He'd been going through them slowly. One every four days, about. There was a box, and it seemed like they were endless, but in truth, he knew they'd be gone far too quickly if he didn't exercise some self-control ( Read more... )

Toby stood frowning at the ocean. This was, to be straightforward, a rather Ziegler thing to do. The sun was setting slowly and beautifully and the evening was relatively cool, and he stood with his hands in his pockets and frowned.

He'd had a strange dream.

Be poetsHe scratched the back of his neck. His empty coffee cup and a nearly-filled ( Read more... )

Toby was reading a biography of Harper Lee. He wasn't sure why. He was suspecting he had a masochistic streak that ran deeper than he had previously suspected, which made it pretty deepAt least the rain had stopped, and he'd found a subdued-colored print shirt in the basement with old wood-panel station wagons on it. It could have been worse. ( Read more... )

1.

He had respected her from the first moment she'd taken him down a peg. It was the way Andi had never quite had the force to, and with a different sort of grace. Eight years later, he more than respected her, because respect could only prevail as its own, isolated transitive verb for so long ( Read more... )