He glances around the room and his eyes light on the pile of charity-shop paperbacks on the rickety table. “What about those?”
I shake my head dismissively. “No room for them. I can’t keep books.”
I wonder whether he caught the note of sadness in my voice, because he immediately switches the suit to one hand and gathers the books up under his other arm. “There’s plenty of room in my house for books,” he says briskly and nods as if to emphasise his point. “There’s a couple of titles here that I fancy reading myself.”
Moisture pricks the back of my eyes. Who is this man?
I had Random.org select a random % for me and it decided on 37%.
“I’ve missed Mr. Samson,” Alisha said.
“Mother, he was a monster. And he’s been in his grave for a year. At least I thought he was in his grave. And, you’re driving around with him -no wait, he’s driving around with you in the truck?”
“Quinn looked to the horizon as the cornstalks swayed with the breeze. The corn itself could have been waving hello, or it could have been breathing.”
“What I do recall is colored by what’s in the Book. Instead of memories, I have excerpts. It’s like looking at a photograph of a photograph. The framing is off. The colors are dulled. The image is slightly dark.”