Lilac and wisteria, spring blossoms and short-sleeve shirts. This week's first paragraph is sponsored by the birds and the bees and by falling for better (or sometimes for worse) in love.
There were times when she wished he were dead. Not that she's never met him, or that he'd never been born, but that he'd get hit by a car or get himself killed in some other violent way like a bar fight, or his arm would get caught in a machine and he would bleed to death before anyone could save him. And she wished that in those final moments, when he felt his life draining from him, that he'd understand what a bastard he was, what a waste of life. She could envision him, his blood pooling in a black kidney-shaped puddle beneath him as he repented in terror, understanding with a final clarity that he was about to pay for the man he was. In those dark moments he'd be sorry, so sorry. But it would be too late. That's how she felt about him.
For worse, it sounds, this time. Full disclosure: I have never wished someone would get his arm caught in a machine and bleed to death before anyone could save him. As far as I know, no one has wished the fate on me.
Who is he and what do you figure he did to make she so angry? Got a theory? Do share. (Maybe these two never loved each other to begin with?)
Meanwhile: Thanks to Richard, Lisa, Liz, and every other friendly face at Square Books in Oxford, Mississippi, for hosting us Powell's folk in your beautiful city. I hereby nominate Square Books Jr. for Best Kids' Bookstore ever.
Update: Find the author and title.
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Books mentioned in this post
Dave is the author of Out of the Book, Volume 3: State by State