that’s something that could be useful to the CIA for brainwashing techniques.’ Just then, Christopher’s phone rang. It was a lawyer from his music publishers, BMI. I listened into Christopher’s side of the conversation: ‘Oh really?’ he said. ‘I see . . . Well, theoretically they have to log that and I should be getting a few cents for every prisoner, right? Okay. Bye, bye . . .’ ‘What was that about?’ I asked Christopher. ‘Whether I’m due some money for the performance royalties,’ he explained. ‘Why not? It’s an American thing to do. If I have the knack of writing songs that can drive people crazy sooner and more effectively than others, why shouldn’t I profit from that?’ This is why, later that day, Christopher asked Danny Epstein – who has been the music supervisor of Sesame Street since the very first programme was broadcast in July 1969 – to come to his house. It would be Danny’s responsibility to collect the royalties from the military if they proved negligent in filing a music-cue sheet.

Please give me another chance!” Breathing hard, I waited for a light to come on, a door to open, a sign that she still loved me . . . but the house remained dark and silent. Crickets chirped. I glanced over at the girls, who seemed just as distraught as I was. They looked at each other, and then back at me. That’s when I heard a feminine voice come out of the darkness behind me. “Hey Winnie? Yeah, it’s Audrey. There’s some guy across the street yelling at the Wilsons’ house, but I think he’s talking to you.” Oh, fuck. Horrified, I spun around on my knees. A teenage couple stood under a front porch light at a home across the street. The girl was talking into her phone. “Dude,” the guy called out. “I think you’re at the wrong house.” Fuck. Me. Behind the couple, the front door opened and a barrel-chested man came storming out the front door wearing jeans, a USMC sweatshirt, and a scowl. “What’s going on out here? Who’s shouting?” “That guy over there is telling Winnie that he’s sorry and he loves her, but he’s at the wrong house,” said the girl. “I feel really bad for him.” “What?” The man’s chest puffed out further and he squinted in my direction. Then Winnie’s mom appeared on the porch, pulling a cardigan around her. “Is everything okay?” No. Everything was not okay. “Who is that guy?” her dad asked, and by his tone I could tell what he meant was, Who is that fucking idiot? “Is it Dex?” Frannie leaned forward and squinted. “Is that you, Dex?” “Yeah. It’s me.” I’d never wanted a sinkhole to open up and swallow me as badly as I did at that moment. If my kids hadn’t been there, I might have taken off on foot. Just then, a car pulled into their driveway, and my stomach lurched when Winnie jumped out of the passenger side. Her friend Ellie got out of the driver’s side and looked back and forth between Winnie and me. “Holy shit,” she said. “Dex?” Winnie started walking down the drive and stopped at the sidewalk, gaping at me kneeling in the spotlight from the streetlamp above. “What on earth are you doing?” “Hi, Winnie!” Hallie and Luna started jumping up and down and waving like mad. “Hi!” And then, because apparently there wasn’t a big enough audience, another car pulled up in front of the MacAllisters’ house, and a second teenage girl jumped out. “Bye!” she yelled, waving as the car drove off. Then she noticed everyone outside. “Oh, crap. Did I miss curfew or something?” “No,” the first teenage girl said, hopping down from the porch. “Omigod, Emmeline, this is amazing. Kyle was just leaving when this man pulled up, jumped out of his car, and starts shouting to Winnie that he loves her and he wants another chance—but he was yelling at the Wilsons’ house, not ours. Not that it mattered, because she wasn’t even here.” “Audrey, be quiet!” Winnie put her hands on her head. “Dex. What is this? Why are you on your knees?” “We told him to do that!” Hallie shouted proudly. “Because that’s what the ogre would do!

You don’t know me! You know Miss Erstwhile, but--” “Come now, ever since I witnessed your abominable performance in the theatrical, it’s been clear that you can’t act to save your life. All three weeks, that was you.” He smiled. “And I wanted to keep knowing you. Well, I didn’t at first. I wanted you to go away and leave me in peace. I’ve made a career out of avoiding any possibility of a real relationship. And then to find you in that circus…it didn’t make sense. But what ever does?” “Nothing,” said Jane with conviction. “Nothing makes sense.” “Could you tell me…am I being too forward to ask?...of course, I just bought a plane ticket on impulse, so worrying about being forward at this point is pointless…This is so insane, I am not a romantic. Ahem. My question is, what do you want?” “What do I…?” This really was insane. Maybe she should ask that old woman to change seats again. “I mean it. Besides something real. You already told me that. I like to think I’m real, after all. So, what do you really want?” She shrugged and said simply, “I want to be happy. I used to want Mr. Darcy, laugh at me if you want, or the idea of him. Someone who made me feel all the time like I felt when I watched those movies.” It was hard for her to admit it, but when she had, it felt like licking the last of the icing from the bowl. That hopeless fantasy was empty now. “Right. Well, do you think it possible--” He hesitated, his fingers played with the radio and light buttons on the arm of his seat. “Do you think someone like me could be what you want?” Jane smiled sadly. “I’m feeling all shiny and brand new. In all my life, I’ve never felt like I do now. I’m not sure yet what I want. When I was Miss Erstwhile, you were perfect, but that was back in Austenland. Or are we still in Austenland? Maybe I’ll never leave.” He nodded. “You don’t have to decide anything now. If you will allow me to be near you for a time, then we can see.” He rested his head back, and they looked at each other, their faces inches apart. He always was so good at looking at her. And it occurred to her just then that she herself was more Darcy than Erstwhile, sitting there admiring his fine eyes, feeling dangerously close to falling in love against her will. “Just be near…” she repeated. He nodded. “And if I don’t make you feel like the most beautiful woman in the world every day of your life, then I don’t deserve to be near you.” Jane breathed in, taking those words inside her. She thought she might like to keep them for a while. She considered never giving them up. “Okay, I lied a little bit.” He rubbed his head with even more force. “I need to admit up front that I don’t know how to have a fling. I’m not good at playing around and then saying good-bye. I’m throwing myself at your feet because I’m hoping for a shot at forever. You don’t have to say anything now, no promises required. I just thought you should know.” He forced himself to lean back again, his face turned slightly away, as if he didn’t care to see her expression just then. It was probably for the best. She was staring straight ahead with wide, panicked eyes, then a grin slowly took over her face. In her mind was running the conversation she was going to have with Molly. “I didn’t think it was possible, but I found a man as crazy intense as I was.

