Best 4 quotes of Amy Mason Doan on MyQuotes

From the water it looked like a boat, with rows of small, high windows—so much like portholes—and a long, skinny dock—pirate's gangplank—to complete the effect. When the place started falling apart in the '70s, some grumbly neighbor called it The Shipwreck, and the name had stuck. It was a love-it-or-hate-it house, and the Shepherd women had loved it. So had I.

I checked the big silver-and-white wall clock. It was the centerpiece in a construction-paper design that said: TIME IS PASSING. WILL YOU? FOCUS! The O in focus was the clock.

I'd had kisses. Rushed, wet, tasting of beer, right out in the open. I'd messed around with a funny sophomore in my anthropology seminar and a shy journalism grad student, and while these nights were satisfying in their way, the pleasure didn't last past 2:00 am. I missed patience, the sweet, smoky taste of scotch. And the gut thrum of the forbidden. Instead of obscuring my memory of him, the hours I spent with boys at school slid to the edges and collected around it, like a frame.

My childhood home in Coeur-de-Lune was now a vacation rental, managed by efficient strangers. I'd never gone back. But my mother kept a buzzing gossip line into her church women from town, and gave me sporadic updates on Casey's life. She always brought Casey up when I was lulled into complacency. When we'd had a surprisingly peaceful afternoon together. When we were outside on her balcony, or sharing a piece of her peach pie like other mothers and daughters did. Only then would she jab, a master fencer going for the unprotected sliver of my heart.