62
" All those small injuries, sorrows, wounds, regrets—the hurtful words, the pain people inflicted on each other, intentionally or not, that seemed so important once. You might not even remember anymore what they were about, those things that once made you so angry, bitter, hurt. Or maybe you remembered, but did any of it matter, really? (Who said what? Who did what, when? Who hurt whom? Well, everybody had hurt everyone.) "
― Joyce Maynard , Count the Ways
69
" There had been a time, and it lasted years, when all Eleanor supposed she needed was to love someone deeply, someone who loved her back, and she had this now. And she had her family - the thing she'd wanted above all else. But there was also, now, a place in her where something like a small, hard nut of resentment resided. She could almost feel it there sometimes - watching the cool ease of the way Cam mounted his bicycle and headed out on a ride some Saturday morning, with the dishes from the waffles he'd made - he was a joyous but messy cook - still stacked high in the sink.
"When do I get to take a Saturday morning off to go on an adventure?" she asked, out in the driveway as he pumped up the tires.
"Be honest with yourself, El," he said to her. "Do you actually see yourself getting on a mountain bike on a Saturday morning?"
He had nailed it, of course. So much time had passed in which she had no time that she no longer knew what she'd do with herself if she had any. "
― Joyce Maynard , Count the Ways
71
" She saw the two of them - herself and Cam - like two white-water rafters, off on class 5 waters. You didn't have time to debate your choices or question them once they were made. There was no space to think or even worry. You held on tight, paddled hard, and surrendered to the experience, hoping you'd make it to the spot, wherever it was, where you brought your craft into shore. But your heart beat so hard you thought your chest might explode. First you got wet. The water swirled around you, tipped you over, or came close. You never knew if you'd make it, but you couldn't stop. "
― Joyce Maynard , Count the Ways
72
" Maybe loving her children too much was her downfall - the weight it placed on the three of them, knowing that for their mother, they represented everything of greatest meaning in her life. No question their father loved them, too, but without the heavy sense of obligation her devotion seemed to carry with it. Cam's sense of well-being did not reside, as hers did, in how the children were feeling that day. (Three children! Exposure to heartbreak, tripled!) If they were having problems, as surely they would, he would not suffer their pain in the way Eleanor did.
Young as they were, the children must have sensed this in their mother, and it seemed to leave them with a certain brittle edge of protectiveness where she was concerned. It was enough for a person to be responsible for his own happiness. No child wanted to be responsible for his mother's happiness, too. "
― Joyce Maynard , Count the Ways