I hadn’t noticed, through all my inner torture and turmoil, that Marlboro Man and the horses had been walking closer to me. Before I knew it, Marlboro Man’s right arm was wrapped around my waist while his other hand held the reins of the two horses. In another instant, he pulled me toward him in a tight grip and leaned in for a sweet, tender kiss--a kiss he seemed to savor even after our lips parted. “Good morning,” he said sweetly, grinning that magical grin. My knees went weak. I wasn’t sure if it was the kiss itself…or the dread of riding. We mounted our horses and began walking slowly up the hillside. When we reached the top, Marlboro Man pointed across a vast prairie. “See that thicket of trees over there?” he said. “That’s where we’re headed.” Almost immediately, he gave his horse a kick and began to trot across the flat plain. With no prompting from me at all, my horse followed suit. I braced myself, becoming stiff and rigid and resigning myself to looking like a freak in front of my love and also to at least a week of being too sore to move. I held on to the saddle, the reins, and my life as my horse took off in the same direction as Marlboro Man’s. Not two minutes into our ride, my horse slightly faltered after stepping in a shallow hole. Having no experience with this kind of thing, I reacted, shrieking loudly and pulling wildly on my reins, simultaneously stiffening my body further. The combination didn’t suit my horse, who decided, understandably, that he pretty much didn’t want me on his back anymore. He began to buck, and my life flashed before my eyes--for the first time, I was deathly afraid of horses. I held on for dear life as the huge creature underneath me bounced and reared, but my body caught air, and I knew it was only a matter of time before I’d go flying. In the distance, I heard Marlboro Man’s voice. “Pull up on the reins! Pull up! Pull up!” My body acted immediately--it was used to responding instantly to that voice, after all--and I pulled up tightly on the horse’s reins. This forced its head to an upright position, which made bucking virtually impossible for the horse. Problem was, I pulled up too tightly and quickly, and the horse reared up. I leaned forward and hugged the saddle, praying I wouldn’t fall off backward and sustain a massive head injury. I liked my head. I wasn’t ready to say good-bye to it. By the time the horse’s front legs hit the ground, my left leg was dangling out of its stirrup, even as all my dignity was dangling by a thread. Using my balletic agility, I quickly hopped off the horse, tripping and stumbling away the second my feet hit the ground. Instinctively, I began hurriedly walking away--from the horse, from the ranch, from the burning. I didn’t know where I was going--back to L.A., I figured, or maybe I’d go through with Chicago after all. I didn’t care; I just knew I had to keep walking. In the meantime, Marlboro Man had arrived at the scene and quickly calmed my horse, who by now was eating a leisurely morning snack of dead winter grass that had yet to be burned. The nag. “You okay?” Marlboro Man called out. I didn’t answer. I just kept on walking, determined to get the hell out of Dodge. It took him about five seconds to catch up with me; I wasn’t a very fast walker. “Hey,” he said, grabbing me around the waist and whipping me around so I was facing him. “Aww, it’s okay. It happens.

Okay.” “Thanks, bye.” Bennie left the conference room, met

Today was a day to face that very temptation. A family who had become dear friends had left the church with no warning or explanation. Not even good bye. When they were missing on that first Sunday, we didn’t realize that they had removed themselves from our church. We thought maybe someone was sick or an alarm clock didn’t go off or something simple. If it had been something serious, they would have called us, of course. We had done so much for them and with them. We rejoiced when they rejoiced, we cried when they cried, we prayed with them, we prayed for them, we loved them and felt as if they loved us in return. Of course, one Sunday turned to two, and then three. I mentioned to Michael that I had called and left a message. He told me that he had the same thought as well. He had left a message and sent a card. We felt sad as the realization sank in: they had left the church. People don’t know how to leave a church, and many pastors don’t take such a loss graciously. In all our determinations about pastoring, we had considered the possibility of losing members, but this family was the first. It was time for a lesson for all of us, and I felt the Lord tugging at my spirit. I was to take the first step. Sunday afternoon, Michael taking a nap, kids playing games in their room... Now was as good a time as any. I got into my car and headed toward their house. Suddenly nervous, I sat in the driveway for a minute at first. What was I doing here again? Pastor’s wives don’t do this. I had been around pastor’s wives all my life. Since sensing my call to full time ministry at eighteen, I had been paying close attention to them, and I had never seen one of them do this. I got my words together. I needed an eloquent prayer for such a moment as this one: “Lord, help” (okay, so it wasn’t eloquent). I remembered a verse in Jeremiah: “I, the LORD, search the heart, I test the mind, Even to give every man according to his ways, According to the fruit of his doings” (17:10). The Lord knew my heart, and He understood. In this situation, I knew that I had opened myself up to Him. In this situation, I knew that my heart was pure before Him. All of a sudden, my courage returned. I opened the car door and willed myself toward the front porch. As I walked up the driveway, I also thought about Paul’s warning which I had read earlier that morning: “they failed to reach their goal... because their minds were fixed on what they achieved instead of what they believed” (Romans 9:31-32). This family was not my achievement; they were the Lord’s creation. What I believed was that I had been right in opening my heart to them. What I believed was that Michael and I had been faithful to the Lord and that we had helped this family while they were in our flock. I had not failed to reach my goal thus far, and I felt determined not to fail now. This front porch was not unfamiliar to me. I had been here before on many occasions, with my husband and children. Happy times: dinners, cook-outs, birthdays, engagement announcements, births.... Sad times as well: teenaged child rebelling, financial struggles, hospital stays or even death .... We had been invited to share heartache and joy alike. No, “invited” is the wrong word. We were needed. We were family, and family comes together at such times. This afternoon, however, was different. I was standing on this familiar front porch for a reason that had never brought me here before: I came to say good bye. On this front porch, I knocked on the door. This family had been with us for years, and we had been with them. Remembering how this family had helped and blessed our congregation, I quietly smiled. Remembering how they had enriched our personal lives with their friendship and encouragement, I could feel the tears burning behind my eyes. We would miss them. Remembering all that we had done for them, I wondered how they could leave with no word or even warning. Just stopped coming. Just

