“Marmite is good for you,” her grandmother says to her father. “Lots of vitamin B.”

“Protein, too, right?” Her mother breaks a piece of cookie from the plate of them; Isabelle reaches for the other half to try to clear her palate.

“Protein, too. I give it to the horses sometimes. They like it on apples,” her grandmother says. “It’s good for their eyes, too.”

“Is that right?” her father asks.

“Well, I think so.” Isabelle watches her grandmother’s fingers curl into the sugar dish for a cube; the joints seem too swollen to bend. Her grandmother drops one sugar cube and then another and another into her tea. “Dr. Marks says Brodie’s eyes are exceptionally good for a horse his age, and he’s had Marmite all his life.” She brings her cup to her mouth; the cup seems to tremble in her hand more than her hand seems to tremble. Her hand is too thick to tremble, it seems to Isabelle. Her grandmother’s lips purse around the rim of her cup as she takes a sip. The lines gather deep around her mouth, and Isabelle can trace them upward to where they disappear into her cheek. She has never seen wrinkles quite like these before. They aren’t the kind of loose wrinkles made by sagging skin; instead they seem chiseled, and beautiful. The wrinkles around her eyes are still wet with tears from the cold.

Her grandmother sets her cup back onto its saucer. “You know, Wilson, Dr. Marks might be coming tomorrow to rebandage Adrien’s leg. I told you how he cut it?”

“No,” her father says.

“Awful story.” Her grandmother shakes her head. “But if he does come, then while he’s here I thought maybe he should take a look at Maggie.”

“Oh!” her father says, quickly. Isabelle catches his eye, but he looks away. “We have a wonderful vet at home! And Maggie was just there the other week, as a matter of fact.”

“You were telling me,” her grandmother says. “But since she’s still unwell I thought you might like another vet to take a look at her. A real vet.”

Since she’s still unwell. Isabelle sits up straight.

“Dr. Bremer is a real vet,” her father says. He looks at his hands on the table.