conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What could be a title for a book about Sarah, Cully, Almost with the genre: Literature & Fiction, United States?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this book could be 'Sea Glass Summer'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know the first two paragraphs for this book?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Sea Glass Summer
  Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.
  Look to the ocean for an eternal constant, forever new. Such was Sarah Draycott's thought as she stood one May morning gazing out of French windows at a lawn that sloped down to a flight of wooden steps. She could not see them from this distance, but just knowing they were there, her steps, leading down to the beach, brought a surge of proprietary delight. It was hard to believe this was not a childhood vacation, of the sort that included a bucket and spade. As of today she was a resident of Sea Glass. She had all the time in the world to spend selecting flat stones to send skipping over the waves, or clambering among the rocks searching for sea glass. For surely any wholehearted inhabitant of a village with that name must start a collection.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know five more paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Gwen refrained from shaking her head as her eyes met Twyla's and received the most understanding of smiles in return before Twyla turned to focus fully on Sonny.
  Two suitcases were set down at the foot of the stairs. 'Sounds to me you've found something special there, you and this friend.' The rich voice was like warm honey – nourishing to the mind and body. 'We go through life sometimes thinking we've met all the people we're ever likely to be friends with, and then comes along this new person and it seems like we've known them all along. There comes that sort of understanding that turns into trust. I sure do hope, Mr Norris, it can be like that with you and me.'
  There was something so strongly reminiscent of Mrs Broom in the cadence and putting together of the words Sonny was beginning the process of blending the two women together. That was evident to Gwen in the bewildered tone of his voice.
  No, it would be foolish and unhelpful to expect smooth sailing, but Gwen felt a calm assurance that the introduction of Sarah and Sid Jennson into their lives – that had shrunk to just her and Sonny – had paved the way for Twyla's arrival. She went to bed that night, knowing it was safe for her to sleep deeply for the first time in months. It was her hope that she wouldn't dream at all, have eight hours in which even her subconscious went blank. But it wasn't to be. Again she found herself wandering, as she had done on so many previous nights, in a shadowy maze where iron-barred doors presented themselves at every turn. Behind one of them was a child trapped in desperation, silently waiting to be rescued, becoming less substantial with each terrifying second of her fruitless search, because all the doors opened into the place she was already in. There was one significant difference in that night's dream. Added to the sense of frantic hopelessness was a heart-hammering confusion. Who was she looking for? Sonny or Oliver Cully?
  That day and several others slipped by into the establishment of a mostly peaceful routine. Sonny had surprisingly few outbursts and those were directed against herself, never Twyla. Mostly these had to do with his belief that he played second fiddle to Jumbo. He was initially angry that Sarah took the dog for a walk most mornings, and occasionally in the afternoons.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know the last five paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Grandpa's lawyer had everything set up for Sarah and Evan to take guardianship of Oliver. As Gerard promised, he had made no difficulties about this. He and Elizabeth had returned to New York. Perhaps they were now ready to stare down their demons and start over. Oliver hoped so.
  Oliver was thinking about Grandpa that morning, so many wonderfully happy memories. Sonny's death, and Gwen's courageous acceptance of it, had brought a sense of peace that would help Oliver when the time came to say goodbye to the man who had given him the very best start in life.
  Sarah's thoughts were also of Frank Andrews and Sonny. Of the troubles and sorrows that are part of every life. Those that came without warning in the suddenness of a violent storm, while others slipped in on a slow, sad tide. But always for those who searched there could be recovered a treasure trove of memories washed in on the tide – reminders that even that which is broken can achieve renewed beauty. Fragments of what was once whole, but still priceless to the heart and never to be displaced by new beginnings.
  Oliver and Gwen stood with Sarah on the shoreline. Soon they and the dogs would return by way of the wood steps and across the back lawn to the house, where Evan would interrupt his writing to join them in the kitchen. And Dusk would wander in to make sure she got her full share of Oliver's attention. Sarah had no need to voice these thoughts to the other two. They reached out for each other's hands and held on to this moment.
  Shining up from beneath the incoming waves was another small treasure returned from the sea. Their eyes met in recognition that these gems, buffered by all kinds of weather, when gathered into a collection, would reflect for always the sunshine of a sea glass summer.