If you have been reading my recent posts via Facebook, you would notice that I have been quoting lines from books that I've read (or still reading) at the time. So, here's another roster of conversations from Sarah Dunn's Secret To Happiness novel, which, I think, will either crack you up or make you want to buttery-melt sigh with the simplicity of it. Read on..
[from page 153]
Chester (the dog) was lying on the couch staring blankly at the television, which was turned on but with the sound muted. His head was wrapped in gauze, and his legs were sticking out stiffly over the edge of the cushions in a way that suggested a cartoonish case of rigor mortis. Jacob (the 6 month old baby) took one look at him and burst into tears.
"My god, Holly, what's wrong with your dog?"
"He has brain cancer," said Holly. "I told you that."
"Yeah, but I didn't think it'd be so obvious."
[from page 222]
Mark went to open the jar of salsa but nothing seemed to happen. Then he really tried to open it, although he acted like he wasn't really trying. Still nothing. He tapped it on the edge of the coffee table a few times with a practiced air and went at it again.
"I don't need salsa," said Holly hopefully.
"Do we have a towel or something?" asked Mark.
Amanda handed him a blue and white striped dishrag she'd bought in from the kitche, seemingly for just this eventuality. Mark put the towel over the lid and braced the jar between his thighs. He doubled over and let out the kind of grunt one associates with powelifters in the Olympic games.
"I don't even really like salsa," said Holly.
Mark's face was red and the veins on his neck were popping out. "Why - do - you - do - this - to - me?"
[from page 227]
"I've been watching everybody as they parade in and out, the bankers and the anorexics and their grim determined faces, and thinking, this is not the way to live a life."
"What do you mean?" asked Betsy.
"Here's the problem with this city. There are too many people living in one place, and all of them are suffereing from excessive ego demands," said Lonnie. "The truth is, I want pretty simple things."
"Like what?"
"Like a grill," he said. "I'd like to have a backyard, and a grill, and a wife who loves me. Hopefully a couple of kids. And I'd like to live some place that fits me more, someplace a little more relaxed, maybe warmer, with things like bike paths and Little League games. think I could get into riding a bike."
"What do you want to do? Workwise, I mean."
"I'm not sure it matters all that much to me, actually," said Lonnie. "I'll probably teach. I like it, and I'm good at it, so why not?"
"Right."
"I would like to clear one thing up," said Lonnie.
"What's that?"
"You probably think I've been asking you out because you're thin and pretty and all that, but that's not it."
"Why, then?"
"Because you seem like a nice person. A little, I don't know, maybe sad around the edges sometimes, but I can work with that. I've been sad before. I know what tha's like."
Lonnie locked eyes with Betsy. She held his gaze for a moment and then looked away, down at her hands, which looked small and pale against the dark smooth wood of the table.
"Even when you said no to me, you were always extremely nice about it. And so, I thought, you know, why not? Why not keep trying? What do I have to lose?"
"I'm talking too much," he said. "What about you, Miss Betsy Silverstein? Why in the world are you still single?"
