I knew better to ask, but I did anyway. “Bernard?” She pointed to the skinniest tree on the far end. “That’s Bernard, then Lucy, and this is Doyle.” “Trees speak to you?” Henry took another drag on his cigarette. Strangely, his question wasn’t mocking in the least. “Not with words.” She slid a shy smile to him. “But they feel. Like all living things. I just prefer to give them names.”