explaining to Rosemary, there’s no way I can leave. I’ve got a deal closing middle of next week. But I think she should go.”       “I’d be worried if he stayed here by himself,” Rosemary said adamantly.       “I’ll be fine.” Dan sounded like a kid with an overly protective mother.       “Tell him he needs to go, Matt.”       Uh, oh. Mom telling Dad to discipline junior. “I’m most concerned about you, Rosemary. Dan’s a step removed. He’ll be okay. I’d like to get you on a plane out of here, today if possible.”       “Go ahead, hon. Matt’s right. You’ll get to see Rebecca, your folks.”       The look Rosemary gave me said she wasn’t convinced. “Oh, all right,” she said hesitantly. “I’ll call, see about flights.”       “‘Bye, Matt,” Dan said.       I hung up. They talked a while longer. When she hung up, I said, “Call A-One Travel. Charge it to the company.”       She made a face. “You don’t have to pay for my trip.”       “Call,” I told her and went back to work.       “It’s done,” she said, twenty minutes later.

Anyway . . . the thing is, I’ve been trying to get better, but I may not be able to, kiddo. I may not win this one . . .” My voice weakens, and tears fill my eyes, because I know what I’m actually doing is telling my six-year-old son good-bye. That he will soon lose his father. “Are you going to leave me, Daddy?” Devon asks, his tiny voice so soft that I can barely hear it. And that’s all it takes to finally rip me apart. To break me. Because telling him this is excruciating enough, but hearing him understand it is infinitely worse. I can’t look at my son. If I do, I’ll never get through this. I turn away and the tears start. I feel Devon’s soft little hand slide into my palm, his tiny fingers between mine. I hear his weak and troubled breaths. “Daddy, I love you,” he says very quietly. I find the courage to look back at him, his pink cheeks dampened by tears. For a long time, neither of us speaks, and I know that this moment, painful as it is, will be one of the few that are left, that it’s so very precious. Then, as if reading those very thoughts, he says, “We’ll stay like this forever, Daddy, okay? Just like this.

We have to be what we are, so we don’t have to present a false image. If you love me the way I am, “Okay, take me.” If you don’t love me the way I am, “Okay, bye-bye. Find someone else.

Caller: Honey, I’m just going to be honest with you, okay? I just thought he was cute, I’m 45 years old and I’d like to meet him again, but I don’t know how to go about doing that without calling 9-1-1. I know this is not absolutely in any way, shape, or form an emergency. But if you would give the officers my phone number and ask them to come back, other than I know they have terrible lots of things to do in Aloha. Uhm, would you mind? Operator: I’ll give them the message to call you. Caller: Thank you very much, bye bye. Operator: Bye bye. The 9-1-1 operator did indeed give the officers the message. They returned to place the caller under arrest for misusing the 9-1-1 system. She received two years probation, 100 hours community service, and paid over $500 in fines for her attempt at using 9-1-1 to arrange a date night.

Thank you for forgiving me for genuinely liking your sister.” “You’re a very brave man to bring that up,” I warned with little real anger. “I genuinely like you too.” His words shocked the hell out of me. “But I think in a completely different way than Emma.” “I don’t know what that means.” He grinned at me. “That’s okay with me.” “Goodbye, Ben.” “Bye, Liz.

He wound the cord of the receiver around his thumb. “I can’t be by for you right at five. Not if I clean up first.” “That’s fine. I want to eat a little supper anyway.” “Okay, but don’t fill up.” “I won’t.” “Georgie?” He touched the unit, willing her to hear him before she pulled the plug. “Yes?” He let out his breath. “Don’t change. I like that dress.” “All right.” He dropped his hand. “Bye.” “Bye.” She hesitated before finally disconnecting them.

Planet of women The 2-headed lady said I couldn't land my ship I said it would only take a minute "Well," she said, "what's in it?" Oh, I don't know. Just some weird sh*t. ("Okay.") La la la la la When I got to the surface, there were women everywhere. ("Hey, how you doing?") And all the men were slaves They had us all dressed up in chains ("ooh, look at that one?) And there was a queen She had her own di*k all dressed up in black (?come back here, Sonny?) Her name was? I like it like that? Queen? I like it like that. And I fell in love with a leader from the underground. He said he'd set me free (?we can all be free, dude?) But when I fell asleep he stole the key and split the scene, I guess. I never learned. No, I never learned f*gs in drag, no matter where I lay I get burned, so burned La la la la la It?s hard living on the planet of women Gonna find me a river and drown myself in it (?bye-bye?) La la la la la

