It feels like she's breathing slower. She speaks slowly, whispering almost. " I have another idea" yes... "you have a little time until your call, you...need to wake up. Let me help. You always miss the mornings, I don't think this time you should..." He knows he should say no, stop. He says nothing. His throat is dry. He feels heavy. Her voice is reduced to a hissing whisper: "I owe you a story" his head start to spin "some details you missed..." he's gone. "I prefer not to go through that by. She cut Dad’s hair and sometimes mine, often had us over to her place in town for dinner, and sometimes came out to our rural homestead. She was never central to my thinking, since she didn’t ride horses, though I remember doing a few hikes with her.The morning after our trip to Billings, I found her sitting at the kitchen table. She was wearing a very short nightie and had a mug of coffee in her hands.“Hello there, sleepyhead,” she said to me. “Your dad told me about your gun toting antics. More

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