The Book of Flora (The Road to Nowhere, #3)

by Meg Elison

“You did that, too,” Alice said. “You’ve lived through it all. You ought to tell your whole story. Write your book, like the Unnamed.” “You sound like my mother.” “It’s good to leave behind your understanding. Other people can learn from it.” Etta’s hand came to settle on her low belly. “I wish my whole life wasn’t filled with people asking me what I was going to leave behind. Can I just fucking live?”

Alice took her time now. She held Ina’s hand, sobbing and sniffling. That was the moment when I realized that every new death in my life was like a new link in an old chain. They connect, and you run your hands over all the ones that come before it. It is never new. It is never just one death.

And isn’t escape always like that? Isn’t it always something you carry on your body, something that makes it impossible to pretend it wasn’t real?