On November 22nd, 2018, my mother Vernita Lee passed away. I was conflicted about our relationship up until the very end. The truth is, it wasn't until I became successful that my mother started to show more interest in me. I wrestled with the question of how to take care of her - what did I owe the woman who gave me life, The bible says 'honor thy father and mother', but what did that actually mean? I decided one of the ways I could honor her would be to help care for her financially ... but there was never any real connection. I would say that the audience who watched me on television knew me better than my mother did. When her health began to decline a few years ago, I knew I needed to prepare myself for her transition. Just a few days before Thanksgiving my sister Patricia called to tell me she thought it was time. I flew to Milwaukee ... I tried to think of something to say, at one point I even picked up the manual left by the hospice care people. I read their advice thinking the whole time, how sad it was that I, Oprah Winfrey, who had spoken to thousands of people one on one should have to read a hospice manual to figure out what to say to my mother. When it was finally time to leave, something told me it would be the last time I'd ever see her but as I turned to go, the words I needed to say still wouldn't come. All I could muster was 'bye, I'll be seeing you' and I left for, ironically, a speaking engagement. On the flight home the next morning a little voice in my head whispered what I knew in my heart to be true: "you are going to regret this, you haven't finished the work". ... I turned around and went back to Milwaukee. I spent another day in that hot room and still no words came. That night I prayed for help. In the morning I meditated, and as I prepared to leave the bedroom I picked up my phone and noticed the song that was playing - Mahalia Jackson's 'Precious Lord'. If ever there was a sign, this was it. I had no idea how Mahalia Jackson appeared on my playlist. As I listened to the words, Precious Lord, take my hand Lead me on, let me stand. I am tired, I'm weak, I am worn Lead me on to the light, Take my hand, precious Lord And lead me home. I suddenly knew what to do. When I walked into my mothers room I asked if she wanted to hear the song. She nodded, and then I had another idea. I called my friend Wintley Phipps, a preacher and gospel artist, and asked him to sing Precious Lord to my dying mother. Over FaceTime from his kitchen table he sang the song a cappella and then prayed that our family would have no fear, just peace. I could see that my mother was moved. The song and the prayer had created a sort of opening for both of us. I began to talk to her about her life, her dreams, and me. Finally the words were there. I said, "It must have been hard for you, not having an education, not having a skill, not knowing what the future held. When you became pregnant, I'm sure a lot of people told you to get rid of that baby." She nodded. "But you didn't", I said. "And I want to thank you for keeping this baby". I paused, "I know that many times you didn't know what to do. You did the best you knew how to do and that's okay with me. That is okay with me. So you can leave now, knowing that it is well. It is well with my soul. It's been well for a long time." It was a sacred, beautiful moment, one of the proudest of my life. As an adult I'd learned to see my mother through a different lens; not as the mother who didn't care for me, protect me, love me or understand anything about me, but as a young girl still just a child herself; scared, alone, and unequipped to be a loving parent. I had forgiven my mother years earlier for not being the mother I needed, but she didn't know that. And in our last moments together I believe I was able to release her from the shame and the guilt of our past. I came back and I finished the work that needed to be done.

Okay,” Beck said, voice taking a moment to solidify. “Okay. If I only have ten minutes, Sam, this is what I want to say. You’re not the best of us. You’re more than that. You’re better than all of us. If I only have ten minutes, I would tell you to go out there and live. I’d say … please take your guitar and sing your songs to as many people as you can. Please fold a thousand more of those damn birds of yours. Please kiss that girl a million times.” Beck suddenly broke off and ducked his head down to his knees; he clenched his hands on the back of his skull. I saw the muscles in his back twitching. Not lifting his head, he whispered, “And please forget all about me. I wish I had been better, but I wasn’t. Please forget about me.” His hands were still white-knuckled fists on the back of his head. So many ways to say good-bye. I said, “I don’t want to.

Hey, hey! Is this my big-shot grandson who got to visit the White House today?” The voice was definitely Cyrus Hale’s—although the tone caught me by surprise. He sounded like an actual doting grandfather, rather than his usual cranky self. I assumed he was acting for the benefit of anyone who might overhear the call—or be eavesdropping on it. “Hi, Grandpa!” I said cheerfully, doing a bit of acting myself. “Are you close?” “Approaching the building right now.” “Okay. I’m coming out.” I hung up and informed Kimmy, “My grandfather’s here.” “Great!” she said, then thought to add, “In the interest of national security, I hope I can trust you to not share certain stories about what transpired here today?” “You don’t have to worry about me,” I assured her. Kimmy heaved a sigh of relief, then ushered me out the door. Cyrus was pulling up in front of the building in a well-worn sedan that looked exactly like the sort of car a normal grandfather would drive. The Secret Service agents were going on alert when Kimmy yelled to them, “He’s okay! He’s just picking up a friend of Jason’s!” Cyrus rolled down the window and shouted, “Hey there, champ! Did you have fun?” “Sure did, Gramps!” I replied, then slid into the passenger seat. Kimmy waved good-bye enthusiastically. “So long, Ben! Hope to see you again soon!” Cyrus rolled up the window, drove away, and immediately dropped the kindly old grandfather act. “You didn’t waste any time screwing up this mission, did you?

day and then Mom will meet me in Cleveland tomorrow night for the debate on Wednesday. Okay . . . Just wanted to touch base with you. Call me or Mom when you can, okay? Bye.” Ryan disconnected the call and tossed

OkayByeI’llSeeYouGuysTommorow!” Liz zoomed away. ​“Well…that was awkward,” I said. ​The class bell rang, and Clank and I went to our separate classes.

Though he’d happily never lay eyes on it again, John couldn’t help but look back as well. When he saw that big, ugly-ass mansion getting smaller by the second, he remembered something his mom used to say whenever they left on a trip. “Everyone say ‘bye house.’” “Bye house,” Daniel and Colt chanted. Seb gave a loud wet cough and all of them turned to look at him in concern. “Are you okay, kid?” John demanded. The corners of Seb’s broken, bleeding lips turned up. “Fuck you, house.” [end chapter]

