Before She Disappeared (Frankie Elkin, #1)

by Lisa Gardner

Lani might be a screw-up with horrible taste in men, but she was still a mom. Why people assumed those things couldn’t go together, I’ll never know.

I’m only me. An average, middle-aged white woman with more regrets than belongings, more sad stories than happy ones.

Predators prefer the lone game, so don’t look too lonely.

People all over really are the same. They want to fall in love. They’re glad to survive each day. They pray their children will have a better life than they did. These truths bind us. At least I like to think so.

House, white picket fence, suburban bliss. Funny, the things you can grow up not wanting, then suddenly crave with single-minded obsession.

Maybe Boston neighborhoods aren’t meant to be understood. You either know where you are, or you don’t. I definitely don’t.

Same.

I’m learning quickly that Boston isn’t a town of neat and orderly streets. Instead, the lines on my map have me taking a diagonal here to a diagonal there.

And just because I choose to be alone doesn’t mean I never feel lonely.

Paul accused me of remaining an addict even after I stopped drinking. I don’t think he understood that’s exactly how it works. I am my demons, and my demons are me. Some days I do all the talking and some days my monster does all the drinking, but every day it’s all me.

So many think we must share the same beliefs to get along. In my experience, sharing the same fear is a far more effective strategy.

Call it what you want; even atheists have some kind of spirituality.

Oblivion. That’s what I sought, what I still seek. One precious moment when I’m no longer trapped inside my own head. Knowing things I don’t want to know. Remembering things I don’t want to remember. Worrying about things I can’t change.

Addicts are particularly good at this game. Everyone else’s life is easier, better, happier. If we could be those people, then we wouldn’t need to drink again. It’s everyone else’s fault. The universe’s. Never our own.

Mom

Good guys like him have a weakness for train wrecks like me.

Apparently, he likes his strong, independent women less strong and less independent.