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A Novel
by Elizabeth Berg
"Look," her father says. "I know I'm not . . . I know it might not seem so, but I love you. Please don't ever do that again. I was scared, you scared me. Will you promise me never to do that again? That's not the way. Boys don't respect girls who do that. Okay?"
No shit. "Okay," she says, and takes her hand away.
"Don't do it ever again." He looks over at her, starts to speak again, then doesn't. "Good night." He rises, tiredly, it seems to her, tired beyond the lateness of the hour, and, at the threshold, turns around to face her. "Do you want to talk about anything?"
She shakes her head no.
"I'm going grocery shopping tomorrow. Do you need anything?"
"No."
"Are you sure?"
"I said no!"
He hesitates, then again says, "Good night."
"Good night." They are beautiful words, she thinks. Good. Night.
She gets under her covers without undressing. She will not think of him. What did she expect? She will not think of him. She will think of good. And night.
In the morning, she will take the bus to school and then she will not go to school but instead will walk over to the cemetery. To be with her people.
Excerpted from The Story of Arthur Truluv by Elizabeth Berg. Copyright © 2017 by Elizabeth Berg. Excerpted by permission of Random House. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
When men are not regretting that life is so short, they are doing something to kill time.
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