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“You got some kind of slippery grip on your stack of nice.”
“But my daddy says we make exceptions for folks that got too much lonely on them.”
The truth was that there was no end to the people you could not count on. Safer, then, to trust no one.
But Kate looked away. Which might be rude here in the South, but better to trust no men at all than to trust the wrong ones. And weren’t they all the wrong ones in some way or another?
“Built in 1809, dear. My husband, God rest his soul, insisted on only the finest preservation work. If I’d had as many parts guarded against age as this house, I’d be carded when buying my bourbon. Do be seated.”
The want of good manners, however, can be easily tweaked; the want of a good chin cannot.”
“The facts,” Rose said, “are inconclusive at present. Until further work is done.” “Facts?” “Are slippery things.”
“Your momma had a soft heart. Sometimes the people with the softest ones can’t quit beating themselves for any hurt they’ve caused somebody else. Keep things churned up like that, there’s no place forgiveness can take a deep root.”
