Home > Author > Kimberly G. Giarratano
1 " Are you and Mom done?” “I don’t know what’s going to happen. I love her, but we may not be right for each other. She doesn’t trust me, which seems to be a family trait. Regardless, I’m still your dad. I will always be here for you. Always. You don’t have to run away to the Navy because you’re worried I won’t help you.” Troy stared at Jerry disbelievingly. “That’s not why I’m doing it.” “Isn’t it?” “Okay, partly. But also, you were in the Navy. So was your dad. And his dad. I want to follow in your footsteps. I always have.” “Like father, like son. "
― Kimberly G. Giarratano , School Lies
2 " He rested his elbows on his knees and dropped his head into his hands. He’d been a fucking shit to everyone. A lot of misplaced blame. Misplaced anger. All misdirected. Levi wanted to yell at his father for the time they lost. Opportunities to understand one another— gone. Julian left in his wake aimless loved ones who had to assemble the pieces of their lives. Levi was left with the realization that he had to relearn himself. Relearn his father. How could one secret contain so much power? "
3 " Levi might have resembled his father. He and his father might’ve taken their coffee the same. They might’ve quirked their eyebrows in an identical manner. They might have even both connected to the same book, but Levi was his own man and he was going to choose to believe that his father was trying to tell him one thing: Live your life. On your terms "
4 " beads of sweat had collected between her breasts and her legs felt slick with moisture. "
― Kimberly G. Giarratano , One Night Is All You Need: A Short Story
5 " Sam dragged her over to a small plot. Unlike the historic ones, this seemed like an ordinary grave. The headstone read Paul Danvers 1950-1997. “And this guy,” Sam said through clenched teeth. “Got so drunk one night, he accidentally set his house on fire, killing himself and his seventeen-year-old son.” Margot pulled back. This date had turned as sour as the feeling in her gut. “Murdered his own son.” Sam’s voice was tight and full of emotion. “He was going to college in the fall. Got a full ride and everything.” “That’s awful,” said Margot. “Where’s the son buried?” “So glad you asked.” Sam smiled so mournfully that Margot regretted asking at all. He pointed to the headstone next to Paul’s. In the darkness, it was nearly impossible to make out the young man’s name. Margot knelt on the soft grass and leaned forward, using the light from her cellphone to see the engraving. She gasped and nearly dropped the phone. “Sam Danvers,” she said, barely getting out the words. “That’s not funny.” Margot’s hands shook. “Is your name really Sam?” He no longer smiled, just nodded. “It is.” Sam came in close and said her name in such a soft whisper, Margot ached to touch him. He reached up to her face and tucked a strand of wavy hair behind her ear. “If things were different at all…” She put her hands on his. His skin felt dry and cold while hers felt clammy. “What does that mean? If what was different?” Sam leaned in, his face encased in shadows, and kissed Margot. She gasped before being taken in by the kiss. His breath tasted oddly of licorice and she was suddenly aware of the scent of fresh-cut grass. His lips were soft, but his kiss was urgent. He gripped the belt loops of Margot’s jean shorts and pulled her in tight against his chest. Her head swam and her heart pounded. She pulled away from him and attempted to catch her breath. She looked at him, her eyes bright with fury. “That wasn’t an answer.” He ran his hands through his hair. A typical guy stall tactic, thought Margot. But Sam wasn’t stalling. He was struggling. “Margot, I’m Sam Danvers,” he said. Margot shook her head — “No. No. No.” — and marched away from him. "
6 " On Duval Street, the buzzing of motorized scooters and the cacophony of happy tourists meshed together in a noisy symphony. "
7 " that woman was murdered by her own daughter. "