He knew in that moment that if they chased this connection, there would be no writing it off as casual. No “getting it out of their systems” or “seeing where things went.” Ethan didn’t know the right words to ask for what he wanted. “I think I could be good at loving you,” he said, “if you let me.” Adrenaline raced under the surface of his skin, urgent and electric. “That’s a lot. It’s a big thing to say, and it’s a bigger thing to deliver. I promise that I know that, but I still want you to give me a shot.” “Ethan.” She leaned her cheek into his palm, kissed the thin skin of his wrist. Was she telling him to stop? Telling him good-bye? Her lips were just as hard to diagnose as her words. He took a step back toward the beach, reaching for her hand, wanting space to think, to get the words out, but needing to stay tethered to her at the same time. “Say the word, and we can forget this ever happened. I’ll pretend that I never thought about loving you.” Ethan searched for the seam of the horizon. “I’ll look at you less, and without so much longing.” He took a deep breath. Giving speeches was part of his job, but no amount of reading Torah had prepared him for this. “I won’t forget that we kissed. Sorry”—Ethan tried to grin a little—“but you have to cut me some slack on that one. Because, I mean, come on, you’re you.” She nodded, not guilty at all. “But I promise not to think about it too much. I’ll save it for those really dark moments, when I look at everything wrong with the world and I feel helpless. When every good thing I’ve ever done, ever seen or heard about, pales against the garish human capacity for hate and corruption.” He bent forward quickly and kissed her cheek, lingering more than he should but less than he wanted to before pulling back. “I’ll think about it then, if it’s okay,” he said gently, “just for a few seconds, so I can remember what it was like to feel transcendent.

JULIE YAWNED AGAIN. “Bye. I’m going to bed.” “Thank you for staying up with me,” George said. “No problem.” Julie gathered her blanket and went up the staircase. Something thudded. “I’m okay!” she called out. “I fell up, but I’m okay.” She thumped up the stairs, and then the sound of a door closing announced she had reached her bedroom.

D’you — d’you want to go to the ball with me?” said Harry. Why did he have to go red now? Why? “Oh!” said Cho, and she went red too. “Oh Harry, I’m really sorry,” and she truly looked it. “I’ve already said I’ll go with someone else.” “Oh,” said Harry. It was odd; a moment before his insides had been writhing like snakes, but suddenly he didn’t seem to have any insides at all. “Oh okay,” he said, “no problem.” “I’m really sorry,” she said again. “That’s okay,” said Harry. They stood there looking at each other, and then Cho said, “Well —” “Yeah,” said Harry. “Well, ’bye,” said Cho, still very red. She walked away. Harry called after her, before he could stop himself. “Who’re you going with?” “Oh — Cedric,” she said. “Cedric Diggory.” “Oh right,” said Harry.

Okay, you guys have fun. Maybe we can get together next week.’ We say good-bye and hang up, and I wait for the recalc to finish.

Panic, jealousy, and fear rammed through him like the most violent of storms. He managed a strained, “Princess, are you okay?” “I did it,” she said in a shaky voice. “It was hard, sad, and scary, but I did it.” Mitch took her hand, squeezing her fingers. He was afraid to hope, afraid to even breathe. “What did you do?” “I said good-bye.” The completely irrational possessiveness burned in his lungs. Adrenaline still pumped in his veins, not caring whether the immediate threat was over. “Are you okay?” “Yes,” she said, still staring out the window. “I’m . . . just . . . I don’t know. It was almost half my life. And now it’s over.” “I’m sorry.” He pulled to a stop at Revival’s only traffic light. “I hate that you’re upset.” Maddie looked at him, her tear-streaked cheeks and watery gaze making her look beautiful and tragic. “I’m relieved.” The

have to. You don’t understand, and it’s okay. I don’t want you to worry about me.” His carefree tone made her panic and stutter out stupid half-ass words. “Bye, Rosie,” he said, regretfully. “You don’t need to do this!” she gasped, finally finding her voice. “Don’t you dare hang up, dammit! I mean it.” After many seconds of nothing, he whispered a perplexed, “Or what?” She shot out of her chair. “Or … I will be so very angry at you! And hurt!” she knew she was crossing every line possible, but her gut said he was dead serious—stupid pun unintended. 

Shelby came back,” he said. Silence answered him. “She did?” Muriel finally asked in a shocked breath. “Yes, ma’am. And apparently Luke did enough groveling to satisfy her, because she’s moved in with him. And this morning he paid me a visit, asked my permission to propose.” “Get out of town! Did you grant it?” “No. I told him to go to hell. I should have just shot him. I told him that.” “Oh, you’d like me to believe you’re that kind of bully, wouldn’t you?” “The silly girl seems to love him. And you should see him. Whipped into shape that fast. I bet if we pulled up his shirt, there would be lash marks all over his back. He’s limp as a noodle.” “I bet he’s not,” she said with a laugh. “Well, good for Shelby. That maneuver never worked for me. When I stomped off into the night, they just said, ‘Okay, bah-bye.’” “What’s

Esperanza’s sexual preference flip-flopped like a politician in a nonelection year. Currently she seemed to be on a man kick, but Myron guessed that was one of the advantages of bisexuality: love everyone. Myron had no problem with it. In high school he had dated almost exclusively bisexual girls—he’d mention sex, the girls would say “bye.” Okay, old joke, but the point remained.

The pub, Ian. Today. Be there.’ And I slammed my phone down, dramatically. And then I realized what I’d done and rang him back and told him which pub and at what time, and he said could we make it a bit later, and I said okay, and he said bye and so did I. It was just like in a film.

