The Girl in the Moss (Angie Pallorino, #3)

by Loreth Anne White

Life is like a river. Life is absurd. The only constant is the water of change.

Sometimes we think we’re keeping secrets. But really, those secrets are keeping us.

We all tell lies. We all have secrets. A secret can own a person. A secret is powerful. But only to the degree that the truth threatens someone.

Things happen for a reason, Angela. I firmly believe this. One needs to seize the opportunities where they present.

“A survivor,” Angie said crisply. “I’m not a victim. I’m a survivor.”

Past trauma never really leaves you. You need to make room, a home for it, and learn to live with it and use it in positive ways.”

men were generally straightforward. Women were more dangerous—because they were more devious. The aggression was usually quieter. And sometimes darkly passive, hidden like fly hooks in pretty feathers behind smiles and compliments and nice shoes.

She was not convinced her own vehicle would have handled these conditions as well as this Subaru.

Oh, the secrets we keep. And how they keep us. And the havoc the truth could wreak.

it had been motivated by loss, a desperate act of grief. It was inspired by love in so many complex ways.

Nothing about life was simple, or black, or white. Life was like that water in the bay and that sky. Shades upon shades of gray. A continually shifting interplay of light against dark and, every now and then, a few rays of sun.

Secrets are forged and kept in the name of love. And hurt in the same.”