“Sneezeweed, Drew?"He grinned. "Jealous?""Surprised.""Remind me, and I'll have a talk with Gerald. Give him a few tips.""Promise?""Absolutely.”

“I have no idea what he wants. Maybe he needs to remind you to pack your skimpiest swimsuit.” He paused. “Oh, wait, no. That’s me.” He grinned as I rolled my eyes. “Why do I even try to have normal conversations with you?” I asked him. “Because you like talking to me.”

“It must be important or he wouldn't dare disturb me now,” he muttered.Then he drew away to look at me. “If it's not, I'll kill him and return to you directly.”

“It reminds me of an old joke: What did the Zombie say to the whore?" I looked at him blankly. "Um....what?" He winked. "Keep the tip.”

“I grinned at him. 'Jealous?'He grinned right back. 'That's a trick question. If I say yes you'll accuse me of being paranoid and unreasonable, and if I say no you'll make some defensive crack about how I don't think you're worth getting jealous over.'This is what I got for hooking up with a lawyer.”

“You'll come to my grave? To tell me your problems?"My problems?"Yes.'And you'll give me answers?"I'll give you what I can. Don't I always?"I picture his grave, on the hill, overlooking the pond, some little nine foot piece of earth where they will place him, cover him with dirt, put a stone on top. Maybe in a few weeks? Maybe in a few days? I see myself sitting there alone, arms across my knees, staring into space.It won't be the same, I say, not being able to hear you talk."Ah, talk . . . "He closes his eyes and smiles."Tell you what. After I'm dead, you talk. And I'll listen.”