Hi, Dale, it’s Gabby...Clay’s girlfriend.”  It felt weird giving myself that title, but I pushed it aside.  Bigger issues to deal with.  “If he’s there, can I talk to him?” Dale chuckled.  “Sure, but I don’t imagine it’d be much of a conversation.” I heard him call out to Clay.  A moment later, a husky voice said, “Hello?” After not talking to me for so long, hearing his voice startled and annoyed me slightly.  He would talk to a perfect stranger, but not me?  I opened my mouth to say something about it, but the pain in my head insistently prodded me to get on with the important news. “Clay, I did it again.  I’m at the diner where we had breakfast.  I need you to come get me before it gets worse.” He didn’t say anything for so long that I looked at the phone to see if I still had a signal.  The screen said disconnected.  Would it have killed him to say “Okay” or maybe even “Bye” before hanging up?  His hello had been too shocking to recall the sound of his voice. I sighed and put my cell away.  With Sam’s frequent calls and Rachel’s occasional texts, my remaining minutes dipped into the double digits.  I needed to adjust my budget to buy more airtime.  Did life really need to throw me this many curveballs?  And all at once? I forced myself to eat more of my mostly untouched meal so the waitress wouldn’t bother me as I waited. The last of the waves hit me.  Only determination and a hand over my mouth kept me from whimpering.  After about ten minutes, I settled the bill and watched out the window for Clay, barely checking the need to curl into a ball and lie down on the padded bench.  The waitress kept a close eye on me, probably thinking she would need to clean up barf soon.  She might. Dale’s huge tow truck pulled into the parking lot.  Clay opened his door and leapt out while it still rolled to a stop.  Through the window, he spotted me.  His eyes never left me as he strode in and Dale pulled away. Clay still wore his greasy coveralls, and with his hair pulled back, he looked like an angel—a grimy one—coming to save me.  Again. “Hi,

I stood on a rise, overlooking the plague valley. Matthew was beside me. The last thing I remembered was crawling into my sleeping bag after the whiskey had hit me like a two-by-four to the face. Now my friend was here with me. “I’ve missed you. Are you feeling better?” How much was this vision taking out of him? “Better.” He didn’t appear as pale. He wore a heavy coat, open over a space camp T-shirt. “I’m so relieved to hear that, sweetheart. Why would you bring us here?” “Power is your burden.” I surveyed all the bodies. “I felt the weight of it when I killed these people.” “Obstacles multiply.” “Which ones?” A breeze soughed over the valley. “Bagmen, slavers, militia, or cannibals?” He held up the fingers of one hand. “There are now five. The miners watch us. Plotting.” “But miners are the same as cannibals, right?” He shuffled his boots with irritation. “Miners, Empress.” “Okay, okay.” I rubbed his arm. “Are you and Finn being safe?” His brows drew together as he gazed out. “Smite and fall, mad and struck.” I looked with him, like we were viewing a sunset, a beautiful vista. Not plague and death. “You’ve told me those words before.” “So much for you to learn, Empress. Beware the inactivated card.” One Arcana’s powers lay dormant—until he or she killed another player. “Who is it?” “Don’t ask, if you ever want to know.” Naturally, I started to ask, but he cut me off. “Do you believe I see far?” He peered down at me. “Do you believe I see an unbroken line that stretches on through eternity? Centuries ago, I told an Empress that a future incarnation of hers would live in a world of ash where nothing grew. She never believed me.” I could imagine Phyta or the May Queen surveying verdant fields and crops, doubting the Fool. “Now I tell you that dark days are ahead. Will you believe me?” “I will. I do. Please tell me what will happen. How dark?” “Darkest. Power is your burden; knowing is mine.” His expression turned pleading, his soft brown eyes imploring. “Never hate me.” I raised my hands, cradling his face. “Even when I was so mad at you, I never hated you.” “Remember. Matthew knows best.” He sounded like his mom—when she’d tried to drown him: Mother knows best, son. I dropped my hands. “It scares me when you say that.” “Do you know what you really want? I see it. I feel it. Think, Empress. See far.” I was trying! “Help me, then. I’m ready. Help me see far!” “All is not as it seems. What would you sacrifice? What would you endure?” “To end the game?” His voice grew thick as he said, “Things will happen beyond your wildest imaginings.” “Good things?” His eyes watered. “Good, bad, good, bad, good, good, bad, bad, good-bye. You are my friend.

Such a shame that I didn’t get to say good-bye to my fellow inmates,” he said sarcastically. “Actually, Puchalski was the only guy I liked. I still can’t figure out what got into him.” As Jordan used her chopsticks to pick up a piece of hamachi, she decided it was best to get her brother off that topic as fast as possible. “Sounds like he just snapped.” “But why would he have a fork in his shoe?” Kyle mused. “That makes me think he was planning the attack, which doesn’t make sense.” Let it go, Kyle. She shrugged. “Maybe he always keeps a fork in his shoe. Who understands why any of these felon types do what they do?” “Hey. I am one of those felon types.” Grey tipped his glass of wine. “And who would’ve thought you would do what you did?” “It was Twitter,” Kyle mumbled under his breath. Maybe we should change the subject,” Jordan suggested, sensing the conversation could only spiral downward from there. “Okay. Let’s talk about you instead,” Grey said. “I never asked—how did Xander’s party go?” Now there was a potential land mine of a topic. “It went fine. Pretty much the same party as usual.” Except for a little domestic espionage. She threw Kyle a look, needing help. Change the subject. Fast. He stared back cluelessly. Why? She glared. Just do it. He made a face. All right, all right. “Speaking of wine, Jordo, how was your trip to Napa?” Great. Leave it to her genius of a brother to pick the other topic she wanted to avoid. “I visited that new winery I told you about. We should have a deal this week so that my store will be the first to carry their wine in the Chicago area.” Grey’s tone was casual. “Did you bring Tall, Dark, and Smoldering with you on the trip?” Jordan set down her chopsticks and looked over at her father. He smiled cheekily as he took a sip of his wine. “You read Scene and Heard, too?” she asked. Grey scoffed at that. “Of course not. I have people read it for me. Half the time, it’s the only way I know what’s going on with you two. And don’t avoid the question. Tell us about this new guy you’re seeing. I find it very odd that you’ve never mentioned him.” He fixed his gaze on her like the Eye of Sauron. Jordan took a deep breath, suddenly very tired of the lies and the secret-agent games. Besides, she had to face the truth at some point. “Well, Dad, I don’t know if you have to worry about Tall, Dark, and Smoldering anymore. He’s not talking to me right now.” Kyle’s face darkened. “Tall, Dark, and Smoldering sounds like a moron to me.” Grey nodded, his expression disapproving. “I agree. You can do a lot better than a moron, kiddo.” “Thanks. But it’s not that simple. His job presents some . . . challenges.” That was definitely the wrong thing to say. “Why? What kind of work does he do?” her father asked immediately. Jordan stalled. Maybe she’d overshot a little with the no more lies promise. She threw Kyle another desperate look. Do something. Again. Kyle nodded. I’m on it. He eased back in his chair and stretched out his intertwined hands, limbering up his fingers. “Who cares what this jerk does? Send me his e-mail address, Jordo—I’ll take care of it. I can wreak all sorts of havoc on Tall, Dark, and Smoldering’s life in less than two minutes.” With an evil grin, he mimed typing at a keyboard. Their father looked ready to blow a gasket. “Oh no—you do not get to make the jokes,” he told Kyle. “Jordan and I make the jokes. You’ve been out of prison for four days and I seriously hope you learned your lesson, young man . . .

