Even now, she still turned to him in her mind, wanting to tell him unfolding theories, to hear his thoughts on this latest crisis.

She hadn’t expected to go too far beyond Wes in this life. But here she had lived a whole other life, experienced the need for her political voice in the city—there were so many conversations, there was so much to learn and teach. She had developed routines for her health and thinking. Then she’d written her own articles, given her own speeches, articulated her own political vision for and from this city. She’d learned to argue with people in ways that strengthened them, made them stand up for their ideas. And then, when her words left, she’d listened.

She’d experienced the exquisite grief of losing her only child. She had cried quiet, private tears. And now she was in this little room at the back of her dead son’s house with moments of Dune for company, silent, or singing. Or the radio at full blast next to her, giving her pre-digested snippets of news. Her mind was almost empty of thoughts.

Her granddaughter was one of these girls who dressed like a boy and dated other girls, which had never bothered Vivian. Dune was a glowing golden brown that went sallow in winter and she often wore her hair in soft braids down her back. That, and Brendon’s delicate features tipped slightly rounder by Kama’s blood, made her look like a perpetual teenager.

She was gaining weight as Mama Vivian watched, fairly quickly. Vivian had seen this before and understood it. Dune was making a mother for herself out of her own body, her massive grief.

Vivian had loved guiding the young girl into the realms of philosophy and theory, sharing her grandchild’s life questions and struggles, talking about concepts of self-transformation. Vivian found it fascinating how soon children were selves. Dune had been so bright of mind from the beginning.

She wanted to comfort Dune, but she had forgotten how.

Since the plague started, Dune had kept Vivian company as best she could, trying to tell Vivian about the outside world, yelling words that longed to be whispered. Closed captioned news had helped her come to terms with the likelihood that Kama and Bab were victims of a plague, were gone-gone. Vivian watched Dune struggle with the language, the emotions that came with trying to explain that the world was ending, here, all around them.

Ultimately, she knew most of what was happening by the look on the child’s face.

Vivian gathered her volume again and cried out, “Dune!” feeling silent in spite of all the effort. She did experience a short fit of coughing that grabbed her whole chest. That would surely be heard, she thought. She closed her eyes.