“For the headache you’re giving me.” “Don’t forget the tissues,” I tell him and point to the Kleenex on the third shelf. “For the tears you’ll shed when I’m gone.” “Of joy.” He flashes a half-smile, then says to both of us, “Breakfast is done, son-in-law and whoever you are.” I grin. “Dementia’s already setting in?” Farrow laughs into a wider smile. Lo goes to the door. “You wish you could reach my age.” My smile softens. “Yeah, I do.” “You will,” is all he says before leaving.