Don’t think about the past visits. You have cupcakes,” Julia said as if they were a magic cure-all, and then whispered, “Bye.” Before she disconnected, he heard her say in that over-the-top excited voice of hers, “Just my dad. He misses me. No, it’s—” “Happy Thanksgiving, Sheriff Landon. Chief Benson here. You might not remember me but we met last time you were in town.” Aidan was about to disconnect but the chief would probably think the call had dropped and hit redial. Thanks to Julia, Aidan was damned if he did and damned if he didn’t. If he lost his job because of her . . . He made a noncommittal sound into the phone. The chief seemed to buy it. “I just want you to know that you don’t have to worry about your little girl. I’m taking really good care of her.” Okay, how does Benson not get weirded out talking to a guy who is probably just a couple years older than him about his daughter? Aidan frowned. Wait a minute. Julia distinctly told him she wasn’t the chief’s girlfriend. So what was going on here? Maybe Benson didn’t get that no meant no. Aidan cleared his throat, deepened his voice and added what he thought of as Texan swagger. “Don’t you worry none about my daughter. She’s a bit of a thing and young, but she can take care of herself. She doesn’t need another daddy.” The chief didn’t respond. Aidan heard him talking to Julia, but their voices were muffled. And then they were unmuffled, and he clearly heard the chief say, “What do you mean it’s Aidan Gallagher and not your father?” He groaned, feeling like an idiot. He was going to kill her. “Gallagher, is that you?” the chief gritted out. Aidan pressed his forehead against the steering wheel, and the horn blasted, drowning out his yes. “My office tomorrow morning. Nine sharp.” He didn’t get a chance to respond. The line went dead. Seconds later, it came alive. I’ll fix it. I promise. She was lucky she didn’t add a happy face.

One day, Lisa Capaldini, a young intern in the AIDS ward, was saying good-bye to a patient named Gordon with whom she had grown close. Gordon was about to be discharged, but he was blind and dying, and Capaldini knew that she would never see him again. While she hovered over his bed, the intern began to cry. “And I thought, ‘That’s okay, he won’t know.’ Then I realized that my tears were dropping on his face. And I thought, ‘Busted.

I’m not going to be able to go with you this afternoon,” I said. “Oh.” She didn’t seem crushed, but I could tell she wasn’t overjoyed, either. “Well, I guess I can find enough stuff myself.” “Okay,” I said. “Will you be at the meeting?” Kristy asked. “Yeah.” “See you.” “ ’Bye.” It was mid-winter, but it felt chillier inside than out. *  *  *

Okay.” We hold eyes, and Ren’s jaw tics. I know he wants to hug. Kiss. He has this habit of swaying me in his arms when we hug that’s not only dreamy but soothing. “Bye,” I whisper.

near the doorway that led to the courtyard, suddenly reminding me of when he and I departed down that eastern road so many days ago... I turned and smiled. “Goodbye for now,” I said to the Minecraftians. “Bye, Skeleton Steve,” Xenocide99 said. “You want some more arrows?” “Sure,” I said, and I took what he gave me and stuffed the ammo into my pack. “Goodbye, Skeleton Steve!” LuckyMist said with a smile and wet eyes. She rushed me and gave me a fierce hug! My bones clunked. “We’ll visit soon, okay??” “You’ll be on a huge, weird mountain north of a zombie-infested village to the east, huh?” WolfBroJake asked, clapping me on the shoulder with an armored hand. “Yeah, basically,” I replied. “There’s also a really big, blue lake. And the tower is on the smaller of the two huge peaks.” “Take care, bro,” the warrior said. “See you soon.” “Bye, Slinger!!” LuckyMist exclaimed. “Take care of Skeleton Steve!” Slinger clicked his fangs together and smiled. “I will. Goodbye for now, Minecraftians!” The female Minecraftian then ran up to Elias and gave the Enderman a huge hug as well. “Goodbye again, Elias! Visit us soon, okay??” “I will, LuckyMist...” the Enderman ninja replied, returning the hug and cupping her cheek with a large, black hand. “Goodbye, my friends; Xenocide99, WolfBroJake...” “Bye, Elias,” the warrior replied. “Goodbye for now,” I said again to all of them. With that, I hopped onto Slinger’s back in the courtyard colored by the late afternoon sun, and we—along with Elias, Eridar, and Eirzon—departed to the east...

We have to be what we are, so we don’t have to present a false image. If you love me the way I am, “Okay, take me.” If you don’t love me the way I am, “Okay, bye-bye. Find someone else.

Okay, I have unfrozen the humans and adjusted their memories.' Beezlebub pouted. 'Buzzkill--I was just giving the people what they wanted.' Thor's look-a-like rolled his eyes. 'I do not believe singing along to a '90s rap song should have been construed as an invitation to turn them to ice.

