Two nights ago, I sent her a picture of an orangey sunset over the lake. The golds and reds mixed so beautifully that it reminded me of her hair. She has sunset hair—I decided. But I didn’t include words. Didn’t know what to say with it, anyway.

Still, she texted back: Oh, Grady. How lovely. I needed that.

Our short communication bursts are nothing compared to our delightful back-and-forths over the dumbest things. Recovering from surgery, stuck in bed or on the couch, I suspect she’s bored.

But I like the engagement. And it’s something I can do for her. Without getting in the way or upsetting Ashe the Ass. He’s home by now, hopefully groveling. I don’t know. I don’t ask.

Instead, she talks about her preference for British TV.

They’re real people, Grady. Not air-brushed or boob-jobbed to please American eyes. Plus, I love the accent. Can you do a British accent?

No. Can you?

Oh, yes. Cockney and the Queen’s English. I practice with the cats.

Of course, she does, I think, grinning. This prompted a phone call so I could hear her attempts. Between laughing my ass off, I assured her they were “passable.” They weren’t. Not even close.

When we returned to texting, I confessed my TV habits.

I watch National Geographic and Discovery. Nature shows. They put me to sleep like a grandfather in a recliner, but it’s how I relax.

If only your dogs could take pics of that, I’d bribe them for copies.

I’m not ashamed of my old-man-ness. I own it.

You’re not an old man. You’re a good man. You should own that, too.

Whenever our long conversations wane, I ask:

Need anything?

Often, the text ellipsis lingers and disappears and starts again, like she doesn’t know how to answer. Then, she comes up with something like:

Only world peace.

Only world domination.

Only for the cats to finally take over and win world domination.

A good night’s sleep (to dominate the world tomorrow).

I always end our talks with the same message:

Anytime for any reason still stands.

Now, in the library with Marigold, I’m livid that people are still talking about her. For my part, I’ve forbidden talk of Marina Strange at the clinic and family gatherings—I don’t want to hear it and don’t want it spread in my vicinity.

So, I’ve resumed what Mom calls my “full but empty life.” Dad’s farm and work keep me busy, though Luke and Gil have been helping out more since the accident. To lessen my workload at the clinic, I’ve tasked Aunt Elena with hiring more vet techs and securing an intern from NC State’s vet school over the summer.