Scrape-art

by Kate Inglis

I fell in love with a baby and I couldn't figure it.

It wasn't the highly practiced detached indifference of the past five years: yeah cute whatever. He could have been mine, you know those babies? The ones who look at you all still and goggle-eyed and they could have been yours. I held him under the guise of helping his mother but I wasn't helping his mother. I was helping myself. I looked over my shoulder and they were all busy so I put my nose to the top of his head for a sniff. Just to check. Yes. Ggrrrmph and I felt a string of drool ooze down across one knuckle, then another. Raaaaaaagh.

The Mansion of Happiness: A History of Life and Death

by Jill Lepore

In Man Versus Death, being clever helps, but the best you can hope for is to prolong the game. Death always wins. Death is a bastard. Death cheats.

The Patron Saint of Liars

by Ann Patchett

Yesterday I doubted what she had said about me, but today I believed.

"Maybe she won't know," I said. "She'll be asleep and they'll take the baby away from her and she'll never know."

"You always know," Sister Evangeline said.