Firekeeper's Daughter

by Angeline Boulley

There is healing medicine in those kisses.

What do I wear to a federal meth lab? Will Jamie and I spend every minute together? What if I’m bad at making meth and they fire me from the investigation?

When you love someone, but don’t like parts of them, it complicates your memories of them when they’re gone.

Grief is a cruel and sneaky bastard. You love a person and then they’re gone. Past tense. You forget them for an hour, a day, a week. How is that even possible? It happens because memories are fickle; they can fade.

The God I pray to is here with us, Daunis. With you, me, and our pancakes.

Wisdom is not bestowed. In its raw state, it is the heartbreak of knowing things you wish you didn’t.