Watching his kids die was his first objection to Louis' offer (which Daniel thought was mocking him, and still struggles with, privately). It is on his mind now and then, an unpleasant weight; he has known peers who've lost children and has seen the way it leaves them changed. It's naive to think that observing a natural death from a distance, happening to people he is estranged from and has been for years already, will pass over him without impact.

But what's he going to do about it? Walk into the sun? Turn his girls into vampires? Ideas so worthless as to barely qualify as laughable, simply nothing. He'll figure out how to endure that when he gets there. He has changed before.

A hum of acknowledgement, and Daniel takes the laptop back. A few taps on the touchpad as he rises, and then he closes the clamshell of it, ready to be tucked away again. It's probably time for him to get a full touch screen, one of those combo ones you can fold in every which direction. Innovation relentlessly forges ahead.

"He should get back into it." Louis, photography. "Do something besides crunch numbers and contemplate panda blood jell-o for a few hours a week."

Fond, for the record.