Darren,” I begin, swallowing the lump in my throat and forcing myself to keep eye contact. I need answers. I can’t go back home without knowing exactly what there was or is between us. “Why did you come back here?” No response. “Why did you ask me to go to Pompeii with you guys? Why did you get so upset you couldn’t even talk to me when you saw Bruno kiss me good-bye? Why did you completely freak when Nina took our picture together? Why did you come back here? I need--” I groan and ball my hands into fists at my sides. “I need you to tell me what you want me to think, Darren. What am I supposed to take away from all this?” “I don’t know, Pippa, okay?” He yanks at his hair. “I…needed to see you again. When I’m not with you, all I think about is you and your shy little smile and the two freckles on your right cheek. Your terrifying green eyes.” He stands again and my eyes dart to the ribbons of water streaming down his chest. He takes a step toward me and raises a hand to my cheek, stroking it with his thumb. My eyelids drop involuntarily and I melt into his touch. “I just--” He stops himself. His lips gently press against mine and I pull in a sharp breath before I lean my face into his palm even more. Just as I fear my legs might not hold me up any longer, his other hand snakes around to the small of my back, supporting and pulling me against him. After a moment he drifts a few inches away, keeping his hands in place, nervously meeting my eyes to gauge a reaction. Everything around me except for his face is a blue blur as I stare back at him. Darren just kissed me. As many times as I’ve imagined him kissing me, the shock of it as a reality sends a quake through my entire body.

Darren’s been quiet since we stripped down to our bathing suits and waded into the water, like his mind is somewhere else. I make small talk, but he gives a lot of halfhearted, one-word answers. “Is something wrong?” I finally ask. Darren cups a hand and repeatedly scoops at the water, letting it leak out between his fingers. “What do you see happening a few weeks from now?” I try to meet his eyes, but he’s focused on the water. “What do you mean?” “I mean at the end of summer, when you have to leave. What happens after that?” I open my mouth to speak, but not a sound comes out. I want to say a million things. I want to say that watching him walk off that train, then realizing I had no way to get in touch with him, nearly killed me. That I can’t believe I’m expected to say goodbye to him again. That I think about him. A lot. What comes out instead is, “I finish high school and you start college.” “Right…right.” He nods and exhales, sinking into the water up to his neck and running a dripping hand through his still-dry hair. Follow your heart, not your head. Regret nothing. “Darren,” I begin, swallowing the lump in my throat and forcing myself to keep eye contact. I need answers. I can’t go back home without knowing exactly what there was or is between us. “Why did you come back here?” No response. “Why did you ask me to go to Pompeii with you guys? Why did you get so upset you couldn’t even talk to me when you saw Bruno kiss me good-bye? Why did you completely freak when Nina took our picture together? Why did you come back here? I need--” I groan and ball my hands into fists at my sides. “I need you to tell me what you want me to think, Darren. What am I supposed to take away from all this?” “I don’t know, Pippa, okay?” He yanks at his hair. “I…needed to see you again. When I’m not with you, all I think about is you and your shy little smile and the two freckles on your right cheek. Your terrifying green eyes.

HENRY CLIMBED INTO my truck and buckled his seatbelt with the grimmest expression I had ever seen. His hair stood out in every direction, and his hands shook. “You okay, buddy?” I asked, trying to be gentle. “Do you want to go see Robin instead? She’d be glad to cut it, Henry.” Millie had followed him out, tapping her way down the sidewalk with a concerned frown between her dark brows. She now stood holding onto the passenger side door. I could tell she wanted to ride along, but Henry didn’t seem to want her to. “It’s a man date, right Henry? Men go to the barber. Not the salon.” Henry tapped his fingertips together nervously and wouldn’t look right or left. “Kite flying is an official sport in Thailand!” Henry blurted. Amelie bit her lip but stepped back from the passenger door. “Bye, Millie. I’ll bring him back. Don’t worry,” I called. She nodded and tried to smile, and I pulled away from the curb. Henry’s tapping became a cadence. Clack clack. Click click. It sounded like the rhythm Millie made with her stick when she walked. “Henry?” No response. Just clicking, all the way to the barbershop. I pulled up to Leroy’s shop and put my truck in park. I jumped out and came around to Henry’s door. Henry made no move to disembark. “Henry? Do you want to do this?” Henry looked pointedly at my shaggy locks and clicked his fingers. “I need a haircut, Henry. So do you. We’re men. We can do this.” “Ben Askren, Roger Federer, Shaun White, Troy Polamalu, David Beckham, Triple H.” “Triple H?” I started to laugh. Henry was listing athletes with long hair. “You’re getting desperate, Henry.” “Larry Fitzgerald? Tim Lincecum?” “Tim Lincecum, huh? He plays for the Giants, doesn’t he? Your favorite team, right?” Henry didn’t respond. “Ah, shit. What the hell. I didn’t want to cut my hair anyway. I kind of think your sister likes it.” The clicking slowed. “You wanna go buy a kite? I hear it’s an official sport in Thailand,” I said. Henry smiled the smallest ghost of a smile and nodded once.

When the door opened, Blake was standing at the side of my bed looking down at me. The light brush of his fingers over my throat and his solid glare were clearly a warning. But I was still on the verge of fainting, now from trying too roughly to inhale. Candice said good-bye to whomever she’d been talking to as she shut the door. “Oh, hey, cuz! I didn’t mean to—” Blake turned to look at her and Candice’s eyes went wide when she saw me. “Oh my God, Rachel, are you okay?!” She rushed over to me, but Blake touched her arm and pulled her away. “She was attacked by a couple guys outside Starbucks tonight. She called me about half an hour ago. She’s in shock but she’ll be okay.” “What?!” Candice screamed, and tears instantly filled her eyes. What? No. No, no, no. My head shook back and forth as I choked on a sob and my breathing got even faster and heavier. I tried to tell her that was wrong, that he was lying, but all that came out was the ragged sound of my breathing. I could see Candice and Blake’s mouths moving, but I couldn’t hear anything else. Everything tilted to the side and the blackness came back full force. I reached out for Candice but missed her arm as the dark claimed me.