e
old ones after we eat."

"What should I write?"

"It's up to you."

While Gran and the Father looked on, Art uncapped the felt-tip pen and thought
and thought, his mind blank. Finally, he wrote, "For my Gran. No matter where I
am, I know you're thinking of me." He signed it with a flourish.

"Lovely. Let's eat now."

Art meant to log in and see if Colonelonic had dredged up any intel on Linda's
ex, but he found himself trapped on the sunporch with Gran and the Father and a
small stack of linen tablecloths hairy with embroidered wishes. He traced their
braille with his fingertips, recognizing the names of his childhood. Gran and
the Father talked late into the night, and the next thing Art knew, Gran was
shaking him awake. He was draped in a tablecloth that he'd pulled over himself
like a blanket, and she folded it and put it away while he ungummed his eyes and
staggered off to bed.

Audie called him early the next morning, waking him up.

"Hey, Art! It's your cousin!"

"Audie?"

"You don't have any other female cousins, so yes, that's a good guess. Your Gran
told me you were in Canada for a change."

"Yup, I am. Just for a little holiday."

"Well, it's been long enough. What do you do in London again?"

"I'm a consultant for Virgin/Deutsche Telekom." He has this part of the
conversation every time he speaks with Audie. Somehow, the particulars of his
job just couldn't seem to stick in her mind.

"What kind of consultant?"

"User experience. I help design their interactive stuff. How's Ottawa?"

"They pay you for that, huh? Well, nice work if you can get it."

Art believed that Audie was being sincere in her amazement at his niche in the
working world, and not sneering at all. Still, he had to keep himself from
saying something snide about the lack of tangible good resulting from keeping
MPs up to date on the poleconomy of semiconductor production in PacRim
sweatshops.

"They sure do. How's Ottawa?"

"Amazing. And why London? Can't you find work at home?"

"Yeah, I suppose I could. This just seemed like a good job at the time. How's
Ottawa?

"Seemed, huh? You going to be moving back, then? Quitting?"

"Not anytime soon. How's Ottawa?"

"Ottawa? It's beautiful this time of year. Alphie and Enoch and I were going to
go to the trailer for the weekend, in Calabogie. You could drive up and meet us.
Swim, hike. We've built a sweatlodge near the dock; you and Alphie could bake up
together."

"Wow