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“How did your mother die?�� asked Delk.
“Car accident,�� Katie replied, gazing out over the water. “She’d been to mass. A tire blew on the way home, and she was gone. I was nineteen, Pather’s age, when it happened. My brother was only eleven.�� She paused. “I do know what you’re going through.�� Katie looked at her.
“Pather told you?�� Katie nodded. Delk was glad Pather had told his sister; she was relieved not to have to tell the story again. “Does it ever . . . you know . . . get any better?��
Katie shrugged her narrow shoulders and smiled. “In some ways it does, but it’s a bit like running a long race with a rock in your shoe. You get used to it, but it always hurts a little.”
― Suzanne Supplee, When Irish Guys Are Smiling

“Memories, sprang up in the most unusual ways, happy little gifts—as long as you didn’t let the sadness creep in.”
― Suzanne Supplee, When Irish Guys Are Smiling

“For a while children live under their mother’s skin. Then one day in the future, the mother lives under the child’s.”
― Suzanne Supplee, When Irish Guys Are Smiling