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“You’ll be running your mouth in your grave, won’t you, lass?” “I’m going to be cremated. There won’t be any mouth to run.” “I’m sure you’ll find a way around it.”
The nurse introduces herself as Nancy and says she’s going to take Sloane’s blood pressure. Then she turns to me with a tentative smile. “And you must be the father.” Sloane bursts into raucous laughter. Rolling over to gloat at me, she says, “Burn! Yes, that’s my dad, Father Time, over there. He’s not nearly as young and handsome as he thinks he is.”
“Okay. You go first. Do you really think I look like a camel?” “No. I think you look like Rockefeller Center at Christmas, Japan in cherry blossom season, and the thousand vivid shades of green in the wild moors of Northern Ireland, all rolled into one.”
“You want me to remain flat after I found out the government has been spying on me?” “You’re not special. They spy on everybody.”
He reaches up and caresses my cheek. “Are you worried?” “Hell, yes.” “About what?” “That you’ll die of your advanced age, and I’ll have to find a Realtor on short notice to unload this lover’s pied-à-terre you bought.”
