My sweet, perfect one—Aster—she quiet like that too. Used to be she never spoke a word. But even now when she talks, it’s quiet, like she never sure the words she’s using is the right words. All her words is the right words to my mind, though sometime she get smart with me, back-talking and all that, but every word out her mouth I love because so what if it makes me angry, I like to hear her. I like to know what’s on her mind. Sometimes I think what she says is foolish, but I say foolish things sometimes too. It’s a woman’s way.
