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How in the world do you tell someone what he is to you . . . when he is your whole world? How do you tell him you love him—and that he loved you—when he can’t seem to remember your name?
“Love isn’t pretty, Miss Margaret. I think that’s why so many people don’t make it. They don’t appreciate the hard times. They expect it to be all airbrushed and touched up like the pictures you see in them magazine ads.
“Did I love you, Maggie?” She didn’t respond. “Did I love you?!” Johnny cried. She nodded mutely, and shut her eyes against his belligerent gaze.
Death is a pain that we can heal from. Not knowing is an open wound that never heals.”
“Time changing its mind,” he whispered. “From what was to what is,” Maggie finished, her voice as hushed as his.
“That which has been is now; and that which is to be has already been,” Gus quoted quietly.
