What do you think?
Rate this book


323 pages, Kindle Edition
First published April 18, 2017
She read out from a book, “Still a child, she cries for the moon, but the moon, it seems, won't have her.” That's how she'd spent her life, she said: uselessly crying for the moon.
That first Sunday and almost every Sunday after, Bo took Maureen out to his parents', out to Paradise, for dinner. Not real Paradise – they weren't dead, just living up in Conception Bay South, in the town of Paradise, which was not the least bit paradisal.
She was drowning in misery, choking with unhappiness. She was only eighteen – what was wrong with her? Why didn't she leave Bo? She was no good – that had been proven to her finally and irrevocably. She was just no use; totally use-less, “a total waste of skin”, as the Sarge used to call her when she was little. She didn't like to think about that sort of stuff, because she didn't want to emotionally cash in on that whole “my mother was so mean to me blah blah blah” thing. She had no time for those dreary sob sisters. She was getting on with her life, not sobbing and complaining all the time about what her mom did to her. She was moving forward – well, when she wasn't staying in bed twenty-four hours a day, or picking herself up off the bottom of the staircase, or too beat up to do much of anything.
I don't know what you're so hinky about. You're putting the Chinese angle on me, and all I'm doing is trying to come into my own joint. No need to throw another ing-bing.